Page 25 of The Sleepwalker
The pools of water in the potholes are covered in shimmering ice.
At the edges of the tunnel of light, he can see frosty grass and bare branches.
Nils passes a playground, and then the high fences surrounding the tennis courts come into view.
He slowly approaches a small, cream-coloured building with a deserted outdoor seating area and a shuttered ice cream kiosk. On the gable end, there is a sign that reads:WELCOME TO EDSVIKEN TENNIS CLUB.
The gravel crunches beneath his tyres as he turns off into the empty parking area and comes to a halt.
Nils checks the time. Five minutes to ten.
His heart starts pounding as a new wave of anxiety hits him, and he feels himself break out in a sweat.
He leans back, closes his eyes and tries to compose himself. To bring his breathing under control. Maybe this isn’t for him after all, he thinks. He could just admit that, say, ‘Sorry, Mikaela, but this isn’t going to work,’ and go on his way. Then again, he’s here now. He might as well give it a chance. It could be the start of something new, a turning point for him.
He peers out through the side window.
The only working streetlamp is behind the little building, half obscured by trees.
Beyond it, he can make out the tall reeds down by the shore and the empty marina.
In her last message, Mikaela gave him clear instructions: to park his car here, turn off the headlights, move over to the passenger side and tilt the seat back as far as it will go, then put on Roy Orbison’sLonely and Blueand wait for her.
OK, he thinks as he gets out of the car.
It is bitterly cold outside, his breath forming clouds in the air. The only sound he can hear is the soft rustling of the wind in the reeds.
As Nils makes his way around the bonnet, he notices another car parked over by the fence surrounding the tennis courts.
He gets into the passenger seat and closes the door, tilts it back so far it is practically horizontal and then connects his phone to the car’s Bluetooth speaker. After finding the right album, he presses play.
Music fills the car, Roy Orbison’s distinctive voice singing about how only the lonely know how he feels tonight.
The screen of Nils’s phone goes to sleep, and he glancesover to the other car by the tennis courts. He can’t see anyone through the dark windows, and has just started to wonder whether it might simply be parked there long-term when the flare of a match lights up the interior.
In the glow of the flame, he catches a glimpse of blonde hair, a pale hand and a fur collar.
A moment later, all he can see is the reddish tip of the cigarette, widening to an orb every time she draws smoke into her lungs.
Nils thinks about Mikaela’s profile picture. She had blurred out her face, but her body was beautiful. Spellbinding.
It is ten minutes past ten.
She’s probably just as nervous as he is, he thinks. Or maybe she simply wants to finish her cigarette first.
He turns towards the water and sees the wind rippling through the reeds down by the shore.
Roy Orbison is now singing about his baby going off with someone new.
Nils squints over to Mikaela’s car again, leaning closer to the window, but he can’t tell whether she is still inside.
The tennis net sways softly in the breeze.
From the corner of one eye, he notices a movement, and he turns his head. Something just passed through the edge of the circle of light on the other side of the kiosk.
Maybe it was a bird, he thinks. Or a deer.
He turns down the volume slightly, his eyes on the empty seating area and the swaying reeds.
