Daughter

Sara Onnebo

Description

"I'll tell you what happened in Tulisaari." Those are Annika's last words to her daughter. Shortly after, she is killed in an accident and all her secrets are about to be revealed. After her mother's sudden death, Emilia is overcome by grief. As sorrow turns into curiosity, she starts to delve into her mother's mysterious past. The search takes her to the small town of Tulisaari in Finland, where her mother grew up, a place Annika had left for good after a tragedy occurred there. Emilia decides to find out for herself what really happened in Tulisaari all those years ago. But someone doesn't want her to find out the truth...

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Brown Dog Books
• Date de parution: 27 mars 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785452628
• Langue: English

Extrait

First published 2018
Copyright © Sara Onnebo 2018
The right of Sara Onnebo to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the copyright holder.
Published under licence by Brown Dog Books and The Self-Publishing Partnership, 7 Green Park Station, Bath BA1 1JB
www.selfpublishingpartnership.co.uk
ISBN printed book: 978-1-78545-261-1 ISBN e-book: 978-1-78545-262-8
Cover design by Kevin Rylands Internal design by Andrew Easton
Printed and bound in the UK
Contents
Prologue
Emilia
Nadzia
Emilia
Annikki
Emilia
Annikki
Emilia
Annikki
Emilia
Annikki
Emilia
Maikki
Emilia
Annikki
Emilia
Nadzia
Emilia
Annikki
Maikki
Emilia
Karin
Emilia
Inkeri
Emilia
Jussi
Emilia
Annikki
Emilia
The young man with the necklace
Emilia
Annikki
Emilia
Annika
Emilia
Marlon
Emilia
Annika
Emilia
Katrina
Emilia
Inkeri
Emilia
Annika
The night of the murder
Emilia
The night of the murder
Malmö, autumn of 1991
Emilia
Karin
Markku
Maikki
Emilia
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
Thursday 26th January 2012
I’ll tell you what happened in Tulisaari . Those were Annika Björklund’s last words to her daughter.
The day Emilia Björklund’s beloved mother was crushed to death by a city bus started like any other day. There were no signs that this was not going to be just like any other ordinary day. Nothing to suggest that this day would end with sudden death, blood and tears. The black angels that she had glimpsed in the corner of her eye ever since she was a little girl had not appeared for a long time. Emilia could not foresee the terrifying journey her life was about to embark on.
She woke up at 9:03 when her next-door neighbour slammed the door to his apartment shut and stomped down the stairs. She had a cup of black coffee and a bowl of cereals for breakfast. She showered and got dressed. At 9:47 she left the flat that she shared with her best friend Janica, whom she had known since childhood. As usual, Janica had left for the university long before Emilia woke up.
Emilia rode her bike to the University Hospital, entered through the door to the Biomedical Centre and walked into the sterile laboratory where she had her workbench and started to prepare her experiments. Annika phoned her daughter at 11:31. She called at the same time every day, just before she went for lunch. They chatted for a while about everyday things and made joint plans for the evening.
Emilia ate her lunch sitting at the desk with a stack of scientific papers in front of her. At 13:26 she was struggling with a text about the epigenetic control of genes in the immune system. That was the moment she received the phone call that would change the course of her life forever. Until that point, she can recall almost every little detail of her daily routine. Every time she goes over the events of that fateful day in her mind, she can fast forward or rewind, speed up or slow down all the insignificant little events. But she cannot change anything. No matter how much she tries, it always ends the same way.
When Emilia heard the formal voice on the other end of the line, the voice that explained that her loving mother had been hit by a bus and died on the spot. There was nothing they could do . Something clicked in her brain. At least she did not suffer . Then everything went black.
Emilia
Emilia’s diary.
Monday 6 th February 2012
Dear Diary!
This is something totally new for me, to confide in a soulless diary. I’ve never felt the need before. Well, that is not entirely true. Mum gave me a pink diary with white butterflies on the covers for my ninth birthday. I felt obliged to at least fill the blank pages with a few lines of my thoughts. It went something like this:
Dear Diary!
My name is Emilia Björklund and I was born on a rainy spring day nine years ago. I live with my mum. My daddy is missing or dead. I don’t know exactly. I have never met him, and mum tells me to stop asking so many questions every time I ask her about daddy. There is no one else I can ask about daddy. Mum bought ice cream for my birthday. Janica gave me a pretty necklace. Then we all went to the cinema. I will write more another day. Goodnight .
Diary confessions just weren’t for me. That’s all I ever wrote, the promise of writing more another day forgotten already by the next morning. But yesterday Janica handed me a new diary with a stern look on her face. “Here, write. Write down everything that you´re feeling. If you can´t talk about it maybe you can at least write about it. Otherwise, you will go crazy. And I really don’t have time for crazy right now.”
I know better than to contradict Janica when she’s in that mood. So here I am, dutifully writing in my diary. Janica watches over me like a hawk and nods encouragingly when she sees that I’m actually doing as I’m told. Though, I might as well be writing gibberish as penning down my inner thoughts. She will never know, I will never show this diary to anyone. By the way, Dear Diary, no offence, but I think I will write to My Dear Dead Mother in the future; after all, she’s the reason I’m even doing this. Instead of writing to an imaginary friend hidden between the pages of a yellow notebook, I will write to my mum who is no longer here with me, and who quite frankly has left me with quite a few unanswered questions. Well, I’ll call it a night now, I simply don’t have the strength to string any more letters into words. I will write more another day.
Wednesday 8 th February 2012
I´ve been told, much to my embarrassment, that in the late afternoon, on the day that you died, and I suddenly entered into the darkness and temporarily lost my memory, I was found at Lund´s train station where I was drifting aimlessly between platform number two (where the train to Malmö leaves from) and the ticket machines in the waiting room. My odd behaviour made the commuters nervous and someone alerted a security guard. He succeeded, after much patience, in getting me to give him Janica´s number. She´d been running all around Lund desperately looking for me, and she immediately came to collect her bereaved friend.
She has taken care of me ever since; no surprise there, it has always been like that. I’m utterly incapable of taking care of myself, grief has done that to me, I can’t cope with even the simplest tasks. To eat, take a shower, get out of my pyjamas, or go outside, it all seems like insurmountable undertakings. The darkness has eased, but the light flickers faintly and far away. I can see no end to this blurry state I find myself in.
Thursday 9 th February 2012
Has it already been two weeks? Have I survived that long without you in this world? I almost can’t remember anything from these past days. Janica has dealt with all the necessary arrangements. There was no getting out of attending your funeral and it took all of what little strength I had left to drag myself there. I was present only physically, my body was there but my mind was elsewhere. Far away. My thoughts were with you. We were in Tulisaari with grandma Maikki, or Maikki mumma , as I called her. I have no idea why my mind took me there, it’s been ages since we visited Finland. It was summer, the apple trees were in full bloom. You were happy. I was just a little girl, but I noticed the change in you. “Everything will be ok, my girl, I promise,” you whispered to me at night when I climbed into bed next to you. Uncle Jussi was snoring in the next room.
After that summer, it was like something withered within you, Mum. I never saw you sparkle like that again. I never asked you why, never asked what had happened to make you so sad. I´m not sure that you would have given me a truthful answer anyway, even if I had asked you. Finland has always been shrouded in secrecy, it was almost as if you had erased that whole part of your life. Now it’s too late to find out. I will never know what happened in Tulisaari.
I was so caught up in my own thoughts and memories that I barely noticed when it was my turn to go and put flowers on your casket and to say my goodbyes, as if any words could make up for my loss. I staggered down the aisle with Janica and Nadzia on either side, my legs shaking. As the tears and snot ran along my face in equal amounts I was unable to express a single word of farewell, my muffled sobs were the only thing breaking the silence in the crowded church. I forgot to thank your friends and colleagues for coming. I’m ashamed to admit that instead of going to the reception in the parish hall afterward I slipped away, somewhere between putting you into the ground and serving up the first cup of coffee, and hid under the blankets in the false safety of our flat. I feel bad about that, I really do. Janica and Nadzia had gone through a lot of trouble to fill the hall with beautiful flowers and home-made delicacies. I’m so sorry to let you down, I simply couldn’t go through with it. Everyone was very understanding of my bad manners. I have, after all, just lost my mother.
Sunday 12 th February 2012
The headaches have returned. The days following your death I felt nothing, no physical pain I mean. It was as if you had taken my pain with you to the grave. Like one last kindness from you, Mum. Ever since I was a child, you have tried to alleviate my constant headaches and recurring migraines. I can almost feel your cool hands on my forehead, your fingertips gently massaging my temples. Now that the panicky anxiety begins to ebb away the pain is seeping back. Writing makes me light-headed. I have to stop.
Thursday 16 th February 2012
I still lock myself away fr