He borrowed his father-in-law’s car, swapping it for the little girl. Kent Sillfors’ car was a red Skoda and having it in the rear-view mirror on the E10 motorway felt like being tailed by the police. Because I knew he was sitting there, thinking all kinds of thoughts about me, like the police do when they’re keeping an eye on a car in front of them. Like heat against the back of my neck. He was a doctor too, and he and Diana had likely discussed Susso, and probably our entire family, and it wasn’t hard to imagine what that conversation had been like.

I always used to be proud of my name, boastful even. I would pronounce it with a level of smugness in any and all contexts. When a stranger found out what my name was, I would follow up with he was my dad before they were even through asking whether I was related to Gunnar Myrén. I was that eager to bask in his glory. However, that glory had gradually faded and eventually vanished and these days I felt a pall had been cast over our name. I certainly didn’t take any joy in telling people my name any more; it made me feel ashamed, because I knew people no longer associated the name Myrén with pictures of beautiful mountains; they associated the name Myrén with pictures of trolls. Faked pictures. Counterfeiting. And as if that wasn’t enough, kidnapping and obscure cults too. That’s what Margareta Oja had told me when she came in the shop one day, that someone had asked her on Facebook what our connections had really been with that kidnapper cult outside Sorsele. And she obviously didn’t want to reveal who it was who had asked. She felt it didn’t matter. And that was the worst of it, that she said it didn’t matter who had asked the question, because that made it seem general. Everyone is wondering. Everyone is talking. That was why she had popped by and told me about it, under the guise of wanting to share a confidence. She probably thought I shouldn’t look quite so smug, standing by my little display case in the village hall, for everyone to see, because as we all know, you must never think too highly of yourself, and definitely not of your father. And she succeeded, I’m sad to say. I took it to heart. It went straight in. I probably wouldn’t have cared if it had been some random snide remark, but this was obviously something that had already gnawed at me for a long time.

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