Chapter 37
There is a weird buzzing sound inside Olivia’s head as she sits down at the breakfast table in the main house.
She feels like a wreck, and her hair is all over the place.
It took her hours to get to sleep last night.
Horrible thoughts about Filippa’s death and the creepy figure outside the door kept swirling around in her mind.
As if by an unspoken agreement, they all got up around nine and gathered in the kitchen.
Olivia is spooning lingonberry jelly over a large bowl of porridge.
William is sitting next to her; he reaches out and squeezes her thigh.
No doubt it is meant as an encouraging gesture, but somehow it feels kind of crude in the morning light.
“Did you get any sleep?” Emil asks. He is opposite her, with two sliced hard-boiled eggs on crispbread. Olivia hesitates—should she tell the others about the stranger at the door?
The shadow lurking outside.
She can’t stop thinking about it, why someone was trying to get in in the middle of the night. And who it could have been.
Amir?
William?
Pontus?
She looks at them one by one. Pontus is busy making a cheese-and-cucumber sandwich. William is shoveling down a bowl of fruit yogurt. And Amir is sitting with his head bowed over his porridge.
Was it him?
Who else would it be?
Emil wouldn’t have hesitated to call out her name, and neither would William if he wanted to come in and slide into bed with her.
Pontus would never even dare to try.
“A bit,” she replies. “It was hard to get to sleep, and then I had terrible nightmares.”
“I think we all did,” Emil says, sounding as if he too had lain awake half the night. “It’s the shock—it’s going to take a while to get over what’s happened.”
Olivia takes a spoonful of porridge; the sharpness of the jelly has a calming effect.
It tastes of mountain vacations with the family, when she was little and they used to go to a cottage in S?len during the February break.
Mom would make porridge for the whole family to give them enough energy to ski until lunchtime.
“I just don’t understand what went on the day before yesterday.” Olivia has already said this several times; she knows she is repeating herself, but she can’t help it. She stirs the contents of the bowl until it all turns pink.
“Why would Filippa have gone out into the snow barefoot and with hardly any clothes on when it was so cold?”
No one says anything. No one looks her in the eye.
Olivia gets the strange feeling that she has behaved inappropriately, like talking way too loud during a lecture, or showing her breasts in a slightly-too-revealing dress.
But they have to be able to talk about Filippa and the events that led to her death.
There is no mistaking Amir’s disapproval. He gives her a filthy look. They have known each other for a while now, but Olivia has never noticed how narrow his eyes can become, or how cold he can be when that charming smile disappears.
What is he thinking, deep down?
Is he even grieving for Filippa?
She doesn’t know where it comes from, but she suddenly feels a compulsion to make him talk. She can’t bear him sitting there in silence.
Can she get him to trip himself up?
Olivia is becoming increasingly certain that Amir slept with Filippa the evening before she died. And that he is lying about it.
In which case he could also be lying about her death.
“What do you think, Amir?” she says, so loudly that he cannot avoid answering her question. “What happened to Filippa?”
“How should I know?”
“Don’t you have a theory about how she finished up outdoors in the snow? Surely you must have some idea?”
Olivia knows that she is provoking him, but she has no intention of giving up until she gets a reaction.
“What are you doing?” he says. His face has darkened even more.
“I think you know.”
For a moment Olivia thinks he isn’t going to take the bait, that he is going to ignore her and go back to his breakfast. She can see him struggling with his self-control; his lips are twitching with anger.
Then he opens his mouth. “It almost sounds as if you’re saying she was forced out into the cold. To die.”
“Can you come up with a better explanation?” Olivia doesn’t bother holding back. Right now there are too many unanswered questions. All she wants is to understand what happened to Filippa before she ended up in the snow.
Amir puts down his spoon with some force, slamming it against the bowl.
“I’m sorry, but what you’re suggesting is completely bizarre. Do you realize what you’re saying?”
Olivia tries to sound innocent. “Please tell me.”
“It sounds,” Amir says, his voice hoarse and strained, “as if you’re accusing one of us of having caused Filippa’s death.”
William places a calming hand on Olivia’s shoulder, but she shakes it off.
“And what if that’s true?” Her tone is shrill; she probably sounds hysterical by this stage, but so what?
The only thing that matters is to get the truth out of Amir.
He must be involved somehow. “What if someone in this room is lying about Filippa’s final hours?
” She turns to Amir. “What if it’s you?”
He leaps to his feet, and his chair crashes to the floor. “You’re out of your fucking mind!”
Olivia stands up too, challenges him with her gaze.
“Am I the one who’s out of my mind?” She almost spits out the words.
“You were probably the last person to see Filippa before she died, yet you’re acting as if you don’t know anything.
” She looks around, stares at each of the boys before fixing her eyes on Amir again.
“Someone in here must know what happened. Surely you must know?”