The Mirror Man Page 2

  Jenny blinks and starts walking just as a huge figure appears around the edge of the trailer and spots her. She stops dead and takes an unsteady step back. She feels like she is going to throw up again.

  She ducks down beneath the muddy connection between the trailer and the lorry and crawls underneath, watching the figure hurry in the other direction.

  Her mind is racing – she needs to find somewhere to hide.

  Jenny gets up on shaking legs and realises she won’t be able to run away from the driver into the woods.

  She no longer knows where he is. Her pulse is throbbing in her ears.

  She needs to make her way back to the main road and flag down a car.

  The ground sways and lurches, the trees swirling around her, and the yellow meadow grass at the roadside pitches in the strong wind.

  The driver has disappeared. She thinks he might have gone around the lorry, or maybe he is hiding behind the line of huge tyres.

  Her stomach cramps again.

  She glances in every direction, clinging on to the tailgate, blinking hard and trying to work out where the entrance to the main road is.

  She hears a shuffling sound. She needs to run, to hide.

  As she moves back along the trailer, she feels like her legs are about to give out. She spots a couple of rubbish bins, an information board and a footpath leading into the woods.

  There is a rumbling engine somewhere nearby.

  She looks down at the pavement, tries to compose herself, and considers calling for help as she sees a shadowy movement to one side of her leg.

  A large hand grips her ankle, pulling her down. She lands on her hip, and something in her neck cracks as her shoulder hits the ground. The driver is beneath the trailer, dragging her towards him. She tries to cling on to a tyre, rolling onto her back and kicking out with her free leg. She hits the suspension and grazes her ankle, but manages to get away and crawl back out.

  Jenny struggles to her feet, but the entire landscape swings to one side. She swallows the bile in her throat, hears the thud of footsteps, and assumes the driver must be running around the trailer.

  She staggers forward, ducking beneath the hose from the diesel pump, moving as fast as she can towards the edge of the woods. As she glances back over her shoulder, she runs straight into another person.

  ‘Hello, what’s going on here?’

  The voice belongs to a policeman, urinating into the long grass. She grabs his jacket, about to fall and drag him down with her.

  ‘Help me . . .’

  She lets go of him and staggers to one side. ‘Take a step back,’ he says.

  She swallows, trying to grab hold of his jacket again. He shoves her away and she falls into the grass, dropping to her knees and breaking her fall with both hands.

  ‘Please,’ she breathes before throwing up.

  The ground sways, and she slumps to her side, looking up at the officer’s motorcycle through the grass. She can see movement reflected in the shiny exhaust pipe.

  It’s the lorry driver, striding towards them. She turns her head and sees his filthy jeans and leather jacket, her vision still blurred as though she’s looking through scratched glass.

  ‘Help me,’ she repeats, struggling to hold back the cramps.

  She tries to get up and vomits again, hears them talking as she spits into the grass. A voice says, ‘She’s my daughter,’ explaining that it isn’t the first time she has run away and gone on a drinking spree.

  Her stomach turns. She coughs and tries to speak, but vomits again.

  ‘What can you do, you know? Threaten to confiscate her phone?’

  ‘Sounds familiar,’ the police officer laughs.

  ‘There, there, honey,’ says the driver, patting her on the back. ‘Get it all out, you’ll feel better soon.’

  ‘How old is she?’ the officer asks.

  ‘Seventeen – in a year, she’ll be able to make her own decisions . . . but if she listened to me, she’d stick with school so she doesn’t end up driving a lorry.’

  ‘Please,’ Jenny whispers, wiping the slimy mucus from her mouth.

  ‘You can’t put her in a drunk cell for the night, can you?’ the driver asks.

  ‘Not if she’s seventeen,’ the police officer replies before answering an emergency call on his radio.

  ‘Don’t go,’ Jenny coughs.

  The police officer walks calmly back to his bike as he finishes the call. A crow caws somewhere nearby.

  The long grass bends and quivers in the wind, and Jenny watches as the police officer pulls on his helmet and gloves. She knows she needs to get up and presses her hands to the ground. The dizziness comes close to knocking her sideways again, but she fights it and manages to get onto her knees.

  The police officer climbs onto his motorcycle and starts the engine. She tries calling to him, but he doesn’t hear her.

  The crow flaps up into the air as he puts the bike into gear and drives away.

  Jenny slumps back into the grass. She hears the sound of gravel crunching beneath his tyres as he rides off into the distance.

  4

  Pamela enjoys the loose ice crystals that form when the snow starts to melt on the slopes. They make the skis’ grip almost frighteningly sharp.

  She and her daughter Alice have been using sunscreen, but they still both have a bit of colour on their cheeks. Martin, on the other hand, burned his nose and the skin beneath his eyes.

  They ate lunch outside earlier, and it was so warm in the sun that both Pamela and Alice took off their coats and sat in their T-shirts.

  All three have aching legs, so they have decided to take a break from the slopes tomorrow. Alice and Martin are planning to go fishing for trout, while Pamela pays a visit to the hotel spa.

  When Pamela was nineteen, she and her friend Dennis travelled to Australia together. She met a man named Greg in a bar one night, and slept with him in his bungalow. When she got back to Sweden, she realised she was pregnant.

  Pamela sent a letter to the bar in Port Douglas, addressed to Greg with eyes as blue as the ocean, and a month later he replied, explaining that he was already in a relationship. He was, however, willing to pay for an abortion.

  It was a difficult birth, ending in an emergency Caesarean. She and the girl both survived, and when the doctors advised Pamela not to have any more children, she decided to get an IUD. Dennis was there for her during her pregnancy and delivery, supporting her and encouraging her to fulfil her dream of studying architecture.

  After five years of training, Pamela found a job with a small firm in Stockholm almost right away. She met Martin while she was working on the plans for a villa in Lidingö.

  Martin was the developer’s building contractor. He looked like a rock star, with intense eyes and long hair.

  They kissed for the first time at a party at Dennis’s place. When Alice was six, they moved in together and got married two years later. Alice is now sixteen and in her first year of high school.

  It’s eight in the evening, and the sky is dark. They have ordered room service, and Pamela is hurrying to straighten up all of their discarded clothes and dirty socks before it arrives.

  She can hear Martin singing ‘Riders on the Storm’ in the shower.

  The plan is to lock their door once Alice falls asleep, open a bottle of champagne and have sex.

  Pamela gathers up her daughter’s clothes and takes them to her room.

  She finds Alice sitting on her bed in her underwear, phone in one hand. The girl looks just like Pamela did at that age, with the same eyes, the same chestnut-red hair and the same tight curls.

  ‘The lorry’s number plates were stolen,’ Alice says, glancing up from the screen.

  Two weeks ago, the media reported that a girl around Alice’s age had been assaulted and abducted in Katrineholm.

  Her name is Jenny Lind, like the legendary opera singer.

  It feels like all of Sweden has joined the search for her and the lorry with Polish number plates.

  The police have appealed for help, and tips have been flooding in from the general public, but they still haven’t found a single trace of the girl.

  Pamela returns to the living room, straightening the cushions and picking up the remote control from the floor.

  The darkness outside seems to be pressing up against the windows, and she jumps when she hears a knock at the door.

  She is just about to answer when Martin emerges from the bathroom, singing and smiling. He is completely naked, with a hand towel wrapped around his damp hair.

  She shoos him back into the bathroom and can still hear him singing as she opens the door to the woman with the serving trolley.

  Pamela checks her phone as the woman sets the table in the living room, thinking that she must be wondering about the singing in the bathroom.

  ‘He’s fine, I promise,’ she jokes.

  But the woman doesn’t smile, she simply hands Pamela the bill on a silver plate and asks her to write the total sum and sign before she leaves.

  Pamela tells Martin it’s safe to come out now, then goes to fetch Alice. They sit down on the enormous bed with their plates and glasses, and watch a recent horror film as they eat.

  An hour later, both Pamela and Martin are asleep.

  When the film ends, Alice switches off the TV, lifts Pamela’s glasses from her nose and cleans up the plates and glasses. She then turns out the lights, brushes her teeth and heads to her own room.

  *

  Before long, the little town in the valley falls silent. At around three in the morning, the Northern Lights appear in the sky, shining like silvery tree branches.

  Pamela is torn from her sleep by the sound of a young boy crying in the darkness, but his soft sobs fade before she has time to work out where she is.

  She lies perfectly still, thinking about Martin’s nightmares.

  The sound came from the window by the bed.

  When they first started dating, he often had nightmares about dead boys. Pamela found it touching that a grown man was willing to admit he was afraid of ghosts.

  She remembers one night in particular. He woke up screaming. They sat in the kitchen, drinking chamomile tea, and her hair stood on end as he described one of the ghosts in detail.

  The boy’s face was grey, and he had slicked his hair back with rancid blood. His nose was broken, and one of his eyes was hanging from its socket.

  She hears another sob.

  Now wide awake, Pamela slowly turns her head.

  The radiator beneath the window hisses softly, the warm air making the curtain bulge out as though a child were hiding behind it, pressing their face to the fabric.

  She wants to wake Martin, but doesn’t dare speak.

  The crying starts again on the floor right next to the bed.

  Her heart starts beating harder, and she reaches out for Martin in the darkness, but no one is there; the sheets on his side of the bed are cool.

  Pamela pulls her knees up to her chest, curling up, suddenly convinced that the sobbing is moving around to her side of the bed before it stops abruptly.

  She cautiously reaches for the lamp on the bedside table. The room is so dark that she can’t even see her own hand.

  The lamp feels like it’s further away than it was when she went to bed.

  Pamela listens tensely for the slightest sound, groping for the switch. She finds the base of the lamp and follows the cable upwards.

  As her fingers reach the switch and turn on the light, she hears the sobbing again, over by the window.

  Pamela squints in the sudden glare and puts on her glasses. She climbs out of bed and finds Martin on the floor in his pyjama bottoms.

  He seems to be dreaming about something upsetting. His cheeks are streaked with tears. She sinks to her knees beside him and places a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Honey,’ she says quietly. ‘Honey, you’ve . . .’

  Martin cries out, staring at her with wide eyes.

  He blinks in confusion, scanning the hotel room and then turning back to her. His lips move, but he doesn’t utter a word.

  ‘You fell out of bed,’ she says.

  Martin shuffles up against the wall, wipes his mouth and stares blankly ahead.

  ‘What were you dreaming about?’ she asks.

  ‘Don’t know,’ he whispers.

  ‘A nightmare?’

  ‘I don’t know, my heart is beating so damn fast,’ he says, climbing back up into bed.

  Pamela lies down on her side and takes his hand.

  ‘You shouldn’t watch horror films,’ she says.

  ‘No.’ He smiles, meeting her eye.

  ‘But you know it’s all fake, don’t you?’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It’s not real blood; it’s just ketchup,’ she jokes, pinching his cheek.

  She turns out the light and pulls him close. They make love as quietly as they can, falling asleep with their limbs still entwined.

  5

  After breakfast the next morning, Pamela lies in bed reading the news on her iPad while Martin and Alice get ready.

  The sun has risen, and the icicles outside are glowing, water already dripping from their tips.

  Martin loves ice fishing and could talk for hours about lying on his stomach, blocking out the light as he peers down into the hole, watching the enormous trout approach from below.

  The hotel concierge recommended driving out to Kallsjön, part of the Indalsälven River basin. There is plenty to catch, and it’s easily accessible by car, but quiet enough that you can still fish in peace.

  Alice puts down her heavy backpack by the door, hangs a pair of ice prods around her neck and laces up her boots.

  ‘I’m starting to regret this,’ she says as she straightens up. ‘A massage and a facial sound pretty good right now.’

  ‘I’m going to enjoy every second of it,’ Pamela says from bed, smiling. ‘I’m going to—’

  ‘Stop!’ Alice interrupts her.

  But Pamela continues. ‘Swim, use the sauna, get a manicure . . .’

  ‘Please, I don’t want to know.’

  Pamela pulls on her bathrobe and moves over to her daughter, giving her a hug. She kisses Martin and wishes them shitty fishing – something she has learned to say instead of good luck – an old fisherman’s tradition.

  ‘Don’t stay out there too long, and be careful,’ she says.

  ‘Enjoy your alone time,’ Martin replies smiling.

  Alice’s skin looks almost luminous, her reddish curls peeping out from beneath her hat.

  ‘Do your jacket all the way up,’ Pamela tells her.

  She pats her daughter on the cheek, her hand lingering though she can sense the girl’s impatience.

  The two moles beneath Alice’s left eye have always made Pamela think of tears.

  ‘What?’ Alice grins.

  ‘Have fun with Dad.’

  They head off, and Pamela stands in the doorway, watching them disappear down the corridor.

  She closes the door and returns to the bedroom, freezing when she hears a sudden scraping sound.

  A heap of wet snow slides from the roof and rushes past the window in the blink of an eye, crashing down to the ground.

  Pamela puts on her bikini, a bathrobe and a pair of slippers, and then grabs her tote bag with her room key, phone and a book, and leaves the suite.

  *

  Everyone else seems to be out on the slopes, so Pamela has the spa all to herself. The water in the large pool is as flat as a mirror, reflecting the snow and the trees outside.

  She dumps her tote bag on a table between two lounge chairs, hangs up her bathrobe, and goes over to the bench of clean towels.

  She lowers herself into the warm water and starts swimming slowly. After ten lengths, she pauses by the panoramic windows at the far end.

  She wishes that Martin and Alice were here with her.

  This is magical, she thinks, looking out at the mountains and the forest in the sunlight.

  She swims another ten lengths, then climbs out of the pool to sit down and read.

  A young man comes over and asks if she would like anything to drink, and though it is still morning, she orders a glass of champagne.

  Heavy snow tumbles to the ground from a large tree outside. The branches quiver while small white flakes dance in the sunlight.

  She reads another few chapters of her book and finishes her champagne. Then she takes off her glasses and heads into the sauna, where she thinks about Martin’s recurring nightmares.

  His parents and two brothers died in a car accident when he was just a boy. Martin was thrown through the windscreen and onto the tarmac, and though his back was badly grazed, he survived.

  When she and Martin first met, her best friend Dennis was working as a psychologist in a youth clinic while he pursued a specialisation in grief counselling. He helped Martin open up about his loss and process the feelings of guilt he’d been dragging around like a ball and chain ever since the accident.

  Pamela stays in the sauna until she is drenched in sweat, then takes a shower, puts on a dry bikini, and heads to the massage room. She’s welcomed by a woman with scarred cheeks and sad eyes.

  She takes off her top and lies face down on the table. The woman spreads a towel over her hips.

  Her hands are rough, and the warm oils smell like green leaves and wood. Pamela closes her eyes as her thoughts start to drift away.

  She pictures Martin and Alice disappearing down the quiet corridor without glancing back.

  The woman’s fingertips follow her spine down to the edge of the towel. She massages her upper glutes, and spreads her thighs apart.

  When she’s finished her massage, Pamela plans on getting a facial and then going back to the pool and ordering a glass of wine and a prawn sandwich.

  The woman pours more warm oil onto her body, her hands moving up from her waist, across her ribs to her armpits.

  A shiver passes through Pamela, despite how warm the room is. Maybe it’s just her muscles loosening up.

  Her mind turns to Martin and Alice again, but this time she is looking at them from above.

  She sees Kallsjön tucked between the mountains, the ice as grey as steel. Martin and Alice are just two tiny black dots.