The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7) by Mari Jungstedt Page A

up and say: “Hi, it’s your mother”? That won’t work. Should I write her a letter? Or should I just go over and ring the doorbell? When I think that far, I get terrified, panic-stricken. What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if she pushes me away? Asks me why I’ve turned up now after all these years, when I never cared about her before – at least in her eyes. At the moment I can at least dream about us meeting and having a good relationship.’ Karin buried her face in her hands. ‘I don’t know whether I dare, Anders. But what if I never see her again in my life? That would be the worst of all.’

THE FOREST OUT here was more dense and impenetrable than he had thought. He had planned to take a short cut to avoid being seen, but it had turned out to be more difficult than he’d counted on. Annoyed, he fought his way through the thickets, pushing branches aside as best he could and trying not to stumble over the uneven ground, the tree roots, the old underbrush and the rabbit holes. He didn’t really know what he was expecting. Of course, he hoped to see her. Weeks and months had passed without him giving her a thought. He’d had other things on his mind. But then one day he’d been going through a box of photographs and found all the pictures he’d taken of her, most of them in secret. And everything had come back to him, overwhelming him like an avalanche. Memories crowded in on him, and long-slumbering floods of emotion awoke. He had no defences. It was as if she took over his life again, piece by piece. He hated her because he couldn’t help looking at the photos, over and over. He wished he could erase her from his life when she appeared to him in the night and roused him from his dreams, keeping him sleepless. For hours he would lie in bed, wide awake, staring into the dark and picturing her face, which made it impossible for him to drop back off. He couldn’t think about anything else. In the past he had been the stronger one; he held the power and could do whatever he liked with her. Then everything had changed. Suddenly she wanted nothing to do with him. Ice cold, she had locked him out, refused any further contact. Never answered his text messages or emails. He had been carrying around such anger.
    He looked at her now, between the trees. She was turned away fromhim, gazing out at the sea. Her hair hung down her back, gleaming in the sunlight. The underbrush rustled beneath his feet. He continued moving forward, not letting her out of his sight. She had kept her trim shape.
    Soon it would be his turn again.
    He was convinced of that.

WITH AN AWKWARD leap she landed on the other side of the wall. The ground was soft. The property on this side offered nothing more than a meagre amount of grass and a few pitifully stunted pines struggling to survive the wind in such an exposed location. But right now there was only a light breeze. The sea stretched out before her like a blue carpet, glittering in the sun. The road down to the water, a hundred or so metres from the house, was rocky and dry. The shore was strewn with stones, extending as far as the eye could see. Off in the distance a promontory stuck out, blocking the view. Wild and beautiful. It was easy to understand why Bergman had loved this remote spot. Enchanted, she stood there trying to take in the whole scene.
    The house didn’t really look very impressive. The greyish-brown façade facing the sea bore clear traces of the weather. It was a single-storey structure that seemed to go on and on, with small windows. Typical sixties design. A veranda faced the sea. It was rather worn-looking, with several old deckchairs leaning against the wall. A table with a cement top was fastened to a low, knotty tree trunk growing out of the rocky ground. Amazing. The gusts must be fierce when the wind really started to blow. She could just imagine it whistling around the corners of the house during an autumn storm. And the darkness. It must be terribly