Sun Storm by Åsa Larsson

growled and shook them playfully. There was a powerful smell of Ajax and soap. When Rebecka looked more closely, she could see that the floor was smeared with cleaning fluid.
    “What on earth!” she exclaimed. “Whatever has been going on here? Where are your mother and your big sister?”
    Lova pointed at the sofa bed in the alcove. A girl of about eleven sat there, wearing a long gray sheepskin coat, maybe Sanna’s. She looked up from her magazine with narrowed eyes, her mouth a thin compressed line. Rebecka felt a stab in her heart.
    Sara, she thought. She’s got so big. And so like Sanna. The same blond hair, but hers is straight like Viktor’s.
    “Hi,” said Rebecka to Sara. “What’s Lova been up to? Where’s Sanna?”
    Sara shrugged her shoulders, making it clear that it wasn’t her job to keep an eye on her little sister or tabs on her mother.
    “Mummy got cross,” said Lova, tugging at Rebecka’s sleeve. “She’s in the bubble. She’s lying down in there.”
    She pointed at the bedroom door.
    “Who are you?” asked Sara suspiciously.
    “My name’s Rebecka, and this is my house. Partly mine anyway.”
    She turned to Lova.
    “What do you mean, ‘in the bubble’?”
    “When she’s in the bubble she doesn’t speak and she doesn’t look at us,” explained Lova, and couldn’t help tugging at Rebecka’s buttons again.
    “Oh, God,” sighed Rebecka, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on a hook in the hall.
    It really was freezing in the house. She must get the fire going.
    “I know your mummy,” said Rebecka, starting to pick up the chairs. “My grandparents lived here when they were alive. Have you got soap in your hair as well?”
    She looked at Lova’s hair, hanging in sticky clumps. The dog sat down and tried to reach round and lick its back. Rebecka crouched down and called to the dog in the same way as her grandmother used to call the dogs at home.
    “Here, girl!”
    The dog came straight over to her and showed her submissiveness by attempting to lick Rebecka’s mouth. Rebecka could see now that she was some sort of spitz crossbreed. The thick black coat stood out like a woolly frame round the narrow feminine head. Her eyes were black, shining with happiness. Rebecka ran her hands through the fur and sniffed at her fingers. They smelled of carbolic.
    “Nice dog,” she said to Sara. “Is she yours?”
    Sara didn’t answer.
    “Two-thirds belong to Sara and one-third belongs to me,” said Lova, as if she had learned it by heart.
    “I want to talk to Sanna,” said Rebecka, and stood up.
    Lova took her hand and led her into the other room. The accommodation on the upper floor consisted of the big kitchen with the alcove for the sofa bed, and another room. This had been the children’s bedroom. Grandmother and Grandfather had slept in the alcove in the kitchen. Sanna was lying on her side on one of the beds, her knees drawn up so that they were almost touching her chin. Her face was turned to the wall, and she was wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of flowery cotton knickers. Her long blond angel hair was spread over the pillow.
    “Hello, Sanna,” said Rebecka carefully.
    The woman on the bed didn’t reply, but Rebecka could see that she was breathing.
    Lova picked up a blanket that was lying folded at the foot of the bed and spread it over her mother.
    “She’s in the bubble,” she whispered.
    “I understand,” said Rebecka through clenched teeth.
    She poked Sanna hard in the back with her forefinger.
    “Come with me,” said Rebecka, and took Lova back into the kitchen.
    Virku trotted after them once she had checked that her mistress, lying immobile and silent on the bed, was in no danger.
    “Have you had anything to eat?” asked Rebecka.
    “No,” replied Lova.
    “You and I used to know each other when you were little,” said Rebecka to Sara.
    “I’m not little,” shouted Lova. “I’m four!”
    “Now, this is what we’re going to do,” decided Rebecka.