Chapter 128
The sound of the doorbell wakes Anton from his afternoon nap. He is more tired than he thought, and has had to reluctantly accept that he needs to take it easy for a few days.
It is almost five o’clock; he has slept longer than he’d intended.
He pads over to the door without bothering to put anything on his feet. Hanna is standing outside, clutching a bunch of gas station tulips. Admittedly they are wilting slightly, but Anton is touched by the gesture and the fact that she has taken the time to call by.
“Come in,” he says, waving her into the hallway.
“How are you?” The warmth in Hanna’s voice cheers him up.
“Let’s go into the kitchen—would you like a coffee?”
“A quick cup. I won’t stay long—I just wanted to check how you are, and let you know that we’ve arrested Filippa’s killer.”
While Anton arranges the flowers and makes coffee, Hanna fills him in on the latest events. The frantic chase after Karin Carlsson, the motive behind the murder, and Pontus’s eventual confession to arson. When she has finished, she gazes searchingly at Anton.
“You look tired. Was this too much for you?”
He actually feels a little dizzy; he should probably go back to bed.
“I’m fine,” he lies. “No problem.”
Hanna clearly doesn’t believe him. “It’s time for me to leave anyway. Go and get some rest—I can see myself out.”
Anton returns to the bedroom and sinks down onto the pillows. The doorbell rings again, before Hanna has left.
“I’ll get it,” she calls out from the hallway.
Then silence.
Hanna reappears, pokes her head around the door.
“I think your boyfriend is here,” she says with a smile.
“My . . . boyfriend?” Anton sits up, resting his back against the headboard.
“Well, that was how he introduced himself.” She gives him a conspiratorial wink. “He’s pretty cute. You can tell me more when you’re feeling better.”
She disappears, and a second later Carl is standing in the doorway. Anton can’t hide his surprise, he searches for something to say. But Carl simply walks over to the bed and perches on the edge.
He takes Anton’s hand in his.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been an idiot, behaved like a spoiled child.”
Anton manages a weary smile. “I could say the same. About myself, I mean.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Anton. I was just so hurt on Saturday. It felt as if you couldn’t stand up for me. Or us.”
Anton shakes his head. That is true, unfortunately. He is about to tell Carl about the argument with his parents when Carl points to the dressing on his forehead.
“Is it very painful?”
“Not too bad.”
Carl strokes Anton’s cheek. “When your sister called and told me what had happened, I was so scared. The thought that I could have lost you was terrifying.”
Anton is about to reassure Carl, play down his injury, when the full impact of his words hits home.
“Did you say my sister contacted you?”
“That’s right—Karro.”
Yesterday at the hospital he had told her about Carl.
In a way it was a relief to be honest at last, to talk about his love for Carl to at least one member of the family.
Karro had listened attentively, asked to see a photo, and said with a smile that Carl was very attractive.
Anton had good taste. She hadn’t uttered a single reproachful word about Anton’s silence over all the years.
Or revealed that she’d already had her suspicions.
For once his chatty, slightly flaky sister had simply listened with empathy, provided loving support when he needed it the most.
But he could never have imagined that she would go so far as to get in touch with Carl.
“She was really nice,” Carl continues. “She said we’re very welcome to go along to her birthday party on Sunday.”
Carl winks at him, and Anton remembers how their original quarrel began. The discussion about the birthday party and the fact that Anton wanted to go alone, so that he didn’t have to open up to the family about his relationship with Carl.
Anton would love to carry on talking, but the tiredness is overwhelming, he can hardly keep his eyes open.
“I’m sorry, I think I need to sleep.”
Carl walks around the bed and lies down on top of the covers. He shuffles closer to Anton and nuzzles the nape of his neck.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” he asks quietly.
There is nothing Anton would like more. “You don’t even need to ask,” he murmurs, and realizes that he is smiling.
Then he reaches for Carl’s hand. Next time they walk through the town, he won’t let it go.