Buried Angels

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Stockholm 1925 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Stockholm 1925 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Långbro Hospital 1925 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fjällbacka 1929 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fjällbacka 1931 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Lovö Cemetery 1933 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

St Jörgen Hospital 1936 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Fjällbacka 1939 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

The Karinhall Estate 1949 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Fjällbacka 1951 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Fjällbacka 1961 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Fjällbacka 1970 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Valö 1972 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Valö 1973 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Valö 1974 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Valö, Easter Eve 1974 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Valö, Easter Eve 1974 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Stockholm 1991 (#litres_trial_promo)

Afterword (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Camilla Lackberg (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#ulink_a2fc7e7f-7a8f-55ef-8688-663ffc5ad3b8)

They had decided to renovate their way out of the grief. Neither of them was sure it was a good plan, but it was the only one they had. The alternative was to lie down and slowly pine away.

Ebba ran the scraper over the outside wall of the house. The paint was coming away easily. It had already started to flake off in big chunks, so all she had to do was help it along. The July sun was so hot that her fringe was sticking to her forehead, which was damp with sweat, and her arm ached because it was the third day in a row she’d carried out this same monotonous, up-and-down motion. But she welcomed the physical pain. The worse it got, the more it muted the ache in her heart, at least for a while.

She turned around and looked at Tobias, who was working on the lawn in front of the house, sawing boards. He seemed to sense that she was watching him, because he glanced up and raised a hand in greeting, as if she were an acquaintance he was meeting on the street. Ebba felt her own hand respond with the same awkward gesture.

More than six months had passed since their life had been shattered, but they still didn’t know how to react to each other. Every night they would lie in the double bed with their backs turned, terrified that some involuntary touch might release something that they wouldn’t know how to handle. It was as if the grief filled them to the point there was no room for any other feelings. No love, no warmth, no empathy.

Guilt, heavy and unexpressed, separated them. Things would have been easier if they could have defined it and worked out where it belonged. But it kept shifting back and forth, changing strength and shape, constantly attacking from new directions.

Ebba turned back to the house and continued scraping at the wall. Under her hands the white paint came off in big pieces, revealing the wooden boards underneath. She stroked the wood with her free hand. This house seemed to have a soul in a way that she’d never noticed anywhere else. The small terraced cottage in Göteborg had been almost new when she and Tobias had bought it together. Back then she had loved the fact that the whole place had shone so brightly, that it was so untouched. Now all of that newness was a thing of the past, and this old house with all its flaws was better suited to her present state. She thought again about the leaky roof, the boiler that regularly needed a good kick to get it started, and the draughty windows that made it impossible to keep a lighted candle on the windowsill. Rain and wind also swept through her soul, mercilessly blowing out the candles that she tried to light.

Maybe her spirit would be able to heal here on Valö. She had no memories from this place, and yet it was as if they knew each other, she and this island. It was just opposite Fjällbacka. If she went down to the dock, she could see the small coastal town spread out across the water. At the base of the steep granite cliff the little white buildings and red boathouses were lined up like a string of beads. The sight was so beautiful that it almost hurt.

Sweat was running down her forehead, stinging her eyes. She wiped her face on her T-shirt and squinted up at the sun. Seagulls were circling overhead. The birds called and shrieked to each other, their cries mixing with the sound of motorboats moving through the strait. She closed her eyes and let the sounds carry her away. Away from herself, away from …

‘How about taking a break to go swimming?’