The Quarry

30

As their parents were dead and they had no children together, Max and Vendela would be celebrating Easter alone in their new summer home. It didn’t really matter, Vendela felt. Easter wasn’t that important.

Her grown-up daughter Caroline had phoned from Dubai to wish them Happy Easter, but she wouldn’t be home until midsummer. Max had three children with his first wife, but his daughter had fallen out with him after Max had made some comments about her mother a couple of years earlier. Then she had got her two brothers on her side, so at the moment none of them were in touch with their father.

And of course the children were particularly poisonous towards Vendela as their stepmother, she knew that. Things had always been the same.

She had brought some birch twigs from the old farm, and although they triggered her allergy she took them into the house to use as her Easter decoration. Nothing more was needed to create a festive atmosphere.

Then it was time for dinner. Vendela was tired of cooking — both the fridge and the freezer were full of leftovers from the party — but she still had to come up with some kind of celebratory Easter meal. Some eggs, some herring and potatoes, a little wine. A Bordeaux — she had already opened the bottle and poured herself a glass.

The door of Max’s study was closed; he had been sitting at his thinking desk all day, and didn’t wish to be disturbed. He was charging his batteries before a small book tour which he was due to undertake after Easter, and the first hundred pages of proofs for Good Food to the Max had just arrived from his publisher. Yesterday they had sent the final recipes to the editor, so the project was almost finished. Sooner or later Max would no doubt emerge and ask her to proofread the pages.

The fan was whirring away as the eggs and potatoes simmered on the hob. Vendela thought about Max’s children; they hadn’t even called to wish him Happy Easter.

The kitchen timer started buzzing behind her; the eggs were done. She lifted the bubbling pan off the hob and ran cold water into it.

There were twelve hard-boiled eggs, but Vendela wouldn’t be eating any of them. She had won the struggle against hunger since she came to the island, and as long as she boiled enough eggs, Max wouldn’t be able to keep track of whether she’d eaten any or not.

Vendela saw a small movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head. ‘Hello Ally,’ she said.

Aloysius had come into the kitchen — without bumping into the door frame with his nose, as he often did. He shuffled across the floor towards her, slowly but in a straight line.

‘How’s my boy?’ said Vendela, smiling at him. ‘Happy Easter, little one.’

The poodle sat down slowly, his stiff front leg extended to the side.

‘There’ll be something nice for you tonight — you’ll like that, won’t you?’

The dog licked his nose and looked over at Vendela.

It was unbelievable, but Aloysius actually seemed to be looking at her. His gaze seemed to be focused, he could see it was her. She stepped quickly to one side, and watched his eyes follow the movement.

Vendela dropped her pen and whirled around. She rushed over to Max’s thinking room, ignoring the fact that the door was still closed.

‘Max, his eyes are better!’ she shouted, hammering on the door. ‘Ally’s eyes are better, Max, come out and see!’