2. Kurt and Linda
"You're such a good girl, Linda."
Kurt Wallander mops his daughter's forehead, brushes the wet, clinging strands of her hair out of the way. Normally so soft and golden, it lies lank on the pillow, a dull puddle.
With concern he monitors her breathing, but finds it to be easier than before. The harsh rasp is gone and her fever seems to be subsiding. Her small ribcage rises and falls evenly. At last she's asleep.
"You're a good girl," he says again, as much for his own reassurance as hers. "It's all right now, Daddy's here. You just sleep, okay?"
The apartment is so quiet. He has no idea where Mona has got to; she said she'd be back by 8:30 and it's already quarter past nine. Frankly, he prefers the silence when she's not here. He prefers to sit by Linda, listening to her breathe, reassuring himself that the worst of her illness has passed. If she wakes and calls out to him he'll be right here. He's been missing from her side so often, but tonight he's not going anywhere.
With utmost care so as not to wake her, he tucks his girl in and gently pats her hot little hand.
Everything's going to be all right. Daddy's here.
"Where the hell have you been?"
It's dark outside. The door slams and Linda stands scowling in the hallway.
"Nowhere. I went for a walk."
"Look at the time! You've been out with a boy, haven't you?" Concern turns to anger. How dare she keep him fretting over her safety for so long?
"No I haven't!" She hates him intruding, hates his constant questions, the implied judgement behind them. Sometimes she feels as if she hates him. "I needed some time to think. What's the problem with that?"
"The problem is I was worried sick that something had happened to you. I've seen the sorts of things that can happen to girls your age, remember?"
"Oh, just leave me alone!"
Her door slams shut. Wallander stands in the hall, her words like a slap in his face. She's getting more like her mother every day, he thinks. What happened to my little girl? When did she change into this bad-tempered young woman and how did we drift apart like this?
Next morning all is quiet. Linda slips into the kitchen. She's not going to apologise to her father; he should mind his own damn business. She puts some coffee on, and stands yawning while it brews.
"Ah, you're up. I see you've scrubbed off all that make-up you had on."
Her father shuffles into the kitchen and takes some milk out of the fridge. Linda frowns, ready for another argument, but he doesn't persevere with the subject.
"Coffee?" she says icily.
He nods and takes the cup that she offers him.
"So where were you last night?" Like a dog with a bone, still. She decides to play along, give her father the detective something to chew over.
"I felt like running away, so I jumped on a train. I got halfway to Helsingborg then I changed my mind, so I hitch-hiked home with a lorry driver I met at the petrol station. I think he wanted to take me home and ravish me. Good thing I made it back here, really." She stands, staring at him with wide eyes. He doesn't take the bait. It's too obvious that she's trying not to laugh.
Shaking his head, Wallander looks at his fifteen year old daughter with an expression of tired amusement.
"You're a terrible liar, you know."
In spite of herself she giggles, which in turn makes him laugh, his anger forgotten. The tension dispelled, he gives her a paternal pat on the shoulder.
"Come on then, let's have some breakfast, hmm?"
The wind whipping in from the Baltic Sea disarranges her hair and makes her eyes water, or at least that's her excuse for the unexpected wetness on her face. She stares out across the strait: somewhere across the water are Germany and Poland and for a moment she wishes she was on the ferry bound for Swinoujscie, leaving this place and its heartache far behind. But she shakes her head. She's tried to run away from herself before. It doesn't work.
Kurt Wallander watches his daughter, so pale and forlorn in the brittle winter sunshine. Standing only a few metres away, she seems very far from him. He knows that she's had to learn some difficult lessons since she joined the police, but the last few weeks have been hard on them both. The loss of a colleague is tough to deal with at the best of times, but this time it's left a gaping hole in Linda's life, has left Wallander questioning himself.
Some gulls sweep overhead, mewling. Further down the beach a boy plays with a kite. The sun glistens on the water and they stand surrounded by it all, with the need to find a way of coming through, carrying on with this weight on their shoulders.
He goes to her, wraps his arm round her shoulder. He was unable to help Stefan, but he can try to help Linda. He gathers her into his arms. She leans into him and it's as if she's a child again; part of her still needs him to make things all right, and after all they've been through he desperately wants to. Linda struggles against tears, wipes her eyes. Her father hugs her.
"It's all right, Linda. I've got you. I'm here now, I promise."
She returns his hug and wipes her eyes, smiling a watery smile.
"I know. Thanks Dad."