Free Third Voice by Cilla Börjlind, Hilary; Rolf; Parnfors

staring sometimes, as they had done not so long ago. He still avoided the gaze of unfamiliar people.
    So he walked along with his head hanging low, looking at the pavement.
    For a long time.
    He felt that he had to make time pass. There was too much going on in his head for him to remain cooped up in that cell he’d just rented on Luna’s barge, he had to walk off some of thatrestlessness. When he was in his cabin, he just wanted to detach. Tomorrow he’d be meeting Mette to talk about Rune Forss. He had to kill time until then.
    So he walked through the city centre a few times before heading back to Söder. He saw former colleagues sail past him in police patrol vans and turned away slightly. Not that they’d recognise him, he’d never been on patrol duty, and the people inside the vans were too young to know who he was.
    But they were police officers.
    That was enough.
    They reminded him of the wrong things.
    Eventually he reached the barge, late at night, in a state in which he finally thought he’d be able to creep into bed and disappear. He climbed up the ladder. It was dark on deck. That Luna sure doesn’t waste electricity, he thought, and went over to the steps down to the cabin.
    ‘Hi.’
    The voice came from the darkness over by the railings and it made him jump. He recognised the voice, but he couldn’t see anyone.
    ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I was heading to bed.’
    ‘You don’t want to have a whiskey?’
    Luna stepped out of the darkness and into a beam of light from the quayside lamp. Her dungarees had been replaced with a pair of worn jeans and a grey woolly jumper. She held a thick blanket around her shoulders.
    ‘I’m quite shattered,’ Stilton said.
    ‘Have you been working?’
    ‘No.’
    Stilton hesitated a little. Luna was standing a couple of metres away. Her thick hair was hanging over her shoulder, tied in a ponytail.
    ‘Are you going to get up early?’
    ‘I get up when I wake up.’
    Luna nodded a little and kept Stilton’s gaze.
    ‘But I’d like to have a whiskey,’ he lied.
    Luna turned around and headed down towards the lounge, in front of Stilton. She’d put on a few lamps, there was gentle country music coming from somewhere out in the darkness, coupled with a light whiff of tar in the air. Two small olive trees and two larger lemon trees were placed along the bulkheads. Luna gestured towards a long wall-mounted bench. There were a couple of framed pictures hanging above it, small abstract oil paintings in bold colours. Stilton sat down. It was the first time he’d been down here. He immediately liked it. All the dark worn wood, brass fittings here and there, the rounded oblong table in front of him, full of scratches. He thought about Rödlöga, about the old wherries out there, the old fisherman’s cottages. He felt a strange longing for home. Luna walked towards the wooden cupboard on the wall and took out a bottle of Bulleit Bourbon and two small glasses.
    ‘Surely it’s all right to celebrate my first lodger,’ she said.
    ‘I think so.’
    She poured the whiskey and held out a glass to Stilton.
    ‘Cheers.’
    Stilton raised his glass and sipped the dry whiskey.
    ‘So this is the first time you’ve rented out a cabin?’ he said.
    ‘Yes. I need to boost my income.’
    ‘What do you do?’
    ‘I’m a caretaker at the Norra cemetery and the pay is pretty bad. How did you end up on the streets?’
    The question came out of nowhere and Stilton didn’t have a chance to duck. He looked down into his glass. He’d been asked that question enough times to be able to present a number of different responses, depending on who was asking. Right now he didn’t feel like answering at all.
    ‘It’s hard to answer that,’ he said.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I don’t know who you are and what response I should choose.’
    Luna smiled without saying anything. Stilton felt uncomfortable.
    ‘What’s that music?’ he said, trying to change the subject.
    ‘“Lover’s Eyes.”