Rites of Spring by Anders Motte (hardest books to read txt) 📕

completely different person from the one you’re pretending to be?’

He laughs, much to her surprise.

‘Of course. I think that’s one of my most common nightmares. That and standing naked in the middle of the village square.’

In spite of the situation, Thea can’t help smiling.

His tone grows more serious. ‘We all have our secrets, things we absolutely don’t want to come out. Although sometimes you have to wonder . . .’

He pauses.

‘Wonder what?’

‘Whether it would really be so terrible if those secrets were revealed. Then at least we would have to carry them alone. Loneliness is fucking worse than almost anything.’

He falls silent, and they continue their walk.

The f-word surprises her. Hubert doesn’t usually swear. Although he has a point. She’s kept her family a secret for almost three decades – or rather kept herself a secret, constantly worried that they might catch up with her, expose her, turn her back into what she once was.

But she’s no longer a frightened nineteen-year-old, Daddy’s little girl who suddenly realises that the world he’s dragged her into contains nothing but crap and stagnant water. Who flees in the middle of the night with nothing but a battered suitcase, a bank book and a train ticket.

She’s a grown woman who has worked in war zones, been bombed and shot at. Lost everything she cared about.

Hubert is right. What is she so afraid of?

‘Thank you, Hubert,’ she says.

‘For what?’ He gives that wry smile she likes so much.

‘For listening.’

53

‘I’ve made up my mind, Margaux. I’m tired of running away, tired of hiding. It’s high time I did what you would have done. High time to take the bull by the horns.

‘I’d be lying if I said the prospect doesn’t scare me. Think of me – promise!’

It’s just after five in the morning when she coaxes Emee into the car. She’s left a note for David, telling him she’s meeting an old friend from Doctors Without Borders who’s unexpectedly turned up. He probably won’t be too bothered; he’s completely obsessed with the restaurant, Sebastian, Nettan, and planning for the preview dinner.

It’s still dark, and she drives carefully. A couple of times her headlights are reflected in eyes among the trees – deer, or maybe wild boar. She follows the narrow, winding tracks until she reaches the main road and heads north.

Just after eight o’clock she stops, lets Emee out to stretch her legs, and has breakfast at a café. She smokes a cigarette and texts David to check that everything is OK. Judging by his response, he hasn’t seen through her lie.

She tries to clear her head during the rest of the journey, but it’s impossible. All the different strands come together to form a narrative that plays over and over again as the road signs flash by.

Dad and Ronny, Elita, Lasse and Leo.

David, Nettan, Sebastian and Jan-Olof.

Lola Svart and Leo’s mother, Eva-Britt.

Her own mother. Jocke.

The child she lost.

The child Elita was carrying.

And finally, the person who never really leaves her thoughts.

Margaux. Always Margaux.

*

The drive takes just over five hours, as the GPS promised, and it is almost half past ten when she reaches her home village.

The contrast with Tornaby’s neat and tidy appearance is striking. The houses are dotted around in a random fashion; some are so close to the road that the car’s wing mirrors almost scrape against them, while others are much further back. There are FOR SALE signs everywhere; some look pretty old. The coniferous forest is encroaching from all directions, swallowing up the light and spreading its shadow.

She passes her old school. It’s closed down, and seems to be the venue for a flea market on Saturdays and Sundays. The bus shelter opposite has been vandalised.

The ICA mini-market where Ronny used to pinch beer is also gone. All that remains of the village’s shops is a combined petrol station and grocery store. She decides to stop.

PAY FIRST, THEN FILL UP, a cardboard notice above the pump instructs her.

Thea goes inside. A woman in her twenties with long multicoloured nails is standing behind the counter. She’s on the phone.

‘Tell him to go to hell!’ Thea hears her say. ‘He can take his fucking PlayStation and go home to his mummy if it doesn’t suit him. Why should you pay all the bills while he sits at home smoking and wanking while he watches Emmerdale?’

Thea turns away, wanders around the shop until the conversation is over. She picks up an energy drink and a packet of cigarettes.

‘Sorry,’ the young woman mutters as Thea pays. ‘My sister. Her boyfriend is a total fucking loser. Did you want petrol as well?’

Thea nods. The woman is looking closely at her.

‘You’re not from round here, are you?’

‘No.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s just . . .’ The question seems to have embarrassed the assistant. ‘This is such a fucking hole. I can’t wait to get out of here.’

‘I understand.’ Thea takes her purchases. ‘By the way, do you know who Ronny Boman is?’

‘Who the fuck doesn’t?’

‘Does he still live by the old mine?’

She hopes the answer will be no. The woman is looking at her differently now, as if she’s wondering how someone like Thea knows Ronny Boman.

‘He does.’

‘OK, thanks.’

Thea fills up the car, then goes back inside to collect her card. The woman is on the phone again. She barely looks at Thea as she hands over the card, and doesn’t return her goodbye.

*

It starts to rain just before she turns onto the dirt road. She doesn’t really recognise the place, which is hardly surprising. It’s many years since she walked along here for the last time, heading for the bus stop. Heading out of here.

The fir trees have taken over; everything is much gloomier than she remembers. The persistent drizzle doesn’t help.

The road slopes gradually downhill and stops after a kilometre or so at a large gravelled area. To the left, surrounded by a rusty wire fence, are a couple of abandoned industrial units that once belonged to the old mine. To the right several brick buildings