not the other way around.”
“Did you ever ask?”
“What do you mean?”
“You sit there in your fancy apartment, waiting for them to come to you, isn’t that right? But you were the one who ran away. Perhaps you should be the one to make the first move if you want to come home again.”
Not now, thought Sigita. I can’t deal with this now. She glanced at her watch. Her plane would be leaving in two hours.
“Goodbye,” she said. And stood there, waiting, even though she wasn’t sure what she was waiting for.
Jolita sighed.
“Take the damn money,” she said. “I hope you get your little boy back.”
JESU HJERTE KIRKE, it was called in Danish. The Church of the Sacred Heart lay in Stenogade, squeezed in between a fashion shop and a private school.
Nina had asked an elderly lady in the Istedgade cornershop where she had bought fresh rolls for herself and the boy. They had struggled a bit over the translation; Nina had guessed herself that it might be Catholic, and the old lady’s local knowledge did the rest.
Afterwards, Nina had called Magnus from a small, seedy bar on Halmtorvet. The bartender at The Grotto had let her use both phone and bathroom at no charge, but her conversation with her boss had been brief and unsatisfying.
“Fan i helvete, where are you? The duty roster is shot to hell, and Morten has been ringing us since seven o’clock. The police want to speak to you. Is this anything to do with Natasha?”
Magnus’s tone had become very Swedish, and the words came pouring over her so quickly that she had no time to answer before he interrupted both himself and her.
“No. Don’t. I don’t even want to know. Only … are you okay? Morten wants to know if you’re okay.”
Nina took a deep breath.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” she told him. “Although I won’t be in today. Will you please tell Morten there is no need to worry.”
It was a while before Magnus answered. She could hear him exhale and inhale, big, deep barrel-chested breaths.
“Well, as long as you’re not dead, I was to tell you.…” Magnus hesitated again, and softened his voice so much that Nina could barely hear him.
“I was to tell you that this is the last time. If you come back alive, this is the last time.”
Nina felt a sharp little snap in her chest and held the receiver at some distance, battling to control her voice.
“Alive,” she laughed, too thinly. “How dramatic. There’s really no need for such melodrama. Why shouldn’t I be alive? I’m perfectly fine. It’s just that there is something I need to do.”
Magnus gave a brief grunt, and when his voice came back on the line, for the first time he had begun to sound angry.
“Well, fine. If you don’t want anybody’s help, Nina, you won’t get it. But Morten sounded shit scared, I tell you. He says the police have found your mobile phone.”
Nina felt a clammy chill along her backbone as he said it. She slammed the receiver down so abruptly that The Grotto’s barman raised his eyebrows and grinned knowingly at the two regular patrons ensconced at the far end of the bar. Nina didn’t care. Impatiently, she collected the boy, pulling him away from the old table soccer game he had become engrossed in. He yipped in protest as she half carried, half dragged him back to the car, but at that moment, she was too stressed to care. She started the car, turned the corner at Halmorvet and continued down Stenosgade while she followed the second hand on the dashboard clock: 13, 14, 15… .
Annoyingly, she caught herself moving her lips. She was counting the seconds under her breath. Sweet Jesus. How crazy was that?
Crazy. Insane. Mentally challenged. (Perhaps even so crazy that you did it on purpose?)
She managed to insert the Fiat into the row of cars parked by the curb in front of the church, in a slot too small for most cars. The boy in the back seat was staring out the window, steadfastly refusing to look at her. The sense of trust and familiarity from their morning bath had vanished, and it was clear that he had not forgiven her for the rough and hasty way she had bundled him into the car.
Sunlight made the digits on the dashboard clock blur in front of her. She leaned back, fumbling for the water bottle and a breakfast roll. She wasn’t hungry, but she recognized this particular kind of