Missing

miraculous strength on her, which must have showed somehow. Maybe because she didn’t bother listening any more, the name-calling in school troubled her less and her daily routine became more bearable.
    The whole day would pass in the expectation of seeing him again. She wanted to smell him, stand next to him as he was bending over the innards of the car to show her something. She was full of admiration for his grasp of every detail and loved seeing his hands move knowingly among the parts of the engine.
    She longed to be in the same room. With him, close to him.

    After the summer holidays she began upper school and had to travel to Vetlanda. Her own choice would have been the course in Mechanical Engineering, but she had enough sense not to mention this to anyone but Mick. Dropping even the tiniest hint to her mother would have been rash. Mrs Forsenström felt that the three-year Economics course was suitable for preparing Sibylla to pull her weight in the family firm. Also, it was an option with a bit of class.
    Of course, she did exactly what her mother wanted.
    On days when Mick had an errand into town, he picked her up after school. She hid until she missed the school bus. A couple of blocks away from school the De Soto would be waiting for her, a sight that always filled her with eagerness and pride. Blissfully leaning back into the seat, she would be driven the forty kilometres back to Hultaryd.
    Never to her home, not even within sight of it.
    Once during one of these school runs, he turned off the main road and drove along a forest track not far from Vetlanda. She looked at him, but he kept his eyes on the road. Neither of them spoke.
    Inside, she knew what would happen. She had been expecting it. He stopped the car, they got out and then stood there facing each other for a moment.
    She came towards him full of trust, feeling that she belonged to him. She was his chosen one.
    He had spread out the brown checked blanket for them to lie on. Gently, he pushed into her.
    She was his alone. And he was hers.
    She was watching his face out of the corner of her eye, amazed at the pleasure she was able to give him. He was absorbed in her. His whole mind was focused on her, his body intent on hers. He gave himself to her.
    Two of them, locked together. She would do everything for just seconds of such closeness. Anything.

    The fried potatoes were expanding into an unmanageable lump in her mouth. Her parents were chewing in silence.
    It was pure anguish, waiting for the eruption of anger.
    She couldn’t swallow.
    There were two forks in her hand. No, three. The table was moving up and down. She had to swallow. But the fear in her stomach wanted to come back up.
    Swallow. For God’s sake, swallow. Don’t make it any worse than it is.
    Forgive me. Please forgive me. Tell me what I must do to be forgiven. Don’t keep me waiting, please.
    I’ll do anything to be forgiven.
    Anything at all.

    Beatrice Forsenström put down her knife and fork. She still avoided looking at Sibylla as she opened the abyss with a simple statement.
    ‘Sibylla, I understand you’re riding about in somebody’s dreadful old car.’

A woman with a bulldog saved her. Sibylla spotted the woman from a distance, standing on the corner of Gräs Street where the path to the Eriksdal allotments began, alone but gesticulating energetically. As she came closer, she spotted the small loudspeaker ear-piece and the flex connecting it to the mobile phone. It was the latest mobile gadget, meant to keep precious parts of the brain from being microwaved to a frazzle, or so the papers said.
    ‘It makes me so effing furious! If you pardon my French.’
    Curiosity made Sibylla slow down almost to a standstill. The bulldog had settled down at the feet of his agitated mistress, looking at her with real interest.
    ‘Christ almighty, is this some police state we’re living in or what?! So you’re looking for some freak on the run? Frankly, I don’t give a monkey’s. When I’m out walking in Sweden I don’t expect to have a gun shoved into my face all of a sudden. It’s bloody well out of order.’
    By now Sibylla was rooted to the ground.
    ‘Calm down? Don’t hold your breath! I’m not feeling calm at all! I’m going to charge these gun-toting lads of yours, take my word for it. Made me show my ID card before letting me walk my dog … I ask you! Not a word of apology did I get either. I’ll get somebody for this!’
    The woman fell silent for a