Page 233 of The Sleepwalker

‘I’m not.’

There is a loud crack outside, followed by a series of heavy noises downstairs.

‘God, what was that?’ says Hugo.

‘Sounded like the maple just fell,’ Bernard replies, reaching for the poker.

He jabs at the fire, causing the blackened wood to fall apart.

‘I’ll go and get more logs,’ says Agneta.

‘There’s no need,’ Bernard replies, gripping her wrist.

‘For overnight,’ she explains, pulling her hand back.

‘What’s going on, Dad?’

‘I don’t want her to go out in this weather. I’ve already brought in all the wood we need; we’ve got two full baskets in the library.’

Hugo notices that Agneta’s face is sweaty.

Bernard spears three hotdogs on skewers with wooden handles.

‘I started reading my medical records,’ Hugo says. ‘You know, from when I was little. It said I had a broken collarbone when I arrived at the lab for the first time. You never told me that.’

‘That’s right, I’d completely forgotten,’ says Bernard. ‘You were playing on the rope swing we had back then, and you crashed into the trunk.’

‘But I remember I .?.?.’

Hugo trails off, gazing in at the hotdogs in the stove.

‘What? What were you going to say?’ Bernard asks, looking up at him with glassy eyes.

81

Joona pushes the RIB up to forty-two knots as he passes Tempeludden, causing frothing white water to spray out behind the two Caterpillar C7 engines.

Other than in the most sheltered bays, the lake is clear of ice, and the surface is the colour of lead.

The bow of the RIB cuts through the tunnel of swirling snow formed by the bright headlights, and the hull slams against the waves.

Back at the marina, the man with the beard had slumped down onto his side, tiny droplets of blood flecking the snow beneath him as he gasped for air. His friend with the ponytail had tossed the knife away when Joona turned to face him.

‘I’m taking your boat. Pack his nose with snow and take him to hospital as soon as the storm passes,’ Joona told them.

‘The keys are in the ignition.’

Before loosening the cable and getting into the RIB, Joona had explained that what was happening was a case of force majeure.

‘You or the weather?’ the other man had asked.

Joona found a headtorch among the fenders, life jackets and ropes, and he put it on as he swung out onto the water and left the broken jetty behind.

The shaky light from the torch now flashes on the windscreenin front of the steering console, the wipers powerless to keep up with the sheer volume of snow and water crashing against the glass.

Behind him, the two six-cylinder engines roar.

Joona doesn’t spot the ice floe in the churning tunnel of light until it is too late, and he sways as the boat hits it with a dull clang.