Lost

After three days of searching, the authorities had found nothing.

“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Everyone seemed to say. "But there's nothing more to be done."

Loss. Such a strange, ill-fitting word to describe death. Loss. Like losing a glove while running to hail a taxi. Or a baby’s shoe, during a stroll in the park. Most of the time, death did not mean loss. Not really. We bury our dead. We scatter their ashes in a chosen location. Even to the atheist who believes their loved one to be simply ‘gone’, gone is not the same as lost.

In the case of Hjalmar Björklund, however, he truly was lost.

“Christ,” Hedda groaned, peeling the slice of cucumber from her eye, squinting against the harsh sunlight. Day three of their yachting holiday, and she was already wishing that she’d left her son behind with his father. Not that her ex-husband would want him either.

Peeling away the second slice of cucumber, she reached for her sunglasses, using them to swat her sister on the thigh.

“Hmm?” Tuva said, glancing up from her novel.

Hedda waved with impatience towards her son, Nils, and her niece, Meja. They were playing an energetic game of pirates only metres away, banging two canes (acquired from who knows where) together in clumsy swordplay.

“Can’t they go and do that somewhere else?”

Tuva flicked a nonchalant eye to the children, turning the page as she did so.

“They’re only playing.”

“Well, I wish they’d make less noise while doing so.”

“Nils is your son,” Tuva said. “Tell him to be quiet if it bothers you so much. Though I don’t think they’re doing anything wrong.”

“He doesn’t listen to a word I say,” Hedda shrugged. “Like his father. Tell Meja to be quiet.”

Tuva closed her thumb in her book to mark her page. “Hedda, really?”

Huffing in frustration, Hedda stood, stretching her arms above her head until her shoulder cracked.

“I’m going to get a drink.” She didn’t offer to fetch one for her sister. With a last look of annoyance at her oblivious son, she stomped off in search of a cocktail.

Shaking her head, Tuva returned to her book. She had never understood why Hedda and Sven had chosen to have a child during their brief marriage. Neither had ever pretended to like children; something poor Nils was all too aware of. Tuva couldn’t recall ever seeing her sister hug her son. Even in the hospital room, hours after his birth, Hedda had refused to touch him, content to let the rest of the family fuss over him. She had no recollection of where Sven had been during this time. With a fling, most likely.

“Careful!” She called out, startled as Meja backed against the railing of the ship, forced back by Nils’ lunges with his ‘sword’.

The two children stopped their play at once, turning to look at her. The railing of the deck stood more than a foot higher than the seven-year-olds, and the rails were too closely spaced for little bodies to fall through, but she fretted, all the same.

“Don’t go so close to the edge.” She scolded.

“Sorry, Mama,” Meja said, though she pulled a face to indicate that she saw no danger.

Nils looked at Tuva but said nothing, his expression blank. This was often the case. He hardly ever spoke but to other children.

“What’s all this, then?” Someone called out. Her husband, Hjalmar, was standing on the upper deck, hands splayed along the rail as he looked down at them, a towel thrown over his shoulder. His hair was wet, rivulets of water running down his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, golden from the sun.

Behind him emerged their friends, Viggo and Ester Wallin. Viggo too was dripping in water, while Ester looked like a film star; chestnut hair set in pristine curls beneath her straw hat, the brim wide enough to cast a shadow across most of her torso.

The trio made their way down the steps to the lower deck.

“They were too close to the rail,” Tuva explained.

Throwing his daughter and nephew a devilish grin, Hjalmar bent to kiss his wife, who raised her lips to meet his. He smelt of chlorine; he and Viggo must have gone for a swim in the yacht’s pool.

He threw himself down in Hedda’s recently abandoned sun lounger.

“Don’t worry,” He cooed, patting her hand. “They can’t fall overboard. The whole boat is childproof.”

Tuva smiled, though it did not reach her lips. In truth, she had felt ill at ease all day, though she couldn’t explain why. Perhaps she had had a bad dream in the night, forgotten, but for the feelings that it had evoked.

“We’re all safe.” Her husband said, kissing her again. “I promise.”

“Look,” Ester said, pointing out to sea. Viggo was standing with his arm wrapped around her waist. “Look at the size of that yacht! It makes ours look like a dinghy.”

“It must be a cruise ship,” Tuva said, without looking.

“Must be.”

The children, eager to see, swarmed around the adults, standing on their toes and pleading to be picked up.

Tuva leapt to her feet, taking each child by the hand and pulling them back from the rail.

Hjalmar laughed, standing to join the group, rubbing at his wet hair as he did so. Dropping his towel, he lifted Meja onto his hip, and tapped Viggo on the arm, to urge him to do the same for Nils, which he did.

“I can’t see a company name,” Hjalmar said, shielding his eyes as he peered closer at the ship on the horizon. It truly was enormous.

Tuva was relieved of the distance between the two ships; how could such a large ship see them, were they to cross paths?

“Perhaps it is private then,” Ester concluded. “Perhaps it belongs to some oil magnate or a Saudi Prince.”

“What are we all looking at?” It was Hedda, returning with a White Russian in each hand. “Oh! Look at the size of that ship!”

“We are.” Tuva huffed.

Joining the group, Hedda tapped the side of the glass against Hjalmar’s arm, taking a sip from the other as she did so.

“I saw you getting out of the pool and thought you could use a drink.”

Ester caught Tuva’s eye, before flicking a cool gaze back to Hedda.

Hjalmar thanked her, pausing to put Meja down before taking the glass. The girl was off like a shot, ready for another round of sword fighting with Nils, who soon followed.

“Where’s my drink?” Viggo teased.

“I only have two hands,” Hedda replied, tapping him on the shoulder.

“You could have used a drinks tray,” Ester muttered. “Would either of you like a drink?” She asked Viggo and Tuva pointedly.

Both declined.

“Everyone’s so frosty today,” Hedda smirked.

The five of them settled themselves on the deck’s various deck chairs and cushions. Hjalmar perched on the end of Tuva’s lounger. Taking her foot in his hand, he began to knead at the arch of her foot. She writhed in pleasure, like a cat. The cocktail sat untouched upon the deck.

“Guess who I saw getting cosy in the lounge?” Hedda said. Her voice had taken on that irritating sing-song tone that she always adopted when around men. Any man, but especially, Tuva had noticed of late, around her brother-in-law. She turned to Hjalmar, pointed a magenta fingernail at him, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Your son,” She turned now to Viggo and Ester, “And your daughter.”

“What?” Tuva said, pulling her foot free from Hjalmar’s grip. Their son, Olle, was hardly sixteen, and Ingrid was almost a year younger. “Go and do something.” She said to her husband, tapping her foot against his side.

He let out a great bark of laughter.

“Why? Where better than a yacht to experience teenage love? They can’t get into too much trouble here.”

“That depends on how far their ‘love’ goes,” Ester said, wriggling while Viggo shifted uncomfortably in their shared deck chair.

“With both of their families on board? It won’t go that far.”

“Don’t you remember when we were dating?” Tuva pressed, looking at him. “All those times that your family would invite me on holidays and outings?” She blushed, her mind racing with memories.

From the look on his face, Hjalmar too was recounting these same images. A twitch of a smile toyed on his lips.

“And we didn’t get into any trouble,” He said, his tone dropping.

“We were lucky.”

Now that Tuva thought of it, she wasn’t so surprised by the news. Olle and Ingrid had both been circling each other for months, as their bodies changed and their perceptions of each other likewise. She nudged her foot against Hjalmar’s thigh.

“Go.”

“Fine,” He held up a hand in defeat. “I’ll coax them out for some lunch. The only thing that can distract two teenagers from sex, is food.”

“Good idea.” She teased.

He bent down, kissing her hard on the lips, and she leant into him, even as her hand pushed against his chest. He took her hand in his, kissing it.

“God, you two.” Hedda rolled her eyes. As Hjalmar left, she added. “You know they’ll only sneak off to another quiet corner as soon as everyone’s backs are turned? Or do you intend to watch them like a hawk for the rest of the trip?”

“Oh, shut up, Hedda.” Tuva snapped.

Ester smiled, her head resting against Viggo’s chest.

No more than five minutes passed before Olle and Ingrid emerged, casting sheepish glances at each other as they settled themselves on the deck with an air of paying distant relatives a polite, reluctant visit.

“Ingrid,” Hedda crooned, “You’re looking a little flushed. Perhaps you’ve caught the sun?”

Ingrid’s blush deepened.

“Ignore her,” Ester said. “Come on. Let’s go and eat.”

It was as everyone settled in the dining room, that Tuva first noted the absence of her husband. When he had not emerged with the twins, she had assumed that he was being diplomatic; no need to escort them, after all. But half an hour passed, and there was no sign of him.

“Any idea where your father went?” She asked Olle.

He shrugged.

“Haven’t seen him all day.”

Ester turned to look at him, catching Tuva’s eye.

“Didn’t he come to-” She had almost said ‘fetch you’, but caught herself. “Talk to you just now?”

He shook his head, shovelling bread into his mouth until his cheeks bulged.

“No.”

Ingrid shook her head in agreement.

“I’m sure he’ll be along in a minute,” Hedda said, draining her cocktail.

But he wasn’t along in a minute. Or several. After an hour, Tuva opted to go and look for him. He couldn’t have gone far, after all.

But there was no sign of him. He was not in their cabin, the lounge, the pool room. He was not in the staff quarters, and none of the crew had seen him. Viggo and Ester joined the search. Even the captain. All to no avail.

The alarm was raised.

No one could say how Hjalmar Björklund came to be in the water, unseen. In fact, no one could say for sure that he had ended up in the water, but for the logical conclusion once every inch of the yacht had been searched. He was never found. There was no explanation. No chain of events. No clues to follow, as in a novel. No body to bury.

He was simply there, and then he was not.

He was simply lost.