She's Never Coming Back Read Free

home in time to watch some rubbish on TV.’
    ‘Yes, go on, you don’t need to stay long.’
    Ylva laughed, grateful for their nagging.
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m going to be good.’
    ‘You?’ Nour scoffed. ‘Why start now?’
    ‘Why not? Variety is the spice of life, isn’t it?’
    ‘One glass?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You sure?’
    Ylva nodded.
    ‘I’m sure,’ she said.
    ‘Okay, okay, it’s not like you, but okay.’
    ‘See you Monday.’
    ‘Yep. Say hi to the family.’
    Ylva stopped and turned round.
    ‘You make it sound like something bad,’ she said, and put her hand on her heart with mock innocence.
    Nour shook her head.
    ‘No, we’re just jealous.’
    Ylva took out her iPod and wandered off down the hill. The wires had got tangled and she had to stop to unravel them before popping the earpieces in and selecting the playlist. Music in her ears, eyes straight ahead – the only way to avoid talk about the weather. There was always somechatterbox who was dying for attention and gossip. The dilemma of small-town living.
    And Ylva was an outsider. Mike had grown up here and couldn’t take a step without having to give an account of recent events.
    Ylva cut down the deserted, picture-postcard lane and passed by a parked car with a tinted rear window. She didn’t notice the driver. The volume in her ears was so loud that she didn’t hear the car start either.
    She only registered it when the car pulled up beside her and didn’t drive past. She turned. The window rolled down.
    Ylva assumed that it was someone wanting directions. She stopped and wavered between turning the iPod off and taking out the earpieces. She decided on the latter and took a step towards the car, bent down and looked in. A cardboard box and a handbag on the passenger seat. The woman at the wheel smiled at her.
    ‘Ylva?’ she said.
    A brief second, then that horrible feeling in her stomach.
    ‘I thought it was you,’ the driver said, cheerfully.
    Ylva returned her smile.
    ‘After all, it wasn’t yesterday.’
    The driver turned towards a man in the back seat.
    ‘D’you see who it is?’
    He leaned forward.
    ‘Hello, Ylva.’
    Ylva reached in through the window, shook both their hands.
    ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘What are we doing? We’ve just moved here. And you?’
    Ylva didn’t understand.
    ‘I live here,’ she said. ‘I’ve been here for nearly six years now.’
    The driver pulled in her chin, as if she found it hard to believe.
    ‘Whereabouts?’ she asked.
    Ylva looked at her.
    ‘Hittarp,’ she replied.
    The driver turned to the man in the back seat, astonished, then back to Ylva.
    ‘You can’t be serious? Tell me you’re not serious. We’ve just bought a house there. Do you know Sundsliden, the hill that goes down to the water?’
    Ylva nodded. ‘I live right by it.’
    ‘Right by it?’ the woman at the wheel parroted. ‘Really? Did you hear that, darling? She lives right by it.’
    ‘I heard,’ the man said.
    ‘What a small world,’ the woman said. ‘Well, then we’re neighbours again. What a coincidence. Are you on your way home?’
    ‘Um, yes.’
    ‘Jump in, we can give you a lift.’
    ‘But I …’
    ‘Just jump in. The back seat. There’s so much rubbish here.’
    Ylva hesitated, but didn’t have an excuse. She took out the other earpiece, wrapped the wires round the iPod, opened the car door and got in.
    The woman pulled out from the pavement.
    ‘Imagine,’ the man said, ‘that you should live here too. Do you like it?’
    ‘Yes, I’m happy here,’ Ylva said. ‘The town is smaller, obviously, but the water and the beaches are fantastic. And there’s so much sky. Feels like everything is possible. But it’s very windy. And the winters are not great.’
    ‘Really? In what way?’
    ‘Wet and bitter. Just sleet and slush, never white.’
    ‘Did you hear that?’ the man said to the woman. ‘No real winter. Just slush.’
    ‘I heard,’ the woman said, and looked at Ylva