The Invisible Man from Salem (14 page)

‘But,' Julia said, ‘there was always something strange about him. When we were about eleven or twelve, I started to realise that he was keeping something from me. At first I was sure he fancied me, that it was that. But it wasn't — our relationship was never like that. We were more like brother and sister, you know?'

Julia had even told him about her family, which she hadn't told anyone else apart from Social Services, and that was more or less under duress.

‘Isn't that strange?' she said. ‘That he never said anything?'

‘Yeah,' I said.

They drifted further apart, despite going to the same school. When they met in the dark-grey corridors, they would only say hello.

Another summer floated past, as they always did in Salem, warm and eventful. Julia saw him at the recreation ground during the end-of-term ceremony that June. And then, after the summer, he was just gone. Disappeared. A week or so of the new term went past before it dawned on her. She hadn't seen him, started worrying for some reason she couldn't describe, and called his parents. They weren't living there anymore, and Julia had no idea where they'd gone.

‘I haven't seen him since,' Julia said. ‘And I don't know why, but it's hard when people disappear. It's hard to deal with; even though you weren't that close before they disappeared, it's still like something is … well, missing.'

‘What was his name?' I asked.

‘I don't think you'd know him.'

‘Tell me anyway, what was his name?'

‘Tim,' said Julia. ‘Tim Nordin.'

The name was like an invisible punch in the gut. I was winded.

‘No, you're right. I don't know who that is.'

SUMMER HAD COME ROUND
again, the kind of summer that paralyses a whole town. Along with my dad, I'd helped my brother move out. He'd turned eighteen and worked in a carpaint shop, making rust buckets look like new, every day from eight till four. I'd agreed to help him move after being offered money; but once we'd finished, taking it didn't feel right. It felt great doing something together. We didn't do it very often then. When we were kids we'd go on outings in the summer, to zoos and amusement parks. We drove go-karts and played football on a field outside Salem. I hadn't been to the field in ages. Maybe I could take Grim there now. He'd like it.

During the move, we were down in the cellar, rummaging through boxes. And in one of the boxes we found a framed newspaper cutting from 1973; the picture showed the remains of an old petrol station outside Fruängen. In the background you could see fallen power lines.
MOTORING MADNESS ENDS IN DISASTER
was the headline. Dad liked telling that story — how this was before he got back together with Mum, how he used to gamble heavily on the horses. Once, he won a big bet at the Solvalla races and bought a white Volvo P1800 with the winnings, ‘the type of car Simon Templar drives in
The Saint
'. He loved to thrash the hell out of it on the roads around Fruängen. At the crossing by the petrol station, he lost control of the car, drove onto the forecourt, and knocked two pumps over, smashing into one of the roof's supporting pillars in the process. The roof collapsed behind him as he carried on towards the power lines, and the last thing Dad remembered was sparks above the bonnet. The power went out in the neighbourhood, and at the time of writing it was unclear whether the ‘madman' (the doctor's word, not the reporter's) would survive. Dad was in hospital for two months, and he received a letter claiming damages for several hundred thousand kronor. I'm pretty sure he thought it was worth it.

During the move, Dad told us the story. We had heard it before, but this time we both let him tell it again. It was reassuring to hear something from the past, like some sort of echo from childhood.

‘It feels strange,' Dad said, sitting there behind the wheel, on the way back to the Triad. ‘Now Micke's gone, and it'll soon be your turn.'

‘It'll be a while yet, Dad.'

‘I know.' He hesitated. ‘You haven't thought about getting a job?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘A summer job somewhere? Isn't it about time? A lot of people your age do.'

‘It's too late now.'

‘Yes, it might be, but have you even thought about it?'

I hadn't. Just the very thought of working bored the shit out of me.

‘Yes,' I said. ‘I've thought about it. But I don't know where it would be.'

‘You have to take what you can get, at your age.'

I listened to the radio: a news bulletin was just finishing, followed by a song, and Dad turned up the volume. When the song finished, he looked at me with a faint smile.

‘Your mum and I used to dance to that.'

‘Course you did.'

‘We did! It's ABBA.' He was quiet for a moment.

‘He liked it here, didn't he? At ours?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Micke.'

‘Ah-ha. Yes. Yes, he did.'

Dad looked at me and smiled.

‘Thanks.'

We drove on. Dad cleared his throat. He always did when he needed to say something important.

‘The money in the vase,' he said. ‘I don't care why you took it, and if you've already spent it I don't want it back. But don't ever do it again. Don't take what isn't yours. It's wrong, cheap, and wicked. If you need money, borrow it from us. Or, even better, get a job.'

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.

GRIM HAD FINISHED
my false ID card. I could now claim to have been born in seventy-eight, instead of eighty. It was flawless. That didn't surprise me, for some reason. I kept it in my bedside drawer. One afternoon at the beginning of June, I met up with Grim outside the Triad. He was walking home from town, the headphones from his new Discman on his ears. He raised his arm and smiled when he saw me, and started taking his headphones off.

‘You look pleased,' I said.

‘I am pleased.'

‘How come?'

‘I've got hold of some money.' He winked. ‘I'm going to the water tower — you coming?'

‘No,' I said, without thinking.

He raised an eyebrow.

‘Why not?'

‘I've got … I'm busy.' I started walking towards town, and his eyes followed me. ‘I'll come later. In a bit.'

He seemed disappointed, but nodded once, turned around, and carried on.

‘Leo.'

I turned around again.

‘Yes.'

Grim's satisfied look had disappeared, and now he had a dejected, cold expression.

‘I'm going away for a month after midsummer.'

‘What?'

‘I, er, I stole the money from the school's travel kitty. It wasn't the first time, but this time Social Services got called in, and they're sending me away.'

‘You're joking.'

He shook his head.

‘It was a lot of money. I needed it to do the cards and stuff.'

‘Why didn't you say?'

He shrugged, didn't answer. He just looked at the ground.

‘Where are they sending you?'

‘The summer camp in Jumkil. They think that'll be best. I was going to run away, you know, stay away for a while so they wouldn't find me, but that would just make it worse.'

‘Probably.'

He seemed unsure.

‘You'll keep … could you keep an eye on Julia while I'm away? So she doesn't … just keep an eye out, while I can't.'

‘Course,' I managed.

He looked at me for ages, before he nodded and waved his hand.

‘Go on. See you round.'

‘Yes. We'll have loads of time before you go. I'll be there in a bit.'

‘Sure.'

It was going to be a long summer.

JUMKIL'S SUMMER CAMP
was outside the town itself, attached to one of the toughest young offenders' institutions around. I'd heard of the institution, because my brother's friend had been sent there after trying to steal a car. It was the sort of place where feral youngsters were supposed to be treated and then released on the right side of the law, but in fact it achieved the opposite. The neighbouring summer camp's reputation wasn't much better, and Julia was worried what it might do to Grim.

‘He'll be fine,' I said, lying next to her underneath the water tower.

Her hand sought mine, and found it. It was the Monday after midsummer, which I'd spent with the family in Blåsut, where Granddad lived. Arthur Junker had joked about Alzheimer's for years; but when it took hold of him, the joke was over and he became miserable and introverted. He called my mum ‘Sara', which was my grandmother's name. At certain points during the dinner, he didn't seem to recognise me or my brother. After the meal, I went to a party near Salem Church with Grim. He didn't want to socialise; I think he came along for my sake. During the party, he sat in the corner looking anxious, as though he didn't know how to behave. And now he'd gone, to Jumkil.

‘Do you remember after the cinema,' I said, ‘when you said it was hard for you to say you liked someone?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Why is that?'

Julia lifted herself up slightly, propping herself up with her elbows.

‘I just haven't had good experiences with boys, that's all.'

‘Like what?'

‘It usually just … I've only been with a few, like three. But it's always ended with me getting hurt and John getting furious.' She sank down again, looked up at the sky. ‘About a year ago I was at a party and I drank a lot. I fancied one of the guys; he was in the first year at Rönninge then. I ended up passing out, I can't remember how exactly. But when I woke up I was lying on a bed, on top of the covers, with no knickers on. It didn't hurt, so I hadn't been … I hadn't been used that way. But I found out afterwards that it was him, the guy I fancied, who'd interfered with me. Apparently someone had come in to get something from that room; they'd put their booze in there so it wouldn't get nicked. It was just chance that someone came in, but he got scared and left. That's the sort of experience I have of guys. I know you're not like that at all, you know? You mustn't think I think that about you; I don't, it's just so hard to sort of … start again.'

‘Did you tell Grim?'

‘His name is John. And no, not in a million years — are you mental? John would've killed him.'

THAT EVENING
, her parents were out, and she took me home for the first time. Their flat was exactly the same as ours — just a mirror image. Inside the door, a faint sour smell came from the bag of rubbish propped against the wall. Julia, visibly embarrassed, went and threw it into the rubbish chute.

She showed me straight to her room, so I only got a glimpse of the rest of the flat. It was tidier than I was expecting. I recognised some of Grim's clothes hanging on the rail by the door. The kitchen looked simple, like ours except without a dishwasher. We'd bought our own, and I guessed that the Grimbergs either didn't mind washing up or couldn't afford one. One of the doors had a hole the size of a fist through it, as though someone had thrown a rock at it or punched it hard. That was Grim's door.

Julia closed the door behind us and we stood there in her room. She didn't seem to know what to do with her hands. Eventually, she lifted them up to the jewellery hanging around her neck and touched the chain. One wall was covered by a bookcase; a narrow bed ran along the one opposite. The shelves were full of books and films. There was a mirror on the desk, and a vanity bag with make-up spilling out of it. The walls were decorated with paintings and photographs.

‘Do you like them?' she asked.

‘The photos?'

‘Yes.'

They were mainly portraits of people about our age, but I didn't recognise them. A couple featured tower blocks, but taken from below and at such an angle that large parts of the image were filled with sky.

‘Yes,' I said.

She nodded, let go of the necklace, smiled, took a few steps, and pushed herself against me.

‘This is the first time a boy's been in my room.'

‘This is the first time I've been in a girl's room.'

She kissed me, and the nerves spread through my chest. My heart beat harder, until I could hear it in my ears.

‘Shall we watch a film?' she asked.

I'D LIED TO HER
and I didn't know whether it mattered. It was only sex, but I'd never done it before. Julia's skin was pale and unnaturally smooth, as though she'd never been exposed to anything. As I touched it, a wave of warmth went through me and I felt the hairs on my arms stand up. She was fully clothed and straddling me; I could just see the telly over her shoulder, how the film scenes flipped past in the murky room.