The Lost Village(31)

I look at Tone. Her mouth is a taut line, the dark circles under her eyes like the sweep of a dirty fingerprint.

“You know, maybe we could all do with some sleep?” I say. “It’s been a long day.”

Tone says nothing.

“What do you think?” I ask her, and she looks up, confused, as though hearing me for the first time.

“Sleep?” she repeats. “Yeah. That might be an idea.”

I get up, roll up my camping mat and hold my hand out to Tone. It’s not enough: I have to put my arm around her waist and hoist her up. It’s harder than I had expected, and she leans into me heavily.

“Good night, Max,” I say over my shoulder, to his lone silhouette by the fire. “Sleep well.”

I see him watch us as we go, then put another log on the fire.

By the time I’ve helped Tone into the tent and zipped up the door behind us I can feel some sweat under my arms, but in the dim light of our electric lantern it’s clear that Tone is dripping with it. My stomach turns when I see how bloodless her face is.

I brush my teeth while she silently pulls off her jeans and puts on long johns to keep warm through the night, every single movement sending a visible jolt of pain through her leg.

I stick my head out of the tent to spit out my toothpaste, and give a start when I find Max standing at the door.

“Sorry!” he says softly, a tentative smile on his lips. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, wiping my mouth. “What is it?”

“Could I borrow some toothpaste?” he asks. “I can’t find mine.”

I look over my shoulder into the tent and fumble around for my and Tone’s huge toiletry bag, which we’ve crammed full with everything from Band-Aids to toothpaste and shampoo.

“Knock yourself out,” I say, handing it to him. “Wait, does that mean you haven’t brushed your teeth since we got here?”

Max grins mischievously while rummaging around for the toothpaste. When he finds it, he squeezes half of the tube into his mouth, says a thick “thanks”, and hands the bag back to me.

I laugh.

“Go to bed, you sicko,” I say, then blow him a kiss before pulling my head back into the tent. I put on my thick socks and look up at Tone.

“Look…” I start.

“What is it?”

“Let’s get you to a hospital.”

I hate myself for saying it, but I would have hated myself even more if I didn’t.

“Honestly, Tone, I know you’re tough, but you’re in so much pain. What if it’s broken? Or if it heals badly?”

Tone purses her lips and shakes her head.

“It isn’t,” she hisses. “It’s just a bad sprain.”

“Are you sure?” I ask doubtfully. “It doesn’t look so good.”

“I can tell,” she says sharply. “Look, I don’t want to go to the hospital, and I don’t need to, either.”

She pokes around in the toiletry bag without meeting my eyes.

“I don’t want you to stay here for my sake,” I say. “My film isn’t more important than your health.”

Now she looks me straight in the eye.

“This isn’t your film, Alice. You aren’t the only one who’s invested a lot into this project. You aren’t the only one who cares about it.”

It stings enough to silence me.

If a sprained ankle is the worst thing to happen on this trip, then I guess maybe it won’t be so bad, after all.





THEN



Elsa trundles drowsily down the stairs and stops in the doorway to the kitchen. There’s a twinge in her chest, a sinking feeling. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, and it takes her a few seconds to put her finger on it.

Hopelessness.

On the table in front of him stands a half-empty bottle of schnapps.

Elsa has no idea where it could have come from: she refuses to have that stuff in her house, and he knows it. She hates the smell. The times he’s stumbled home giddy and reeking from the Petterssons’, she’s made him sleep on the sofa in the dining room. That must be why he didn’t even try to come up to the bedroom.

At least she hopes that’s the reason.

When he wakes up he’ll be hurting. His back has troubled him ever since an accident he had in his early thirties, but so long as Elsa massages him every evening it still works just fine.

Were it not for the thinning blond hair at the top of his head, he could be a boy lying slumped there on that table. He’s still tall and lanky, with only the small pouch on his belly to suggest he’s started to pile on the pounds. That has come on in the last few months. He eats more now, she’s noticed. He doesn’t have much else to do.

Elsa throws a quick glance behind her up at the staircase. Aina isn’t awake yet—and a good thing, too. For once she’s relieved her daughter has a tendency to sleep away her mornings. Though, it should be said, she has been getting up early of late—even on a Sunday, when she doesn’t need to be in school. She gets herself dressed up for church. Elsa suspects she’s taken a fancy to the new pastor. Which isn’t so peculiar, really: he’s a handsome man, and in Silvertj?rn there’s a dearth of men for a young girl to look at.