The Lost Village(18)

“As camp chef?” I ask, and he gives a cheeky grin.

“Chef, eye candy, mother’s dream,” he says. “Whatever you need.”



* * *



As Max gets a flickering little fire going and toasts us some bread, the others emerge one by one. Emmy’s in a new T-shirt that’s almost as shabby as yesterday’s, under the same jacket Robert was wearing. I assume they’re a couple.

I’m expecting a nod, some sort of lighthearted reference to last night to clear the air, but nothing comes. Emmy hardly even looks at me. I feel a twinge of disappointment, but then again this is nothing new. She was always pretty sluggish after those wild, late-night dorm parties. She would lie in late, while I would be there cleaning, doing the laundry, and making huge breakfasts that she would hardly touch, just to keep my restlessness at bay.

But at the time it never bothered me. We were in tune. In those days even our breathing seemed to find a shared rhythm.

When the memories come, I want to resist them. I’ve been trying my best to keep Emmy out of my thoughts for seven years now, and I’ve gotten pretty good at it, but it’s harder to do that with her actually here.

Once we’ve eaten, and drank our thick, black instant coffee served in cheap white polystyrene cups, I clear my throat to get everyone’s attention. By now the sun has crept up into the sky, and dawn has turned into morning. I do my best to calm my nerves, and sit up a little straighter on my camping mat.

“Are we all nice and full?” I ask, then immediately regret it; I sound like a perky kindergarten teacher. Emmy’s raised eyebrow and the others’ puzzled looks don’t help, but Max nods and smiles, at least.

“I was thinking we could run through the schedule. Then we can assign tasks and get going. Sound OK?”

Emmy shrugs.

“Fine,” she says.

“OK,” I say, looking down at my papers.

The schedule I’ve drawn up looks so amateurish now that I see it again. Times New Roman, size 12, cheap A4 paper. I should probably have had it laminated.

I’ll have to just try and own it.

“Today and tomorrow are all about trying to get a feel for this place. In your packs you’ll find a list of eight key locations: the school, the ironworks, the church, the train station, Elsa and Aina’s house, Birgitta’s house, the parsonage, and the lake. These are the locations that we feel are the most relevant to the investigation, and the most important to scout. We’ll take the lake on the final day, in case we want to give it a bit more time. As far as we know, no one has explored it before, so we’ve brought some diving equipment with us.”

Robert sticks up his hand, and I lose my train of thought.

“Uh, yes?”

He puts his hand down and scratches his neck self-consciously. It makes me forgive him the interruption. Despite being Emmy’s friend—boyfriend, fuck-buddy, partner, whatever—he comes across as a pretty nice guy; shy and polite, in an almost old-school way.

“How have you chosen which locations are relevant?” he asks.

I throw a quick glance at Tone, who looks unlikely to jump in and help me out any time soon.

“These are the places where we think we might be able to find something—any new information, leads as to what might have happened,” I say.

Emmy raises her eyebrows.

“Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask you about that,” she says. “In the pitch you say we’re going to investigate what really happened to the people of Silvertj?rn, but what are the chances of us actually finding anything? It feels pretty risky to promise something like that. I mean, the police investigated the disappearance, right? Seems unlikely we’ll just stumble over evidence they didn’t find. This isn’t Midsomer Murders—it’s not like we’re about to suddenly discover Pastor Mattias’s secret diary or something.”

I can feel my cheeks burning, but it’s because she’s right—both about the situation, and about the secret hopes I’ve entertained, which she’s now describing in her deliberate, mocking tone. Of course I’m hoping for a breakthrough, to find something no one knew about, to crack the Silvertj?rn mystery. And of course I know that it’s unlikely to the point of impossible. But it doesn’t mean a girl can’t dream.

“We aren’t promising anything,” I snap. “And the police investigation mainly focused on the forests. It’s quite possible that they missed something.”

Emmy says nothing, just looks me in the eye without blinking.

“In any case, the places we’ve selected are also the most relevant thematically,” I round off, trying to sound like I haven’t just lost my temper. “I think we should focus on the school, the ironworks, and the train station today. You should all have copies of the maps from the mining company report in your packs. I’ve marked the locations on each map. There are a couple we aren’t completely sure about—the parsonage and my great-grandmother’s house are educated guesses, based on information from the letters and my grandmother’s descriptions, so we’ll do them last.”

I’ve barely finished my sentence when Emmy jumps in again. Her pack is lying open in her lap, and she speaks without looking at me. Her eyes are on the maps, and there’s a frown on her face.

“Why isn’t the mine on the list?” she asks. “Or, if it is, it isn’t marked on the maps. We should try to get some shots in there. It should be pretty atmospheric, especially if we want to give some context as to how the community changed after it shut.”