Molly felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Disappointment filled her body, and she stomped her foot so hard on the stable floor that a cloud of dust rose up.
‘You’re a sodding idiot!’
‘Watch your language, please.’ Marta’s voice was ice cold, and Molly shrank back. But her anger was so great that she couldn’t stop herself.
‘But I want to go! I’m going to talk to Jonas about it too.’
‘I know you want to go,’ said her mother, crossing her arms. ‘But in the circumstances, it’s not a good idea. And your father will agree with me.’
‘What do you mean, “in the circumstances”? It’s not my fault that such awful things happened to Victoria. Why should I have to suffer?’
Tears were now running down Molly’s face, and she wiped them off on the sleeve of her jacket. She peered up at Marta from under her fringe to see if her tears would have any effect, though it seemed unlikely. Her mother merely stared at her with that guarded expression of hers, which Molly hated. Sometimes she wished that Marta would get furious instead, that she would scream and swear and show some emotion. But she never lost her composure. She never gave any sign of yielding.
Molly’s tears poured out, her nose was running, and her jacket sleeve was now soaked.
‘But it’s the first competition of the season! I don’t understand why I can’t participate, just because of what happened to Victoria. I’m not the one who killed her!’
Slap! Marta’s hand struck her cheek before she even saw it coming. Molly touched her face in disbelief. It was the first time her mother had hit her. The first time anyone had ever hit her. Her tears stopped abruptly as she stared at Marta, who was again utterly calm. She stood there motionless, her arms crossed over the green quilted riding vest she wore.
‘That’s enough now,’ she said. ‘You can stop begging like some spoiled brat and behave decently.’ Marta’s words cut just as deep as the slap. Molly had never been called a spoiled brat. Well, the other girls in the stable might have called her that behind her back, but that was only because they were jealous.
Still holding her hand to her cheek, Molly kept on staring at Marta. Then she turned on her heel and ran out of the stable. The other girls began whispering to each other when they saw her crying as she ran across the yard, but she didn’t care. They probably thought she was crying about Victoria, like everyone else had been doing since yesterday.
Molly ran for home, going around back to the door to her father’s veterinary clinic, but it was locked. There were no lights on, and Jonas wasn’t there. Molly wondered where he could be as she stood in the snow for a moment, stomping her feet to stay warm. Then she took off running again.
She tore open the door to her grandparents’ house.
‘Grandma!’
‘Good Lord, where’s the fire?’ Helga came out to the front hall, drying her hands on a dish towel.
‘Is Jonas here? I need to talk to him.’
‘Calm down. You’re crying so hard I can barely understand you. Is this about the girl that Marta found yesterday?’
Molly shook her head. Helga led her into the kitchen and got her to sit down at the table.
‘I … I …’ Molly stammered, but then she had to stop and take several deep breaths. Just being in her grandmother’s kitchen helped her to calm down. In this house, time stood still. Nothing ever changed in here while outside the world continued to rush onward.
‘I need to talk to Jonas. Marta says I can’t take part in the competition on the weekend.’ She hiccupped and then fell silent so her grandmother had time to take in how unfair the situation was.
Helga sat down. ‘Well, Marta likes to make the decisions. You’ll have to wait and see what your father says. Is it an important competition?’
‘Yes, it is. But Marta says it wouldn’t be appropriate to compete after what happened to Victoria. And of course I think it’s sad, but I don’t see why that’s any reason for me to miss the competition. That cow Linda Bergvall is bound to win if I’m not there, and then she’ll be so annoying, even though she knows I could have beat her. I’ll die if I’m not allowed to go!’ With a dramatic expression, she leaned over the kitchen table, rested her face on her arms, and began to sob.
Helga patted her gently on the shoulder. ‘Now, now, it’s not the end of the world, and your parents are the ones who make the decisions. They’d do anything for you, but if they think you shouldn’t compete … well, then there’s not much to be done about it.’
‘But don’t you think Jonas would understand?’ said Molly, giving Helga a pleading look.
‘I’ve known your father since he was this big,’ said Helga, holding her thumb and index finger only a centimetre apart. ‘And I’ve known your mother for a long time too. Believe me when I say that it’s impossible to make them change their minds, once they’ve made a decision. So if I were you, I’d stop complaining and look forward to the next competition instead.’
Molly dried her face on the paper napkin that Helga handed her.
She blew her nose and then got up to toss the napkin in the bin. The worst thing was that her grandmother was right. It was hopeless to try and talk to her parents once they’d decided. But she was still planning to try. Maybe Jonas would take her side, in spite of everything.
It had taken Patrik a whole hour to thaw out, and it was going to take Mellberg even longer. It had been sheer madness to go out in the woods when the temperature was minus seventeen degrees Celsius and he was wearing thin shoes and only a windproof jacket instead of a proper winter coat. Mellberg’s lips were blue as he stood in a corner of the conference room.
‘How’s it going, Bertil? Are you still cold?’ asked Patrik.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Mellberg, slapping his arms against his body. ‘I could use a stiff whisky. That might warm me up from the inside.’
Patrik shuddered at the thought of an intoxicated Bertil Mellberg at the press conference. Although that might actually be an improvement over the sober version.
‘So what approach do you think we should take?’ Patrik asked.
‘I thought I’d take charge, and you can back me up. The reporters like to see a strong leader, someone they can turn to in situations like this.’ Mellberg tried to sound as authoritative as he could with his teeth chattering.
‘Of course,’ said Patrik, sighing to himself so heavily that he thought Mellberg might hear. Always the same story. Getting Mellberg to do anything useful in an investigation was about as easy as trying to catch flies with a pair of chopsticks. But the minute he had the chance to step into the spotlight, or claim credit for work done by the rest of the team, no one could keep Bertil away.
‘How about letting in the hyenas?’ said Mellberg, turning to Annika, who got up and went over to the door. She had made all the arrangements while they were out in the woods. She’d given Mellberg a quick rundown of the most important points and also printed out key words on a piece of paper for him. Now they could only cross their fingers and hope that he didn’t embarrass them any more than necessary.
The journalists shambled into the room, and Patrik greeted several that he knew – some from the local media and some who worked at the national level, reporters that he’d run into on various occasions. As usual there were also a few new faces. The newspapers seemed to have a high turnover rate where journalists were concerned.
They all sat down, exchanging a few murmured remarks, while the photographers good-naturedly jostled for the best positions. Patrik hoped that Mellberg’s lips wouldn’t look quite so blue in the photos; at the moment he looked as though he belonged in the morgue.