Her dad poured the coffee and her mom passed her the plate of marble cake. Agnes took a slice, the largest, and sipped her coffee.
“How’s Madde?” she asked quickly. She wanted to put off the report of her own life for as long as she could. She’d come for a little comfort, to see that everything was as it should be, somewhere at least. She’d been mulling over her misery non-stop for the past few days. She needed a break.
“Good. Still working at the nursery. I think she likes it there. Or what do you think, Sven?”
“Well, I’ve not heard otherwise.”
“And.… But maybe she wants to tell you herself.…”
“What?” Agnes looked in curiosity at her mother, who threw a questioning look in turn at her husband. Sven shrugged his shoulders. “Come on, tell me!”
“Well.…” Maud began hesitantly. Agnes broke in.
“She’s not pregnant, is she?”
“No.” Maud gave a little forced laugh. Agnes knew that her mom and dad yearned for grandchildren. “No, but she and Jonas are going to get their own place.”
“But they already live together, don’t they?” Madde and Jonas had, on and off, been sharing a room for years on the bottom floor of Jonas’s mother’s house.
“Yes, I know… but I mean a real place. They’re buying a terraced house.”
“Up in Fredriksro,” added her dad. “In one of those newly built terraces.”
Agnes nodded slowly. “I see. That’s lovely.” She probably didn’t sound enthusiastic enough, for Maud started to tell her about the house.
“It’s a two-story house, 400 square feet, with its own garage. And a little garden. I think it’s 50 square feet in the front, and what can it be at the back? 120 maybe?”
“I think it’ll be perfect,” agreed her dad. Perfect for what? wondered Agnes. For a quiet life with husband, two children, a golden retriever, a Volvo, and a part-time job in a daycare center. It wasn’t as if she despised her little sister for the life she’d chosen to live, but she just couldn’t help feeling grateful that she herself had chosen another.
“Yes, and we’ve promised to help with the flowerbeds,” added her mom. “They didn’t want anything complicated, but we were talking about having sweet peas in the front and maybe some marigolds, foxgloves… a little herb garden, some currant bushes…”
Agnes stopped her. She was finding it hard to believe that Madde and Jonas had expressed the least desire to have an herb garden and sweet peas. Madde’s lack of interest in gardening was even greater than hers, if that was at all possible. “So what about Jonas?” she asked instead. “What’s he up to?” Apart from getting her out of garden talk, the question would also keep her parents away from the inevitable discussion about her own wrecked life for a little while longer. “Is he still at the factory?” There was a moment of silence and Agnes noticed Maud shoot another glace at her husband. Sven cleared his throat.
“Yes, for the present.”
“What? What do you mean?” Jonas might have been only twenty-seven, but the idea of him leaving Länninge factory was almost laughable. She’d asked the question as a joke. Jonas had been working as a welder there since leaving school. Swore about it at times, said he was going to get work elsewhere, but he and everyone else knew that that would never happen. Working at the factory was a way of life, engrained into the town’s consciousness for three generations. Länninge Industrial Foundry Engineering, as it was properly called, was to Länninge what Jesus was to the Church of Sweden. The one was inconceivable without the other. That its acronym was LIFE was more than mere coincidence.
The fact that Agnes had not ended up on its payroll was close to a miracle. Her mom and dad had both worked at the factory and if Aunt Gullan hadn’t needed an extra pair of hands in her lunch restaurant, Agnes would probably also have taken a summer job there. Perhaps temped there after school, been given an extension, trial employment… and then, whoosh, ten years gone. It wasn’t something she liked to think about. She was pleased with how her life looked, or rather, had looked until four days ago. She preferred to see it as if she’d made a choice, broken free of small-town expectations and made a life for herself.
With Madde, it was different. She’d always said that she had had no intention of working at the factory. And given her stubbornness, no one was surprised when she didn’t. Her going out with a factory worker was taken as her little concession to the community that resented whoever thought themselves too “good” for factory work.
“Well, not quit exactly.…” Her dad had started talking again. “He might have no other choice.” Agnes looked inquiringly at her parents. Had she missed something?
“Didn’t you hear the news yesterday?” asked her mom finally. Agnes shook her head; she’d been out weeping through an evening with Lussan and it had gotten late. “They’re going to close the factory down.”
“What?” Agnes almost dropped her coffee. She wouldn’t have been more shocked if they’d said they were going to close down the royal family. “They can’t close down the factory! And who are ‘they,’ anyway?”
“The Americans.”
“But, Jesus, they only bought it a couple of years ago.”
“Six years ago,” put in her mom. “They obviously haven’t been able to make the business profitable.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! The Länninge factory has always made a profit! The new owners must’ve done something wrong.”
“Yes, that’s possible, but the contract with Saab wasn’t extended.… They’re talking about competition from new markets. Times are changing, they say.”
“But it’s crazy, you can’t just come over from the USA and buy up our factory only to close it down!” Agnes was upset. She didn’t even notice that she’d just called the factory “our.”
“So what, the factory’s going to be completely closed down, is that it?”
“Not completely,” continued Sven. “They’re going to keep the development department, but the entire core business, the manufacturing, is going to be moved to Estonia.”
“To Estonia? But what is all this? They can’t just move the factory to Estonia. What’ll happen to Länninge?”
“Yes, well, things aren’t looking so bright,” sighed Maud. “There’s going to be a big demonstration this week… but I wouldn’t think it’ll make any difference.”
Agnes was silent for a moment and looked at her parents. “What about you?” she asked at last. “Are you also getting the sack?”
Sven gathered himself before answering.
“They’ve put it slightly differently.” He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose lustily before continuing. “Everyone over fifty-five has been offered early retirement. Which is quite good. Of course it’ll mean that we’ll have a lot less coming in, but they’ve added a few sweeteners. Training, if you want it, and.…”
“We got the offer back last month, so we had some idea of what was going on. The rumors have been going round for a while, but nothing’s been confirmed by the management.”
“Early retirement!” sputtered Agnes. “Are you going to stop working? You’ve got almost ten years left to go! You can’t go and accept that, can you?” She didn’t normally get angry, not on her own account at least. But now it felt as if someone had just steamrolled over her parents. Her kind mom and dad, who’d never done anyone any harm, who never crossed the road until the light went green, and who never gossiped about their neighbors, even though some of them were both unfaithful and closet alcoholics. That made her angry. How could someone be so cruel to people who just mean well? Agnes looked in turn at her mom and dad. Maud coughed cautiously.
“Anyway,” she said eventually. “We’ve already signed the papers.” The kitchen went quiet. This was just too much. Agnes was simply lost for words. In the end, her mom picked up the conversation. “As you know, my knees have been giving me trouble for years and Dad hasn’t got that many years left till retirement a
s it is. We gave it a lot of thought, and once we got used to the idea it actually felt quite liberating. I mean, we’ve been working for many years now.”
“Yes, and it’s not a bad job being on the assembly line,” her dad continued. “But it does have its limitations, you know.…”
“And it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to have a few years to ourselves before we get too decrepit, would it? We might even be able to buy a apartment in Spain, like Gullan.…” Her mom looked beseechingly at Agnes before carrying on. “It’s worse for the young ones, for Jonas.” She was looking worried. Sven took over.
“He’ll be alright, I’m sure. He’s a good worker and enterprising. I mean, just look at the miniature golf club. If it hadn’t been for Jonas, there’d have been no miniature golf championship in Länninge, or even a club for that matter. I’m sure he’ll be able to find a job, just once he’s started looking.”
“How many are losing their jobs? Four hundred?”
“Three hundred and eighty-two.”
“OK, so he’ll be competing for a job with three hundred and eighty-one other unemployed factory workers.…” Agnes shook her head. “And how will they be able to buy a house if Jonas hasn’t got a job? They can hardly get by on Madde’s wage, can they?”
“We’ve promised to act as guarantors.” Sven looked authoritatively at her and, to fend off any possible protest, added: “And we want you to know that we’d do the same for you, too, if it was ever necessary.”
Agnes gave a little pause. “And you? What are you going to do now? And by the way, when are you leaving?”
“In three weeks.”
“Jesus, that was quick.”
“Well, the conditions were better the earlier you agreed to quit.”
“The bastards!”
Her mom ignored the comment. She wasn’t one to complain. Every cloud has a silver lining, that was her motto. “It suits us quite nicely, actually. You know, we can get on with the pruning as soon as the snow’s melted, can’t we, Sven?”
“Yes, and there’s a lot to do this year, especially with the apples. We hardly had any Transparente blanche last year. I think it’s about time to get that tree properly rejuvenated once and for all.”
“Not to mention the bigarreaux and the gooseberry bushes.…”
Agnes sighed. Her parents were back on their hobbyhorse again. The garden. They could talk about it for hours. It wasn’t big, just an ordinary-sized garden, but they loved it more than everything else. In fact, it had gone so far that Agnes had started to look upon the garden as a second sibling. It wasn’t as if Sven and Maud cared more about their garden than their two daughters. No, not at all – but possibly just as much. Agnes habitually stopped listening when her mom lost herself in her descriptions of her yellow star-of-Bethlehem and rambler roses. This was not Agnes’s field. She was about as interested in gardening as she was in handicrafts and classic cars. No, less, probably.
Her mom and dad talked for a while. It was quite obvious that they wouldn’t find themselves idle-handed now that they were to leave more than thirty years of their lives behind them and become retirees. That was always a consolation. Otherwise, what they’d told her was awful. She couldn’t see how the town would be able to take a blow like that. She sat for a while in silent contemplation until her reverie was suddenly interrupted by her mother.
“Listen to us sitting here chattering away! Telling you such bad news. You poor thing, it must have come as such a shock. No, let’s talk about something fun instead. Tell us about the job, Agnes! And about Tobias!”
CHAPTER 6
SELF-CONFIDENCE HAD NEVER been Agnes’s strong point. The job at Le Bateau Bleu and the title of head waitress might well have boosted it slightly, but since the ignominious end she was now at a new record low. She couldn’t even bring herself to go to the labor exchange. What would she say about her latest job? What references would she give? She couldn’t just omit the past six months from her résumé. Even though there was nothing more she’d rather do. If, against all odds, she ended up in an interview, she’d inevitably be asked why she left her previous job. And what would she say then? I got fired because I wouldn’t let my boss screw me? Who’d believe that? Or even worse: I dropped a Château Pétrus onto the floor. Whoops! It happens. Not. And anyway, the entire restaurant world probably already knew it, rumors spread quickly in that industry. Gérard had no doubt made sure to portray her as an unreliable bitch to anyone who cared to listen. What’s more, he didn’t only own Le Bateau Bleu; his restaurant empire incorporated most of the city’s finest dining establishments. And that was where she wanted to work.
She didn’t want to go back to the drudgery of waitressing at some seedy local eatery with more “tricks” in the kitchen than the guests would care to know about. But those were the places she’d have to apply to for work, at least until the bottle episode was forgotten. Restaurants with owners who cared nothing for résumés and references. If your legs were shapely enough, you could always get a place on the waiting staff and throw steak and fries and filet mignon black & white in front of guests who’d hardly notice if it was pummeled rat with mash on their plates as long as it was served with an export lager. She’d been there, done that. It had taken time to work her way up, and it felt rotten to say the least to have been suddenly shoved back to square one. She might as well start flipping burgers at McDonald’s instead. If they wanted her.
She was also missing Tobias. So much that her heart was starting to shrivel. Yes, she was angry, but still there was nothing she’d rather do than call him. Find out if it maybe wasn’t all one big misunderstanding. She was even prepared to forgive him for all that with Ida. That kind of thing happened, and in his job temptation came easily, Agnes knew that. But Lussan had forbidden her. Said that she’d make personally sure that Agnes was locked up in a mental hospital if she so much as thought the digits of his phone number. She hadn’t let up until Agnes, with two fingers on her confirmation Bible, had promised her friend not to call Tobias. Perhaps it was this promise that stopped her, perhaps some form of mystical self-preservation.
And wasn’t she a good girl for not calling him? Although, on the other hand, she didn’t tell Lussan that she went to sleep at night with Tobias’s picture on the pillow beside her. She’d unhooked the framed photo from the wall opposite her bed to be able to keep it close to her. Otherwise, when she turned off the light at night she could only just make out his outline over on the other side of the wall.
This was how she was lying now, with the portrait resting on her stomach. She looked at his long, brown hair, the green eyes, the well-formed chin with a nonchalant suggestion of stubble. Mumbled how much she loved him, how good things would be if he’d only come back to her. She tried to keep her jealousy at bay. It wasn’t easy. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine him as he’d looked when they first met.
He’d been playing with his band at The Three Hills, a little pub at which new rock groups invariably got started. Although for most this was also where things stopped, one or two did actually manage to go further. But not 50 Million Fortune. The band had broken up after a few years when it was obvious that the record companies just weren’t interested in their blend of melodious hard rock and rattling garage punk. The only member of the group who’d continued to play was Tobias. He was a better guitarist than the band had deserved, and he even sometimes had to step in as a studio musician. And then, almost a year ago, he’d landed a job as a guitarist in Chris Hammond’s giant musical circus, “The Millennium of Rock – the Greatest Rock Show Ever”.
Agnes had ended up at The Three Hills almost by chance that evening. She’d actually gone to listen to a few friends from Länninge, who thought that they could conquer the world with their own attempt at Cardigans-pop. But she’d gotten the date wrong. Well, now that she was there, she’d reasoned, she might as well stay and check out the band, Fortune something. Once in place, she just sat staring. The singer, who also played guitar, lo
oked like a younger and fitter Gallagher brother. Minus the one-eyebrow look. His long bangs, flopped over one eye. His vest clinging tightly to the slim yet muscular torso. His smile slightly crooked. His legs planted firmly apart.
She hung around a bit deliberately after the band left the stage and headed off toward their dressing room. She’d gotten it into her head that the singer had been looking at her, too, that he seemed interested. She wasn’t an experienced groupie, didn’t know what to do, and after an hour or so, after having done all she could to make her beer last, she was ready to give up. The band was nowhere to be seen and it was starting to get embarrassingly empty there in the basement. She’d hauled herself slowly to the exit.
He’d caught up with her half way up the stairs. Took her by the arm and asked of she wanted to hang around and have a beer with him. They sat chatting for a long time, she couldn’t later remember about what, just that the conversation had flowed so effortlessly. In the end, Tobias had gone to help the band pack up. But not before he asked her for her telephone number. Agnes had walked on air for days afterward until she realized that he wasn’t going to call.
A few weeks later, she’d seen a poster advertising a gig by 50 Million Fortune at a youth center in town and plucked up the courage to go along. She’d been ten years older, at least, than everyone else in the audience. He hadn’t recognized her at first, but when he realized who she was he apologized for not having called. He’d lost the piece of paper with her number, and said that he was very happy that she’d turned up again. And Agnes had been flattered, even if he did happen to call her Anna twice in the same evening.
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