either you open this door right now or I’m ringing the police and they can kick it in.”
Oh, God. He managed to get to his knees. His head was pounding like a pneumatic drill. The hip that had been resting on the hard tiled floor was aching.
“I’m coming,” he croaked. “I’ve… not been too well. Hang on.”
She backed away as he opened the door.
“You look terrible,” she burst out. “Are you ill?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Shall I ring up and say you’re not coming in?”
“No, I’ve got to go now.”
He looked at the clock.
She followed him into the lounge. Flowerpots lay smashed on the floor. The rug had ended up in one corner. One of the armchairs had been tipped upside down.
“What’s been going on here?” she asked weakly.
He turned and put his arm around her shoulders.
“I did it myself, Mum. But it’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m feeling better now.”
She nodded in reply, but he could see that tears weren’t far away. He turned away from her.
“I must get off to the mushroom farm,” he said.
“I’ll stay here and clean up for you,” his mother said from behind him, bending down to pick up a glass from the floor.
Patrik Mattsson defended himself against her submissive concern.
“No, honestly, Mum, you don’t need to do that,” he said.
“For my sake,” she whispered, trying to catch his eye.
She bit her lower lip in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.
“I know you don’t want to confide in me,” she went on. “But if you’d just let me tidy up, then…”
She swallowed once.
“… then at least I’ll have done something for you,” she finished.
He dropped his shoulders and forced himself to give her a quick hug.
“Okay,” he said. “That would be really kind.”
Then he shot out through the door.
He got into his Golf and turned the key in the ignition. Let the engine race with the clutch down to drown out his thoughts.
No crying now, he told himself sternly.
He twisted the rearview mirror and looked at his face. His eyes were swollen. His lank hair was plastered to his head. He gave a short, joyless bark of laughter. It sounded more like a cough. Then he turned the mirror back sharply.
I’m never going to think about him again, he thought. Never again.
He screeched out onto Gruvvägen and accelerated down the hill toward Lappgatan. He was almost driving from memory, couldn’t see a thing through the falling snow. The snowplow had been along the road in the morning, but since then more snow had fallen, and the fresh snow gave way treacherously beneath his tires. He increased the pressure on the accelerator. From time to time one of the wheels went into a spin and the car slid over to the opposite side of the road. It didn’t matter.
At the crossroads with Lappgatan he didn’t stand a chance, the car skidded helplessly straight across the road. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a woman with a kick sledge and a small child. She pushed the sledge over the mound of snow left by the plow, and raised her arm at him. Presumably she was giving him the finger. As he drove past the Laestadian chapel, the road surface altered. The snow had become packed together under the weight of the cars, but it was rutted, and the Golf wanted to go its own way. Afterward he couldn’t remember how he’d got over the crossroads at Gruvvägen and Hjalmar Lundbohmsvägen. Had he stopped at the traffic lights?
Down by the mine he drove past the sentry box with a wave. The guard was buried in his newspaper and didn’t even look up. He stopped by the barrier in front of the tunnel opening that led down into the mine. His whole body was shaking. His fingers wouldn’t cooperate when he fumbled for a cigarette in his jacket pocket. He felt empty inside. That was good. For the last five minutes he hadn’t thought about Viktor Strandgård once. He took a long pull on the cigarette and inhaled deeply.
Keep calm, he whispered reassuringly, just keep calm.
Maybe he should have stayed at home. But shut in the flat all day, he’d have jumped off the balcony, for sure.
Oh, who are you kidding, he sneered at himself. As if you’d dare. Smashing teacups and chucking flowerpots on the floor, that’s all you can manage.
He wound down the window and stretched out his hand to insert his pass card into the machine.
A hand grabbed his