this about living according to His will. Surely that should be one of our goals in life. Not a way of winning the star prize for effective praying.”
Curt didn’t answer.
“Sorry, Sanna,” said Rebecka eventually, lowering her torch. “I don’t want to fight about Christian faith. Not with you, at any rate.”
“Because you know I’ll win,” said Sanna with a smile in her voice, and lowered her torch as well.
They stood in silence for a moment, looking at the pools of light on the snow.
“This business with the keys is going to drive me mad,” said Rebecka eventually. “Stupid dog! It’s all your fault!”
Virku barked in agreement.
“Don’t you listen to her,” said Sanna, throwing her arms around Virku’s neck. “You’re not a stupid dog! You’re the best, most wonderful dog in the whole wide world. And I love you to bits.” She hugged Virku, who reciprocated these declarations of affection by trying to lick Sanna’s mouth.
Curt stared jealously at them.
“It’s a rented car, isn’t it?” he asked. “I can drive into town and pick up the spare keys.”
He was talking to Sanna, but it was as if she couldn’t hear him. She was completely taken up with Virku.
"I’d really appreciate that," Rebecka said to Curt.
Not that you could care less whether I appreciate it or not, she thought, contemplating the slump of his shoulders as he stood behind Sanna, waiting for her to pay him some attention.
Sivving Fjällborg, she thought then. He’s got a spare key to the house. At least he used to have. I’ll go and see him.
It was quarter past seven when Rebecka walked into Sivving Fjällborg’s house without ringing the doorbell, just as she and her grandmother had always done. There was no light in any of the windows, so he was presumably still asleep. But that couldn’t be helped. She switched on the light in the little hallway. There was a rag rug on the brown lino floor, and she wiped her feet on it. She had snow over the tops of her boots as well, but she couldn’t get much wetter now. A staircase led up to the top floor, and next to it was the dark green door down to the boiler room. The kitchen door was closed. She shouted upstairs into the darkness.
“Hello!”
A low bark came at once from the cellar, followed by Sivving’s strong voice.
“Quiet, Bella! Sit! Now! Stay!”
She heard footsteps on the stairs, then the cellar door opened and Sivving appeared. His hair had turned completely white, and he might have gone a bit thin on top, but otherwise he hadn’t changed at all. His eyebrows were set high above his eyes, making him look as if he were always about to discover something unexpected or to hear some good news. His blue-and-white-checked flannel shirt just about buttoned over his paunch, and was tucked well into a pair of combat trousers. The brown leather belt holding up the trousers was shiny with age.
“It’s Rebecka!” he exclaimed, a huge smile splitting his face.
“Come, Bella!” he called over his shoulder, and in a trice a pointer bitch came galloping up the stairs.
“Well, hello there,” said Rebecka. “Is it you that’s got such a deep voice?”
“She’s got a really manly bark,” said Sivving. “But it keeps the people trying to sell raffle tickets and the like away, so I’m not complaining. Come on in!”
He opened the kitchen door and switched on the light. Everything was terribly neat, and it smelled slightly musty.
"Sit down," he said, pointing to the rib-backed settee.
Rebecka explained why she was there, and while Sivving fetched the spare key she looked around. The freshly washed green-and-white-striped rag rug was in precisely the right place on the pine floor. Instead of an oilcloth on the table, there was a beautifully ironed linen cloth, decorated with a little vase of beaten copper, holding dried buttercups and everlasting flowers. There were windows on three sides, and from the window behind her you could see her grandmother’s house. In daylight, of course. All you could see at the moment was the reflection of the pine lamp hanging from the ceiling.
When Sivving had given her the keys he sat down at the opposite side of the table. Somehow he didn’t look quite at home in his own kitchen. He was perched on the very edge of the red-stained chair. Bella didn’t seem able to settle either, but was wandering about like a lost soul.
“It’s been a long time.” Sivving smiled, looking closely at Rebecka. “I was