Yesterday's News

by Kajsa Ingemarsson

  After this they’d started to meet. Sometimes he came with the other guys in the band to the restaurant where she worked. She’d smuggle free beers to them as discreetly as she could and Tobias would pull her down onto his knee and kiss her in full view of the other guests. She hadn’t really liked it, but couldn’t say no. Tobias just mocked her protests and would release her with a little slap on her backside.

  Half a year later he’d moved in. At least on a temporary basis. Sometimes he stayed with a friend for a couple of weeks, not because things weren’t good between them but because it suited him at the time to do so. That was the kind of guy he was. Self-confident, thought Agnes. And even though she could feel threatened by his fickleness she wished that she too could let go like that. Live in the here and now, stop booking laundry times a month in advance and paying her bills on time. Trust that everything would work itself out. Tobias didn’t need a fixed abode or fixed plans. He wanted to be his own master in charge of his own time. She, who was everything Tobias wasn’t – orderly, organized, structured – found it hard keeping up. They’d quarreled about it at first, but Tobias hadn’t budged. Instead, Agnes had done her best to grin and bear it. And, sure, she’d become more cool in the past few years. Tobias was Tobias. There was no point trying to change him. He loved her, that was the important thing.

  Had loved her.

  Agnes ran her finger over Tobias’s cheek. When the phone rang she was almost convinced that it was him. It wasn’t. It was Madde, who’d found out from their mom and dad what had happened.

  “So you’re taking time out, then?” she asked.

  “Yes, or rather.…” Agnes had possibly embellished the truth a little when presenting it to her parents. “To be honest he’s kind of broken up with me, I suppose you could say. In a way.”

  “In a way? I don’t get it. Has he broken up with you or are you taking time out?”

  Agnes sighed. Her stomach hurt. “He’s broken up with me,” she said at last.

  “And why was that, may I ask?” Madde’s voice sounded sharp.

  Agnes couldn’t be bothered to dress it up any further. “He’s met someone else. One of the backing singers on his tour.”

  “No! Christ, what a bastard!” Madde said it slowly, emphatically.

  “But he’s not a bastard, Madde. Falling in love doesn’t make you a bastard, it’s something you just can’t help.” Agnes couldn’t take anyone else badmouthing Tobias. She didn’t even let herself do it. Sure, he’d left her, but she still loved him.

  “He’s a bastard.” Madde repeated her verdict with even more emphasis this time. “And do you know how I know that?” She continued without waiting for an answer: “Because a guy who’s unfaithful is a bastard. And a guy who’s repeatedly unfaithful is an even bigger bastard. It’s not a question of definition. It’s a fact.”

  “But you can’t say that,” Agnes attempted lamely. “You don’t know him. Not really.”

  Madde fell silent for a moment and then continued. “Shall I tell you how well I know him, Agnes?” She paused for effect and then, inhaling deeply, continued. “So well that I know he tried to hook up with his girlfriend’s little sister when he was celebrating Christmas with their family.…”

  “Get out of here.”

  “I’m sorry, Agnes. I haven’t said anything because I know how much in love you’ve been, but it’s true. After we’d opened our presents, when you were helping Mom with the dishes and Tobias went with me out to the garage to get a trash bag for all the wrapping paper.… He tried to kiss me there in the garage, Agnes.”

  “Stop it!”

  “And that wasn’t the first time. Remember when I was up for your birthday last year?”

  “I don’t want to know! You’re just making things up!” Agnes was almost screaming.

  “No, Agnes, I’m not. I’d never lie about a thing like this. He asked me if I felt like – ”

  Agnes couldn’t take any more. She slammed down the receiver and sat with the phone in her lap for a long while. Eventually the tears came. It wasn’t true, her own sister.… Somehow she could have taken the other things. They were one-offs. Things that just happen. But Madde… that was something else. She wished she could dismiss it as Madde lying, but she knew that that wasn’t the case. Madde suffered from an almost manic compulsion to always tell the truth. A rather irritating quality, actually. Have you had your hair cut? What do you look like?! It could sound cruel, but it was never meant in malice. Telling the truth was just something Madde did. The length of time that she’d kept all that with Tobias to herself must have been a record.

  At last, Agnes put the phone aside. Slowly, she turned over the photo, laid it on its front on the bed, and started to resolutely pick at the little metal clamps. She eventually managed to remove the photo, and taking one last look at it, took hold of both ends and ripped it down the middle. She ripped and ripped until the shreds were no larger than confetti. She then gathered them together and walked over to the bathroom.

  It was hard to flush them away. They were too smooth and wouldn’t sink, but after the fourth flush the bowl was as good as empty. Just one little piece still floated on the surface of the water. Agnes crossed over to the hall and looked at herself in the mirror. Enough’s enough, she said aloud to herself. It was time to move on.

  CHAPTER 7

  “OK, LET’S SEE… Agnes. So where have you been working in the past… er, seven months?” Leif Grönberg thumbed through his papers while he waited for her answer. Agnes swallowed. She might as well get it over and done with.

  “At Le Bateau Bleu.”

  Grönberg didn’t seem impressed. The name meant nothing to him. Agnes wasn’t surprised. Leif Grönberg didn’t look like a man who took to hanging around luxury restaurants.

  “And why did you leave?” He looked up from his papers. His glasses had slipped down his nose and he replaced them with a little push.

  “I… we…” She didn’t know how to begin. The man across the table from her had started to pull lint from the sleeve of his hand-knitted sweater. He was in no hurry. Agnes made a new attempt. “I didn’t get along with my boss.”

  “Is that so?” Leif Grönberg looked up and Agnes thought she saw a glint of newly aroused interest. He cocked his head a little. “Is that something that often happens to you?”

  Agnes started to sweat. She didn’t want to talk about this. “No.” It was true. It was true that she’d changed jobs often, but that’s what it was like in the restaurant industry. Restaurants came and went. The staff likewise. But she’d never been fired. On the contrary, her bosses usually liked her. She always arrived on time, did what she was supposed to do, worked quickly and efficiently, took her own initiatives, never said no to overtime. Not even unpaid. What had happened at Le Bateau Bleu was a one-time thing. She met Leif Grönberg’s gaze. His glasses had slipped down again. He should get new frames, much had happened in the world of eyeglass fashion since ’84. If Madde had been there, she’d have probably told him so. He nodded slowly, but showed no other signs of believing her.

  “It’ll be good if you and I can have an open dialogue. I think it’ll improve my chances of finding a job for you.” Agnes felt belittled. She straightened her back slightly as she sat in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair on the other side of Leif Grönberg’s overloaded desk.

  “You can look at my qualifications if you don’t believe me,” she mumbled, and looked down at her hands resting in her lap.

  “But, my dear!” Grönberg shot out his hands in a dramatic gesture. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, of course I do. I’m here to help you! All I mean is that it’ll be easier for me to understand the kind of job you want if you give me the complete details.” How complete? wondered Agnes. Do you want to know how they say “whore” in six different ways in French, or maybe you’d like to know what the world’s finest vintage wine sounds like when it smashes against a stone floor?

  Leif Grönberg seemed unable to read thoughts;
either that, or he wasn’t interested in the complete details. He started to tap away at his computer instead. “Let’s see what there is, then,” he sighed and pushed Enter. He was finding it hard to conceal his disappointment. Jobs were the only things people wanted. What had happened to normal human conversation?

  “Aha!” he said, brightening slightly. “This looks promising! Sixteen hits.” He scrolled through the list. “Let’s see.… Cold buffet manager, cold buffet manager, deputy manager, chef.… Here’s a hostessing job! Taverna Stavros in Högdalen is looking for a hostess, experience preferred. That sounds good, eh?”

  Experience preferred; that was restaurant code for a young girl with big breasts or nice legs. Agnes usually qualified for the second category. But it was ages ago that she’d had a job like that.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked.

  Grönberg looked disgruntled, but continued obediently to scroll down. “This, then. The Old Wreck on Södermannagatan is looking for wait staff. Pub grub, serving up beer.…”

  Agnes knew exactly what he was talking about. Nicotine poisoning and a direct number to the police station. No thanks, she refused to do pubs. She wasn’t that desperate, yet. Even Taverna Stavros was better than that. Grönberg continued his search. He went through a few more restaurants in need of wait staff: the Indian Curry House, O’Harry’s, Pizza Hut.… He even tried to interest her in a job as breakfast hostess at a boarding house an hour outside town on Värmdö. Hours 4:30 a.m. to midday. A staff bedroom could be arranged. Agnes declined.

  “Isn’t there anything as head waitress?” she asked as she received the papers that Grönberg had collected from the printer in the corridor. The ad from Taverna Stavros lay on the top of the flimsy pile.

  “Head waitress?” Leif Grönberg pushed up his glasses and sat down again. “I didn’t see anything in your papers about head waitress, did I?” Agnes was in no mood to explain the ins and outs of it all.

  “Maybe you can look anyway.”

  “Yes, sure, sure.…” Grönberg plucked a little more lint from his sleeve before continuing. “It’s not looking good.… Hmm, but wait, what’s this? Here’s one. Head waitress wanted at Le Bateau Bleu. Sounds French.… Maybe that could be something?” He peered at Agnes over his glasses. “I’ll print it out anyway.” He pressed a button on his keyboard and disappeared into the corridor again. She listened to the shuffling of his Birkenstocks as she noted the distinct lack of impression she’d made on her employment adviser. Or maybe he just had a very bad short-term memory.

  Grönberg re-entered the room. “They apparently want you to attach a photo with your reply,” he said, handing her the sheet of paper. Agnes considered briefly explaining to him why. That Gérard Cabrol didn’t want to waste his time interviewing women he deemed unattractive. She decided to let it go. Leif Grönberg had no doubt been out demonstrating for women’s rights since 1969. He’d probably find it hard to digest the fact that there were still men around who judged women by their appearances.

  Agnes thanked him for the printout and received the stamped card confirming that she was now officially unemployed. Grönberg wished her luck with her job-hunting, but scheduled another appointment in a month just to be on the safe side.

  “If you get a job beforehand, I’d appreciate it if you’d call and let me know.”

  Agnes nodded and said goodbye. And so she left Leif Grönberg’s cramped little office at the labor exchange more convinced than ever that the future was anything but hers.

  Agnes took a seat in a nearby café. She cautiously sipped her hot caffe latte and looked out through the window. It was cold out, January had become February and the snow lay in thick drifts on the rooftops. It looked dangerous, and probably was, too. Everywhere, property owners had posted small red warning signs: Danger! Falling snow. The pedestrians, at least those who seemed disinclined to risk their lives, jostled with the cars on the road. That didn’t look too safe either. Agnes warmed her hands against her glass. She’d left her new leather gloves on the subway.

  When her phone rang, she plucked it from the pocket of her duffel coat. It was Lussan, calling from her cell phone. Stressed as normal.

  “Listen, I have to be quick. I have to get down to Hälsingegatan in four minutes.…”’

  “So where are you now?”

  “Uptown.” Lussan sounded out of breath and was walking quickly. Agnes could picture her. The short, dark hair, made unruly by the wind, the red lipstick, the brisk gait in her high-heeled boots. She compensated well for her moderate height. “I was just thinking that maybe we could meet up tonight?”

  “Sure, that’d be lovely.” Agnes had had enough evenings alone recently.

  “Shall I come to your place? I can bring a bottle of wine.”

  “Do that. When do you think you’ll be over?”

  “Around eight, maybe a little before. I have to upload a few things onto the Internet, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

  “I can get some dinner going.”

  “You’re an angel. See you! Hugs!”

  Lussan hung up and Agnes returned her phone to her pocket. She was suffering small pangs of conscience for sitting in a café and staring when other people were obviously working. She looked round the café. Moms with their babies and a few youths, no doubt students. And her, unemployed. Looking for work. In between jobs.

  When she had finished her coffee, she took the subway out to Aspudden again. Stopped off at the supermarket to buy vegetables. It’d have to be soup tonight. Money was already a bit tight. She hadn’t dared to ask for her last salary payment from Le Bateau Bleu. It just hadn’t seemed appropriate to talk to Gérard about money as they squelched around in a pool of thirty-thousand-kronor wine on his cellar floor. And there’d been no other opportunity. She’d have to see her missing paycheck as some sort of compensation for the bottle of wine, a partial payment. The rest she figured she’d already paid. In kind.

  She put down her shopping bag on the snowy pavement outside the dirty pink functionalist building. She entered her access code and the door clicked, and she opened it with a habitual shove of her shoulder. She was tired, the bag was heavy, and she swore to herself when she saw the elevator gate being closed and the elevator start its slow ascent with a jerk. Damn it! She caught sight of her new neighbor as he stood studying himself in the mirror with his back to her.

  “Great. Thanks for waiting,” she mumbled after him as she started to take the stairs. On the second floor, there he was, fumbling with his front door keys. He’d probably neither heard nor seen her, as he looked surprised when he turned.

  “Hi!” he said cheerfully. Then he recognized her and smiled a little nervously. “I’m sorry again about all that with the washing machines.”

  Agnes glared at him but then cracked a grin, involuntarily. On his head he had a huge fur hat, with earflaps that stuck out in opposite directions like Pippi Longstocking braids. It was a model that would no doubt have looked more natural on a Siberian navy.

  She nodded at him as she passed him on the little landing to climb the last flight of stairs. Behind her she could hear how he finally opened his door and then closed it behind him.

  Agnes entered her apartment and started unpacking the food. Onions, carrots, potatoes, two containers of low fat yogurt, crème fraiche, bread and garlic cheese. And two chocolate bars. After all, they had to have some kind of dessert.

  Lussan arrived just before eight as promised. Agnes had set the table in her tiny yellow kitchen with a tablecloth covered in red elephants (actually a sari from aunt Gullan), turned off the light, and lit a collection of small tealights in multicolored glasses. The soup was simmering on the stove and the baguettes were in the warming oven.

  “You’ve made it so cozy!” said Lussan, sliding a Zinfandel from her bag. “Red wine with the food, suitable?”

  “Excellent, but it’s just a bit of soup,” said Agnes apologetically as she handed Lussan the corkscrew. She then ladled out some soup into two b
owls. The yellow of the soup against the white porcelain looked lovely. She wound a little lightly-stirred crème fraiche over the surface and finished off with a few basil leaves before placing Lussan’s bowl in front of her.

  “Listen, just a little soup is noodles in a polystyrene mug in my world. This, this is a meal!” exclaimed Lussan. “It looks so professional, I bet you work in a restaurant.…” She opened the bottle with a pop and poured some wine into their glasses.

  “Worked, my dear. Worked.”

  “Yes, of course. But that’s just a matter of time, isn’t it.”

  “Before I start working at Taverna Stavros, you mean?”

  “Taverna who?”

  “Forget it, it’s just that I was at the job center today. It wasn’t so uplifting.”

  “It’s not meant to be uplifting. You’re one of society’s takers now, and you should suffer.” Lussan laughed. “I’m sure something will turn up soon. It’s only been two weeks, after all.”

  “Three.”

  “OK, but still, it’s nothing. And for the time being I promise you can sponge off us in the giving half of society.” She took a spoonful of soup. “What a soup! It’s delicious! What did you put in it?”

  “A few root vegetables, that’s all.”

  “Yes, but there’s something else.…”

  “Fennel and a cinnamon stick.”

  “I see. I’d never have figured that out even if my life had depended on it. It’s great, anyway. Cheers!”

  “Cheers.”

  They ate and drank for a while, while Lussan talked about her day. Four meetings, two viewings, and a contract signing. She’d also valued two apartments, one in the city, the other outside town in Midsommarkransen, and uploaded four new properties onto their website.