Page 57 of The Sleepwalker (Joona Linna #10)

A battery-powered candle casts a warm, flickering glow over Svanhildur’s pantry.

The sweaty bottle of tequila is on the table between her and Hugo, alongside two pale-blue egg cups, a lidless salt shaker and a white chopping board covered with lemon slices.

‘Seriously, that Kasper guy .?.?. he’s super creepy. Like, what’s wrong up here?’ Hugo says with a gesture to his temple.

‘Yeah, he’s kind of weird.’

‘Understatement of the year.’

‘I’ve realised he’s got a skeleton key .?.?.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A homemade master key. Because it seems like he can go wherever he wants round here.’

‘You’re kidding .?.?.’

‘Nope.’ She grins.

‘You’re just trying to make me scared of the dark.’

‘I swear, it’s true,’ she says.

Hugo picks at the label on the bottle and leans back in his chair.

‘His mum didn’t die here, though, did she?’

‘No, at home in their garden,’ she replies, holding his gaze. ‘I think Kasper was the one who found her.’

‘He told you that?’

‘There’s something about me that makes people tell me things.’

‘What do you want to know?’ Hugo asks, putting on a robotic voice.

She laughs and looks down for a moment before raising her head. Her eyes are shining, and the tip of her nose is red.

‘From now on, let’s only tell the truth,’ she says.

‘A confession after every shot.’

‘Great.’

They fill the egg cups with tequila, pour a little salt onto the skin between their index fingers and thumbs, and pick up a wedge of lemon in the same hand.

‘To the truth,’ Hugo says with a grin.

He watches the tip of her tongue dart out as she licks the salt from her hand, and he does the same, knocking back the shot, swallowing, biting down on the lemon and pulling a face.

‘Oof, that’s strong.’ She laughs.

Hugo refills the egg cups as the warmth of the alcohol spreads through his gut. Svanhildur puts on a playlist of Lana Del Rey and reaches for more salt.

‘I’m sure it’s a great idea to combine the meds they’ve got us on with booze,’ Hugo says with a wry smile.

‘You go first.’

He looks her in the eye, and they both do another shot, cough and grin at each other.

‘I’ve got mummy issues,’ Hugo confesses.

‘What do you mean?’ she asks, pouring more tequila.

‘My mum doesn’t give a shit about me. She moved back to Canada when I was little, and I haven’t heard from her in almost three years .?.?. I’m also seeing a woman – Olga – who’s basically twice my age.’

‘Definitely sounds like mummy issues,’ she says with a nod.

‘Seriously, I think my mum might be a junkie .?.?. That she’s in free fall, or whatever. But I’ve been saving up so I can go and look for her, because I can’t just sit around waiting for her to get in touch or die of an overdose.’

‘Horrible,’ Svanhildur whispers.

They drink again, slamming the egg cups down on the table with a little too much force.

‘Your turn,’ he says, looking up at her.

‘My last date, or whatever you want to call him, was radicalised,’ she says, cracking her fingers nervously.

‘OK?’

‘We were both studying political science, but he started getting sucked in by all this white power, conspiracy theory stuff.’

‘Boy, bye.’ Hugo sighs.

‘Right? Bye bye, on a personal level .?.?. But at the same time, right-wing populism is more to do with social injustice than anything .?.?. The sense that people have been left behind.’

‘Should be an open goal for the left,’ he says, kissing three fingers and raising his hand.

‘I know. But I’m not going to waste another minute on him.’

‘Good.’

‘So you’ve got a girlfriend? Was it Olga you said? What’s the deal with you two?’

‘We’re not official or anything, but we’ve got plans .?.?. She’s actually the one who said I should try to find my mum. We’ve opened a bank account together, to save up for the trip.’

‘Does it cost a lot to go to Canada?’

‘Yeah, but mostly because we want to be able to stay for a while,’ he says, showing her the account balance on his phone.

‘Woah .?.?. That’s, like, the deposit for a flat or something.’

With a slight smile, she pours more tequila and reaches for another wedge of lemon. They clink egg cups and drink, slamming them down even harder this time. Hugo gazes into her pale-blue eyes. Her skin is like mother-of-pearl beneath her freckles.

‘I think I’m kind of attracted to you,’ he hears himself say.

‘Oof,’ she replies, looking genuinely surprised.

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, but—’

‘No, no.’

‘But it’s true.’

‘I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all,’ she says. ‘Because you’re, like .?.?. so confident and cool and famous and everything.’

‘Ha,’ he says. ‘Not true, but thanks anyway.’

They drink again, bite down on the lemon and laugh. Svanhildur points to his egg cup with a smile and accuses him of cheating, claiming that there is still some tequila left in the bottom.

‘Cheating?’

He turns his egg cup upside down and waits. After a moment, a solitary droplet falls to the table.

‘See!’ She laughs.

‘Turn yours over!’

‘I’m a virgin,’ she confesses, still laughing.

‘Seriously?’

Svanhildur looks down, her freckled cheeks now scarlet. She brushes the last of the salt from her hand, takes a deep breath and meets his eye.

‘If we’re talking full intercourse, yeah,’ she explains, pushing a lock of hair back behind her ear. ‘I’ve done some stuff, obviously. But not, you know .?.?. It’s just never felt right .?.?. You probably think I’m a total loser now.’

‘No, I get it. Guys are always saying that all sex is good, even if it’s bad, but that’s just .?.?. not true.’

‘No,’ she whispers, looking down again.

‘What’re you thinking?’

‘That what you said before made me happy, about being attracted to me .?.?. Even though you weren’t being serious. I mean, we don’t even know each other, but still .?.?.’

They do another shot, and he sees her shudder. The rising alcohol content of his blood is making his lips tingle, his eyes struggling to focus.

‘I think I’m starting to get drunk,’ he says.

‘That doesn’t count as a confession.’

‘No, I’m just saying.’

‘Good.’

‘OK, another truth .?.?. I’m kind of sceptical about the medication they’ve got me on, and I’ve tried to talk to Lars about it, but I’m too scared of conflict to actually stand my ground,’ he says.

‘What are you taking?’

‘Zopiclone, obviously, which is fine,’ he replies. ‘And then Mirtazapine and Tramadol, which both make me sleepwalk more than usual – or that’s how it feels, anyway .?.?. but Lars is convinced that small doses have the opposite effect.’

‘I’ve got it into my head that he comes into my room and watches me while I’m sleeping,’ she says in a low voice.

‘Why?’

‘Because sometimes, when I wake up, I can smell his weird aftershave.’

‘Ugh, creepy,’ he whispers.

‘Yup.’

‘I mean, it’s different with sleepwalkers, I get that,’ he says. ‘Obviously they have to bring me back to my room sometimes.’

‘Do they?’

‘I don’t know, I guess so,’ he says, refilling their cups.

‘OK, listen,’ she says, looking at him with a solemn face. ‘I’ve got an idea. I could put a wireless minicam on you, and that way we can see exactly what happens.’