Chapter Nine

‘There! How’s that?’ Bell asked, placing the floral crown lightly upon her head.

‘My queen!’ Kris crooned, clapping delightedly as she got up and gave a twirl. ‘Sensational. You should wear your hair down more often.’

She shrugged. ‘Not practical with three kids to keep an eye on. It’d be permanently dipping in paint or ketchup.’

‘Eww.’

‘Ta-da!’ Tove cried, finishing off her crown, which she had made more ‘fabulous’ by fashioning and embellishing picture wire strips that met and dipped in a central point, like a jubilee crown and intertwining them with ivy.

‘Nice!’ Kris grinned.

‘Nice? She gets called a queen and I get nice?’ She planted her hands on her narrow hips in mock indignation.

They were all sitting on the deck, post-lunch – Kris’s superlative herrings and potatoes, followed by strawberry cream cake, completely demolished. They had polished off two of the three cases of beer, and all around them the island was humming to the sounds of Midsommar celebrations. Cheers and singing could be heard from distant houses, children running down the gangplanks in national dress costumes, flags flying from poles. Midsommar wasn’t officially the Swedes’ national day, but to many, it was as important – if not more so – than Christmas itself. After the long, dark Scandinavian winters, the unsetting midsummer sun was a national celebration of light and levity, their reward for enduring the hard seasons.

‘Shall we go, then?’ Marc asked, coming through and drying his hands on a tea towel. ‘We don’t want to miss it.’

‘But I don’t think I can move,’ Kris protested, patting his hands around his six-pack.

‘You can dance it off with me,’ Marc said, kissing him with a wink.

‘Well, before we go . . .’ Tove reached behind her and grabbed the bottle of schnapps from the ice bucket. She poured it into shot glasses. ‘Happy Midsommar!’

They cheered and drank, knocking it back with vim.

Like everyone else, they left the house unlocked as they ran merrily down the gangplanks, beer bottles in hand, joining the throngs all streaming towards the same grassy patch where the maypole was erected. It was set in a large grassy parcel of land surrounded by houses, on the opposite side of town, and hundreds were gathered there. The sheer number of people was always amazing to Bell. It was a tiny island, with a year-round population of less than a hundred – where did everybody go to after this?

They stood for a moment taking in the scene, looking for friends’ faces and deciding where to stand. A fiddlers’ group was playing, smorgasbords were set out on tables around the edges, young and old were talking and laughing. The maypole – decorated with greenery and flowers – had already been hoisted into position, and everyone was preparing for the next dance. Bell scanned the crowd, looking for Hanna and Max. The kids loved the maypole dancing – although Linus was becoming more reluctant with age – but even he couldn’t resist the ‘Små Grodorna’ song, where everyone pretended to be frogs. Frogs. As a non-Swede, it was the one custom that baffled her and she always made her excuses to duck out, looking on with bemusement as Kris, Marc and Tove went crazy for it.