The Circle (Hammer) - By Elfgren, Sara B.,Strandberg, Mats Page 0,67

into the kitchen, he’s there making coffee. If she wanders into the living room, he’s lying on the sofa, reading a crime novel, muttering about bad research. In the end Vanessa starts tidying up her room for something to do.

‘Can you do the rest of the apartment, while you’re at it?’ her mother says, in a way that suggests she’s being funny.

But Vanessa actually does it. If nothing else, it’s fun to irritate Nicke with the sound of vacuuming. He can hardly complain.

Afterwards, Vanessa sits in front of the computer. Nobody’s logged in. She tries calling Wille. No answer. She walks up to the window.

Engelsfors is best viewed in darkness, from a bit of distance, when all you can see is streetlamps and lit windows. Vanessa catches sight of the church spire. That’s where Rebecka is going to be buried on Monday. Vanessa wishes she could be there, but it’s out of the question. Nobody can know that she and Rebecka were friendly.

Frasse scratches at the door and she lets him in. He lies down on the bed and sighs contentedly. Vanessa glances at her mobile on the desk. Then she picks it up.

Linnéa sounds out of breath when she answers. ‘Has something happened?’

Vanessa is a little confused. Then she realises that Linnéa was hardly expecting an ‘ordinary’ call from her. ‘No, I just wanted …’

‘I’m busy.’

‘Forget it,’ says Vanessa, and hangs up.

Unease wells up in her chest. She calls Wille. The phone rings at the other end. He doesn’t answer.

Frasse yawns so widely that it looks as if his jaw is going to pop out of joint. Vanessa puts down her mobile and downloads a horror movie. It’ll be nice to look at some imaginary monsters. Anything to stop her thinking about the ones already living inside her head, whispering that her boyfriend is cheating on her at this very moment with Linnéa Wallin.

The windowpanes rattle in the wind.

Minoo is searching the Net for information about demons. Again. As usual she gets nowhere. The stories she finds are more like fairy tales. She tries to compare them with each other, but draws no useful conclusions other than that evil creatures figure in most religions and cultures. But originally the word demon had nothing to do with evil. It stems from the Greek word daimon which simply means ‘spirit’, ‘god’ or ‘being’. Evil demons didn’t appear until the arrival of Christianity.

Minoo sighs in frustration. She’s sure that the people who put up the information on these sites know as little about it as she does. A lot of it is obviously rubbish, other stuff is wishful thinking from wannabe Satanists, but most of it is the senseless rambling of religious nuts. And they frighten her as much as any demons.

Minoo gets up and massages her stiff shoulders. Her gaze falls on the black dress hanging on the wardrobe door.

They had bought her funeral outfit after school yesterday. Minoo had put it off as long as she could until her mother had forced her to go shopping with her in Borlänge. Minoo feels sick just thinking about the funeral. It’s the day after tomorrow, and she wishes she could get out of it. But her mother keeps insisting: ‘You have to go. It’s part of the grieving process. You’ll understand what I mean afterwards.’

Rebecka’s parents don’t want the funeral to become a big spectacle, and have invited only the closest family and friends to attend.

Minoo doesn’t know if she’ll be able to handle it. What will she say to Rebecka’s mother? How will she cope with seeing Rebecka’s little brothers and sisters? Is Gustaf going to be there? She hasn’t spoken to him since Rebecka died. Not since she read Cissi’s interview with him in the paper.

Minoo takes her outfit and hangs it inside the wardrobe, out of sight.

Then she picks up her dog-eared copy of The Secret History and lies down on the bed. But she can’t concentrate on the familiar words. Instead her thoughts wander from the principal to demons, to school, to Max.

Max is a refuge from the darkness, and she lingers on his face. Her thoughts give way to dreams of longing, the kind of dreams that have filled so many lonely Saturday nights.

25

THE TREES ARE silhouetted against the grey-white sky. It is one of those non-weather days – neither wet nor sunny. A vast greyness sits like a lid over the town.

Minoo walks along the path to the door of the church, the gravel crunching under