Missing

light the clock-face. The clock had been broken then, but now she could see the minute hand moving. This worried her a little. How often did they need to fix the clock?
    She forced herself to stop worrying. If she just kept her things along the far wall, she would have time to hide if some busybody suddenly turned up.

    It didn’t take long to roll out her mat and put the sleeping bag on top. She hung her panties and towel to dry on an electric cable. Tonight she had to find the staff-room shower and wash her smalls again, because if left to go sour they’d smell bad forever. She still felt dirty. Thomas’s hands were far away by now, but somehow they had left her coated in a sticky film. Had he woken up yet and found that she’d gone? What would he do then?

    So, here she was. Hidden in an attic. Humiliated, hounded and abandoned.
    Over the years, she’d had so many reasons for giving in but something inside her had made her fight on. Maybe the moment had come, for was all this not reason enough? It might be a relief to finally admit that she was nothing but a mistake, from beginning to end.
    She listened out for the noise of the pupils filling the school.
    Silly-billy Sibylla. Sibylla’s a banger, grill her. Sylla Bylla, kill ’er.
    Maybe they had been right? They had found her out, smelled her otherness when she was just a child. All the time, people had just been following their instincts about her, sensing that she wasn’t meant to join their groups. She hadn’t understood at first and had to learn the hard way. Her stubborn fighting back had gained her a little extra time, which had not been hers by right. She and Heino, and all the rest of the outcasts, were a kind of undergrowth in society. They seemed destined to make the standard citizen feel more satisfied with his existence, by giving him a chance to rank his success relative to their failure.
    Well, there are worse fates than always pitching your demands in life as low as possible, in the name of social balance. Sheep and goats are sorted from the outset, anyway.
    She lay down. The bell rang and the whole building fell silent.
    It would be so easy to give up. Accept that you were a lost soul, fit for nothing. She would never go to the police willingly, never ever, but there were other ways of giving in.
    If she didn’t have the strength to walk as far as Väst Bridge, something could surely be managed right here in the attic.

T hey had let her go home two weeks later. The silence in the large house was as solid as concrete. Gun-Britt had been given notice, presumably because Beatrice couldn’t bear the shame of a servant observing her daughter’s growing belly. As few eyes as possible must see it. Walks were strictly forbidden. After dark, Sibylla was allowed to wander in the garden, but never to stray to the wrong side of the fence.
    Her father spent almost all his time at home in his study. Now and then she heard him walk across the tiled floor at the bottom of the stairs.
    She ate in her room, her own choice after the first evening meal back home. It had been painful, her parents silent to the point of muteness but somehow still speaking volumes. How could she blame them? Her whole being was in contradiction to their expectations of a daughter. They had looked forward to showing off a model young person, proudly confirming the success and dignity of the Forsenström family. Instead all she gave them was the shame of a total failure, which must be hidden away from the prying, malicious eyes of the local citizenry.
    No problem, she really preferred eating on her own.
    She did not think often about Mick. He was a dream she had dreamt. He was somebody she met long ago. Someone who didn’t exist any more.
    Nothing that had been before stayed the same. Everything was different now.
    She had been mentally ill.
    She had become a person who had been sick in the head – gone mad, weird. Nothing could change that. What she had experienced she would never be able to share with anyone. No one would understand what it had been like. No one would want to try.

    At the same time, a sense of having been unjustly treated was lurking inside her. It grew stronger day by day until it almost consumed her. It was unfair that she should be here, because she didn’t want to stay. If she could, she would have left long ago.
    She was carrying a load of guilt on her shoulders, made heavier each day as their disappointed eyes followed her around the house. All she