Suddenly her stomach gave a lurch. There was so much anxiety attached to those years in secondary school. The feeling that she didn’t fit in, didn’t belong. The constant searching for something that would admit her to the circle of kids who were considered cool and hip. She had tried. She copied their hair styles and clothes, used the same slang as the girls in her class – the popular ones. Girls like Nathalie. But Erica had never succeeded. She hadn’t belonged at the very bottom either; she wasn’t one of the students who was constantly bullied, the type who knew that they were such outcasts that it wasn’t worth their trying to fit in. No, she had belonged to the invisible masses. Only the teachers had paid any attention to her, giving her encouragement and approval. But that hadn’t been much consolation. Who wanted to be a bookworm? Who wanted to be Erica if they could be Nathalie?
She looked at Nathalie in the class photo. She was sitting in front, with her legs casually crossed. Everyone else had carefully posed for the camera, but Nathalie looked as if she had simply dropped on to the chair and hadn’t bothered to change position. Yet she was clearly the centre of attention. She had long, blond hair that reached to her waist. Straight and shiny, no fringe. Sometimes she had worn her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. Nathalie seemed to do everything without effort. She was the original, and everyone else was a mere copy.
In the photo Matte was standing behind Nathalie. The picture was taken before they started dating, although with hindsight it was obvious that they’d end up together. Because Matte wasn’t looking at the camera like his classmates. Instead, the photographer had caught him as he cast a glance at Nathalie, looking down at her beautiful long hair. Erica remembered thinking that Matte was in love with Nathalie, but back then all the boys were in love with her. There was no reason Matte should have been an exception.
‘How nice he was,’ murmured Erica as she studied the picture. She couldn’t recall having that thought at the time, but that was probably because she’d been so infatuated with Johan. He was in the same grade but in the other class, and she’d harboured an unrequited love for him throughout secondary school. She could see now that Matte was very cute. His blond hair was slightly tousled and shaggy; his serious expression was quite appealing. He was a bit lanky, but that was how all boys were at that age. She had no clear memories of Matte from those years in school. She hadn’t belonged to the same group. He was one of the popular kids, although he never boasted of the fact. Not like some of the other cool boys who were loud and arrogant and so full of themselves and their status in that little world where they were the kings. Matte just seemed to quietly drift along.
Erica put aside the yearbook and picked up the photo album. It was filled with pictures from school trips, various end-of-term celebrations, and a few parties that her parents had allowed her to attend. Nathalie was in a lot of the photos. Always in the very centre of the action, as if the camera lens sought her out. My God, she was pretty, thought Erica, and then found herself hoping rather mean-spiritedly that Nathalie was now overweight, with her hair cut in a plain, old-lady style. There was something about her that stirred both desire and jealousy. All the girls wanted to be like her; second best was to be included in her circle of friends. Erica had been neither. Nor was she in any of the photos. She was the one holding the camera, after all, but nobody had ever taken it from her and said that she ought to be in the picture. She was invisible, hiding behind the lens as she greedily took snapshots of all those scenes that she longed to be part of.
It annoyed Erica that she was still overwhelmed by bitterness. She couldn’t understand why her memories of that period had the power to diminish her and make her feel like the girl she once was instead of the woman she had become. She was a successful author, happily married, with three amazing children, a beautiful home, and great friends. Yet old jealousies rose to the fore, and she felt again the longing to fit in, accompanied by the terrible pain of knowing that she never would, that she would never be good enough, no matter how hard she tried.
The twins began whimpering as they lay on the blanket. Relieved to be forced back to the present, Erica got up and went over to her sons, leaving the yearbook and photo album on the table. Patrik would no doubt want to have a look at them too.
‘Where should we begin?’ Paula was struggling with motion sickness. She had started feeling ill by the time they reached Uddevalla, and it was only getting worse.
‘Do you want to stop for a while?’ Patrik cast a glance at her face, which had taken on a disturbing greenish hue.
‘No, we’re almost there anyway,’ she said, swallowing hard.
‘I was thinking we should start at the Sahlgrenska Hospital,’ said Patrik, negotiating Göteborg’s dense traffic with a determined expression on his face. ‘We’ve been given permission to look at Mats’s medical records, and I’ve phoned the doctor who was in charge of his care, telling him that we’re on our way.’
‘Good,’ said Paula, fighting off the nausea.
Ten minutes later they turned into the car park at the hospital, and she jumped out of the vehicle the minute it stopped. She leaned against the door, taking in deep breaths until the nausea eased. A vague sense of discomfort remained, however, and she knew it would stay with her until she got some food in her stomach.
‘Are you ready? Or do you need a few more minutes?’ asked Patrik. But she could see that he was so impatient to get going that he was shifting from one foot to the other.
‘I’m okay now. Let’s go. Do you know the way?’ She motioned with her head towards the vast hospital complex.
‘I think so,’ he said and started for the main entrance.
After taking a couple of wrong turns, they were finally able to knock on the door of Nils-Erik Lund’s office. He was the doctor who had been responsible for Mats’s care during the weeks he’d spent in hospital.
‘Come in,’ said a voice, and they stepped inside.
The doctor stood up and came around his desk to shake hands.
‘You’re from the police, I assume?’
‘Yes. We spoke on the phone earlier. I’m Patrik Hedström, and this is my colleague Paula Morales.’
They exchanged the usual pleasantries before they all sat down.
‘I’ve pulled out the information that I think you need,’ said Dr Lund, shoving a file across his desk.
‘Thanks. Could you tell us what you remember of Mats Sverin?’
‘I have thousands of patients every year, so it’s impossible to remember them all. But after reviewing his records, I’ve managed to recall a few things.’ He tugged at his shaggy white beard. ‘The patient came to us with extensive injuries. He had been severely beaten, probably by more than one individual. You’ll have to ask the police for more details.’
‘We’ll do that,’ said Patrik. ‘But feel free to tell us your own thoughts. Any information you can provide may prove valuable.’
‘Very well,’ said Dr Lund. ‘I won’t bother you with the medical terminology – you can read that in the file later on – but the patient had received blows and kicks to the head, resulting in bleeding in the brain as well as a number of broken facial bones, swelling, damage to the underlying tissues, and extensive discoloration of the skin. He had also suffered injuries to his abdomen, with two broken ribs and a ruptured spleen. His injuries were extremely serious, and we found it necessary to operate at once. We also took X-rays to determine the severity of the bleeding in his brain.’
‘Did you judge his injuries to be life-threatening?’ asked Paula.
‘The patient was in critical condition, and he was unconscious when admitted to the hospital. Having established that the bleeding in his brain was minor and did not warrant surgery, we focused our attention on his abdominal injuries. There was a risk that the broken ribs might puncture his lungs, which is a major concern.’