Page 94 of Hidden in Memories
“Not so good.”
She hears him inhale sharply, as if he is suppressing a sob. His voice is shaky.
“Have you seen the article about Mom?”
Hanna doesn’t know whether to deny or admit that she has read the wretched piece. She would prefer to say no in order to spare his feelings, but at the same time she doesn’t want to lie.
“I have, yes.”
“Are they allowed to do that?” He is clearly on the verge of tears. “That woman, the journalist, she twisted everything I said. I didn’t put it like that at all, but she’s made it sound as if Mom and I fought about my studies all the time—as if Mom didn’t care about me. She absolutely did, I know she loved me. It was just that she had too much to do, because she was always working.”
Hanna hears a car start up in the background. Filip must be outdoors, maybe he’s in the square outside Åregården?
“I wish I’d never agreed to the interview. And I’m not a spoiled brat, as she puts it. I’ve never been given everything I asked for. I just wanted to tell people how generous Mom was, so they wouldn’t think she was only interested in making money.” He breaks off with another sob.
“I understand, Filip.”
Hanna doesn’t know what to say. Daniel is driving fast, the landscape is whizzing by. They have just passed Enafors. The turning for Handöl and Snasahögarna is coming up on the left. They will reach their destination in fifteen minutes.
“I wish there was something I could do,” she continues; she can hear how pathetic it sounds. “Unfortunately it’s not illegal to write an article like that, even if it is pure crap.”
Filip has just lost his mother, and now this.
She tries to think of something that might make him feel better. There is no point in saying that he could report the newspaper to the press ombudsman; at best he would receive a judgment in six to twelve months.
She makes an attempt to console him. “I’m sure not that many people have seen it. Hardly anyone reads the evening papers these days.”
“Yes, they do.” There is anger in his voice now; he seems less crushed. “Everyone here at Åregården has read it. Lots of people recognize me and come over to comment on the article. Or they’re curious and want me to talk about the murder, tell them how I’m feeling.”
Hanna has no idea how she can help him. She mumbles a few meaningless phrases, promises to see if there are any measures that can be taken.
“You can always call me if you need to talk,” she reminds him before they end the call.
It’s been a long time since she felt so inadequate.
73
Shortly afterward Daniel leaves the E14 and negotiates the first roundabout. They have reached Storlien.
To the left lies the huge shopping center that the Norwegians love. They come over to make the most of the exchange rate and differing taxation, spending thousands of kronor on cheap food and drink. There is also a gigantic candy store where the customers use buckets as bags.
“That must be the mountain hotel,” Hanna says, pointing to a dark-red building part way up the slope.
Daniel drives toward it. He has never been inside, although he has been here with Ida a few times to go cross-country skiing. He parks outside the entrance, which is in a whitewashed annex.
The whole place looks undeniably dead and abandoned.
Haunted, just like Raffe said.
“Isn’t it strange that so many dreams and turbulent emotions are linked to this hotel?” Hanna says from the passenger seat.
Daniel contemplates the building in front of them. It exudes an unexpected air of melancholy, with an unmistakable aura of its long-gone glory days. It doesn’t look as if it is waiting to be woken from its slumbers like Sleeping Beauty, but more as if it will never come back to life.
“It’s hard to believe this was a renowned establishment back in the day,” he says. “It’s not even particularly impressive.”
“I guess it used to sparkle and shine.” Hanna undoes her seatbelt. “But now it’s kind of depressing.”
She has put Daniel’s feelings into words. “Not much glamour left,” he says.
