The Quarry

59

Vendela had been unfaithful. Physically and mentally. Both were just as bad.

When she got home after spending the night with Per Mörner, she went out to do some work in the garden, creating order on the new plot.

She thought constantly about what had happened. What had she done? She had spent the night with Per, lying close beside him as they touched one another and whispered secrets.

She had behaved exactly as Max had suspected.

But she wasn’t the one who had quarrelled and taken off with Ally. Vendela had always been there for Max when it came to his books and everything else. For once she had done something selfish; it hadn’t been planned and she didn’t know what would happen from now on. But she had no intention of feeling guilty.

She didn’t remember falling asleep with Per, but they must have done, because she woke up from a peaceful darkness in the morning and looked into Per’s eyes. She remembered where she was, and didn’t regret a thing.

She didn’t feel in the least uncomfortable about staying for breakfast, and there were no awkward silences. Per talked quietly about his daughter, and the operation that would save her life. He knew she would make it, he just knew it, and Vendela nodded seriously. Of course. Of course everything would be fine.

‘I have to go into Kalmar,’ he said after breakfast. ‘To the hospital.’

Vendela understood, but didn’t want to go home. ‘Can I stay here for a while?’

‘Don’t you want to go home?’

She looked down at the floor and thought about her wedding ring in the hollow on the elf stone. ‘I don’t want to be there... I can’t cope with seeing Max at the moment.’

‘But we didn’t do anything wrong,’ said Per.

‘We slept together,’ said Vendela.

‘We kept each other warm.’

But Vendela knew that didn’t matter.

When Per had gone she went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. On the other side of the room, next to the television, was an old wooden chest with a scornfully grinning troll, a knight on a horse, and a weeping fairy princess carved on the front. Vendela looked at it for a long time.

From time to time she got up to look over at her own house, and towards lunchtime she saw Max come out of the front door. She couldn’t tell what mood he was in from this distance, but he went straight to the car and drove off.

His heart was still beating, then.

But still Vendela didn’t go home. She sat down in the spring sunshine out on Per’s veranda, her face turned towards the empty sea.

An hour or so later she heard the sound of a car engine. It seemed to stop over at her house. Was Max back? Perhaps, but the windbreak was in the way and she had no intention of getting up to have a look.

It was only when she had made herself a modest lunch of salad and eaten it that she glanced through the window to the south once more.

There was no car outside her house. If Max had been back, he had gone off somewhere again.

Suddenly the telephone in the kitchen rang, and Vendela jumped. It might have been Per, but she didn’t dare answer it, and it stopped after six rings.

What was Max up to? Why come back and then go off again?’

She was surprised that he was still in good health. But presumably her wedding ring was still lying on the stone.

That was when she realized she had actually wished her husband dead. The previous night she had stood by the stone and asked the elves to kill him.

It was now two o’clock, and she decided to go home. She wanted to talk to Max and find out what he had done.

There was no welcoming bark as she opened the front door; the house was silent. But Vendela was aware of a different smell in the house, the overwhelming perfume of flowers. And when she walked into the main living room she saw that the floor was virtually covered in flowers: bouquets of roses, tulips and white lilies, along with local spring flowers like wood anemones and wild thyme. Max seemed to have dug out every single vase they had in the house, along with every glass and mug. The dark-grey stone rooms were filled with splashes of red, yellow, green and lilac.

Vendela wandered slowly through the scented rooms. After a minute or so her nose began to itch, then it started to run. Her allergy was back, and it was Max’s fault. In his own way he wanted to ask her forgiveness for Ally’s death, but the flowers just made her feel worse than ever, both physically and mentally.

The house felt like a chapel of rest. All that was missing was a little coffin, just about a metre long.

Max, thought Vendela, why must you always go over the top?

The proofs of the cookery book were waiting for her on the worktop, but she didn’t want to look at them.

She sat down and thought about Max, and then about Per Mörner. She couldn’t ring either of them, but suddenly she remembered a man she could get in touch with.

It took a while to find the number, but once she found it she called straight away. The phone rang five or six times before he answered, his voice firm.

‘Adam Luft.’

‘Hello, it’s Vendela here.’

‘Who?’

‘Vendela Larsson... I came on one of your courses, Meeting the Elves.’

‘Oh, that one,’ said Adam. ‘That was quite some time ago.’

‘Five years,’ said Vendela. ‘I was just wondering if I could ask you a question?’

‘That course isn’t running any more,’ he interrupted. ‘Not enough applicants. I’m working on astral travel for the soul these days.’

‘Astral... what?’

‘You ought to try it, it’s brilliant.’ Adam’s voice became more intense as he went on, ‘We’re learning how to get the soul to leave the body... to travel through time and space. And I’ve still got places available on courses this summer — shall I put your name down?’

‘No thanks,’ said Vendela, and put the phone down. There was no one else she could talk to now, and she was too restless to stay in the house.

Shortly after six she pulled on an extra pair of trousers, a woollen jumper and a thick padded jacket and went into the bathroom. To the medicine cabinet.

She had nothing of value with her as she left the house; she hadn’t even taken her mobile.

When she reached the gravel track she saw the lights of a car approaching along the village road. Was Max on his way back?

Vendela walked faster. As so many times before, she headed north from the quarry and turned off towards the alvar. She thought about her wedding ring and knew that this particular gift to the elves had been a rash mistake. She couldn’t wish Max dead, whatever he might have done to Ally, so she had to get the ring back.

She didn’t run, she was too tired and hungry for that, but she strode towards the north-west until she saw the dense grove of juniper bushes.

She walked slowly up to the elf stone and looked at the top. The old coins were still lying there, but there was nothing else.

Her wedding ring had gone.

They had been here.

Vendela stood motionless next to the stone, her head lowered. The spring evening was cold and the darkness was on its way, but she hadn’t the strength to move.