Free I Am Behind You by John Ajvide Lindqvist, Marlaine Delargy

carries on rubbing away. ‘I don’t know.’
    Donald shakes his head. He is disappointed. Among all the milksops surrounding him, he had thought Peter was an ally. Someone who could tackle things head-on. But now he is standing here gibbering like the rest of them. This can’t go on.
    Donald puts a friendly arm around Peter’s shoulders. ‘Come and have a beer and we can talk about this.’
    *
    The first thing Lennart and Olof do when they get back to their caravan is to switch on the radio, as if they need to check that the broadcast is not a localised phenomenon restricted to Donald’s awning. But no. The music comes pouring out of their battered old Luxor too. And not just any music, but one of Olof’s favourites: ‘This Is How Love Begins’ by Agnetha Fältskog and Björn Ulvaeus.
    Lennart sits down on the sofa and watches with quiet amusement as Olof shuts the door, then begins to move in time to the music. Lennart likes the song too, but finds it a bit too romantic for his taste: a chance meeting in a crowd, dancing dance after dance.
    Olof grabs Lennart’s hand and pulls him to his feet, opening his arms as he sways on the spot. Lennart waves dismissively: ‘I can’t.’
    ‘Of course you can,’ Olof says, taking both of Lennart’s hands. ‘It’s just a basic foxtrot.’ The caravan rocks as Olof demonstrates the steps, pulling Lennart close. Lennart takes one step to the right, one to the left, and his cheeks grow hot. He pulls away and moves backwards until he bumps into the kitchen table.
    ‘I can’t .’
    Olof frowns and turns down the volume. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I can’t dance.’
    ‘Yes, you can.’
    ‘No, I can’t. And it feels so…I don’t know.’
    Lennart sits back down on the sofa and looks out of the window. There is nothing to see, but he looks anyway. He hears a click as the radio is switched off, and in his peripheral vision he sees Olof sit down opposite him. He feels a gentle caress on his forearm.
    ‘It’s okay,’ Olof says. ‘It’s okay.’
    ‘I know,’ Lennart says, glancing at Olof, who has tilted his head to one side, his expression full of concern.
    ‘Was it too intimate?’ Olof asks.
    ‘No. Yes. Although it would be…I know. It’s just that…’
    Olof withdraws his hand and fixes his eyes on the table. ‘We do sleep together, after all.’
    ‘Yes, but that’s different, somehow.’
    ‘I know what you mean,’ Olof says. ‘I feel the same.’ He scratches his head and pulls a face. ‘Forgive me. I just felt…inspired.’
    ‘You have nothing to apologise for. I wish…well, you know.’
    They sit in silence for a while, then Olof says: ‘Can you really not dance? Did you never learn?’
    ‘No. I must have been off sick when we had dancing lessons.’
    ‘My mother taught me, when I was fourteen or fifteen.’
    ‘My mother wasn’t much of a dancer, as you might recall.’
    ‘No. Of course not.’
    Lennart looks gloomy, and Olof wishes he had never brought up the subject. Lennart’s mother was kicked by a horse, and Olof remembers her as old before her time, always leaning on a stick for support.
    It was a silly idea anyway, trying to get Lennart to dance. It’s all coming back to Olof now. Whenever he and Ingela went out with Lennart and Agnetha, Lennart would always have some problem with his back or his knees, and would stay at the bar while Agnetha danced with other partners. Olof had assumed he was just shy.
    ‘Listen,’ he says, tapping the table. ‘Shall we go out and listen to our iPod?’
    Lennart nods and gets to his feet, follows Olof. Before Olof has time to open the door, he feels Lennart’s hand on his shoulder andturns around. Lennart’s expression is serious as he slowly strokes Olof’s cheek and says: ‘Forgive me.’
    ‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ Olof places his hand on Lennart’s, presses it against his face. ‘That’s just the way things are. And it’s fine.’
    The gadgets are on the table between the