The Voices Beyond: (Oland Quartet Series 4) by Johan Theorin Read Free Book Online Page A

gain much time if she tried overtaking; all she could do was relax and try to enjoy the summer weather.
    Try to forget about Silas for a while.
    It took her almost forty minutes to reach Borgholm, where a lot of cars turned off. After that, Lisa was able to increase her speed, but by then she had only fifteen minutes to go before she was due on stage.
    She consoled herself with the thought that she was only the accompanist. Of course, she would have preferred not to play her guitar at the dance at all – she had given up children’s parties and corporate events several years ago – but she needed the money.
    At four minutes to two, she turned off the main road and drove down towards the village. The festival site was right by the road, almost at the water’s edge, and it was easy to find: the maypole had been raised on the grass, and the audience had gathered.
    Lisa jumped out of the car, took a deep breath of sea air, grabbed her guitar – which was no doubt out of tune by now, thanks to the heat, but would have to do – and ran towards the maypole. It must have been set up that morning, because the birch leaves were still bright green in the sunshine. The two flower garlands beneath the crossbar were dancing in the wind, high above the heads of well-dressed children and adults.
    Everyone looked horribly cheerful. A load of rich people in the country. Lisa quickly made her way through the crowd.
    ‘Excuse me … excuse me …’
    She held the guitar by the neck in front of her, almost like a cudgel, and people jumped and moved out of the way when she gave them a shove.
    Two older men were waiting on the far side of the pole, one holding a microphone, the other with an enormous accordion resting on his belly. They both nodded to her as she arrived.
    ‘Aha, here’s our accompanist … Are you Lisa Turesson?’
    She nodded, looped the guitar around her neck and took a plectrum out of her pocket. She ran it over the strings and quickly tuned up. That would have to do.
    ‘We start at two o’clock,’ the accordionist said. ‘You knew that, I presume?’
    Lisa stared at him from beneath her fringe.
    ‘There was a traffic jam on the bridge.’
    ‘You should have set off in plenty of time,’ the singer said. He looked at her guitar. ‘Ready?’
    ‘Absolutely.’
    He raised the microphone, every trace of irritation gone.
    ‘Good afternoon, everybody! Can you hear me? Excellent, in that case let me welcome both young and old to Stenvik’s midsummer celebrations. I’m Sune, and Gunnar and Lisa will be accompanying me today. We’re going to sing and play so that you can all dance before you go home and eat your herring and potatoes. Does that sound good?’
    A few voices answered, ‘Yeesss …’
    ‘Good, then take one another by the hand. Don’t be shy now!’
    People did as they were told, linking together like a living chain.
    ‘We’re starting off with “The Priest’s Little Crow” …’ He looked at Lisa. ‘… the song about the poor bird who went out for a drive but ended up in the ditch. Is everyone ready?’
    Sune counted them in, and Gunnar and Lisa began to play. People started dancing around the maypole, slowly at first, then faster and faster.
    Summer had arrived, and Lisa was earning money.

Gerlof
    Everyone was dancing around the maypole. The cult of the sun had begun. Gerlof was sitting on his chair on the grass, wondering if all this wasn’t in fact too late. The summer solstice had fallen four days ago so, technically, the autumn was closer than the spring at this stage, and the darkness closer than the light.
    But the sun and the summer were being celebrated anyway, and Gerlof saw many smiling faces beneath the garlands. Several hundred people of all ages were moving in wide circles around the maypole.
    Gerlof couldn’t dance; he sat on his chair with stiff legs, thinking longingly of the smorgasbord to come, the herring and potatoes and schnapps. But there was a good atmosphere; he