Sture Reuterswärd stepped down onto the floor. Beside him was his wife, wearing a short fur coat. Agnes rushed forward to greet them. Sture’s grip was firm, his voice deep. His wife Alice’s one outstretched hand was like a long-dead herring, and the other held an enormous bouquet. Agnes gestured toward the coatroom and said that she would go and fetch Kalle. At the same moment, he appeared from the kitchen. He went up to his parents, shook his father’s hand and embraced his mother. He suddenly looked very young, thought Agnes before the next guests stepped in. They were friends of Filip. Slowly, the restaurant filled up.
Maud and Sven arrived with Madde and Jonas. They too came bearing flowers, Madde a Teddy bear as well. A mascot, she said, handing it to her big sister. Agnes took the bear and sat it in the window. The flowers she popped in a vase, placing them away from the enormous bunch of blooms that Kalle’s parents had brought with them and that were probably more suited to a Nobel banquet in the City Hall than to being unceremoniously stuffed into an empty sour cream tub – no vase they had was big enough. Compared to this, the other bouquets looked like bunches of hastily gathered dandelions from the kids next door. Maud looked around her.
“How lovely,” she said admiringly.
“Really nice,” added Madde, nodding. “If you like yellow.”
Agnes asked them what they wanted to drink, and told them to help themselves at the buffet. The room was crowded now. There was a loud murmur of chatting people, and as far as Agnes could tell, their guests seemed to be having fun. She received several compliments on the food, which she passed on to Filip and Paolo. Lussan had still not arrived, having forewarned Agnes that she would be late. They were having an office party, but she said that she would try to slip away early.
Suddenly, someone was tapping a glass and coughing. It took a while for the silence to spread, and Kalle turned down the music. Sture Reuterswärd was standing calm and relaxed in the middle of the floor. He seemed accustomed to having everyone’s attention.
“I would just like to say a few words to my son on this special day,” he said, looking around. “As you all know, Karl has been dreaming about this for a long time, as I understand it. Not always with my approval, I have to confess, and for that I am sorry.” He cleared his throat. Holding a speech was one thing; admitting mistakes was quite another. He gathered himself again. “When I now see this restaurant I feel proud of what my son has achieved and I am convinced that with the experience and skills that Karl and his friends possess, it is going to be a great success.” Everyone applauded, and Alice Reuterswärd discreetly brushed away a tear with a well-manicured hand. Sture raised his glass. “So therefore I would like you all to raise your glasses for Karl. And for this splendid restaurant – The Yellow Lemon Tree! To unbounded suc – ” He was interrupted mid-sentence by the door opening. Lussan stepped in. The room had fallen deathly silent and everyone was staring at her. She remained standing on the step for a moment before giving a quick grin.
“Is this the place for the strip-o-gram?” she asked innocently. There were some giggles, but Sture Reuterswärd did not look amused. Agnes hurried over to her.
“Come in, Lussan,” she said hastily. “Kalle’s dad was giving a speech,” she added in a low voice to get Lussan up to speed. Lussan reluctantly let herself be guided down from the step. Sture cleared his throat again and continued.
“As I was saying, to unbounded success. Three cheers for Karl and his restaurant. Hip hip.…” The guests chorused in the cheers. When things had returned to a murmur, Agnes hugged Lussan in welcome.
“How was the party?”
“Boring. Everyone had their significant other with them. It was incredibly proper. Not even Peter flirted with me, and that’s saying something. I gulped down a few drinks and made my excuses. Then I bolted over here.”
“Do you want something to eat?”
“Thanks, but I stuffed myself with peanuts and crackers. But a glass of wine wouldn’t be out of line.” Agnes fetched a glass for her. “It’s wonderful here,” said Lussan when Agnes returned. “You’ve really made it look good. But what in.…” Lussan stared at the bar. “My God, it’s him.…,” she cried, pointing in a manner that could hardly be called discreet at Paolo, who had just come out of the kitchen and was standing in conversation with a few guests. Agnes tried to hush her.
“Yes, it is, but there’s no need to stare. I’ll tell you all about it.”
“You’ve been dating him on the sly since that evening, haven’t you?”
“Definitely not. I was just as surprised as you when he showed up at the restaurant. He’s a chef.”
“What do you mean? He’s working here?”
Agnes nodded. “Yes.”
“Uh oh, office romances.…”
“No way. It was a one-time thing, and it had nothing to do with romance. We’re working together now. That’s all. Not everyone has affairs with their colleagues.…”
“What? Are you referring to me? I’m not having an affair with a colleague!” Lussan looked insulted, then burst out laughing. “At the moment.” She studied Paolo for a while before turning to Agnes again. “But, hey, he’s pretty cute. Are you sure you’re not interested?”
“Absolutely certain. A hundred percent certain. Dead certain.”
“Wasn’t he any good in bed, or what?”
“I make a principle of not commenting on such matters.” Agnes pursed her lips symbolically. “But if you really want to know, I have no reason to fault his performance. It’s about other things, you know that.”
“Tobias?”
“That sort of thing.”
Lussan groaned, but before she could start lecturing her, Agnes interrupted. “There’s no need to worry, I’m a person that needs time. I can’t just let four years of my life go, doesn’t matter how practical it’d be. You’ll have to excuse me, I want to go and talk to my parents. They’re looking a little lost.” She turned and took a step before looking back. “And by the way,” she added, facing Lussan. “If you think he’s so cute, maybe you should go and talk to him. If you can stand the fact he’s not wearing a suit.… Say hi.”
Agnes made her way toward her parents. They were standing a little to one side in a corner and brightened when they say Agnes approaching.
“Oh, what a delightful party!” said Maud, and Sven nodded in agreement.
“Thanks. How’s the computer class going?”
“Wonderfully!” Sven looked distinctly pleased with himself. “We’ve learned about Windows and Word. Now we’re doing FrontPage, so soon we’ll be able to make our own web site.”
“About the garden?”
“Yes, it’s not as uncommon as you might think.” Maud widened her eyes to emphasize the fact. “We’ve visited several places, haven’t we Sven? That one in Copenhagen, for instance, and.…”
“Hang on; have you been all the way down to Copenhagen?”
“Heavens no,” laughed Maud. “Visited the web site, of course. And not just in Copenhagen. We’ve found avid gardeners all over the country. Do you remember the one in Olofström, Sven?” They started to discuss sites and gardens. Agnes stood there for a while until she got bored. It was a party, after all. She couldn’t stand around chatting to her parents all night. She told them to get more food and help themselves to wine if they wanted some, and then did a little tour of the room. She looked over the buffet, took a few empty dishes out into the kitchen to refill them. Exchanged a few words with Kalle, whose nervousness seemed to have passed. He was standing beside Sofia, receiving people’s congratulations. They were so sweet together, each convinced that they’d found the right one. Just like Agnes had been a few months ago. When she’d been one of two. Half of a whole that no longer existed. She didn’t think about it so much now. Not every minute, but almost. She tried to shake off the thoughts – it was a party, and she didn’t want to ruin it by brooding over Tobias.
She searched the restaurant, her gaze landing on Lussan. She was standing at the b
ar beside Paolo. He was telling her something and she was laughing. Agnes recognized that laugh. It was Lussan flirting. She made men feel amusing, admired. In actual fact, it was she who was the amusing one, at least relative to most of the mind-numbingly boring losers she’d dragged home over the years. But Paolo was no loser. She gave them another surreptitious glance. Paolo was refilling Lussan’s wineglass and she pretended to be impressed by the chivalrous gesture. A game. Lussan seemed to know what she wanted, which somewhat surprised Agnes. Paolo wasn’t her usual type, but who knows, maybe she’d got tired of her own taste. Or maybe she was just after a plaything for the night. Agnes didn’t know if she should feel guilty for suggesting Paolo. She studied them for a while longer and then decided that Lussan and Paolo were both adults and were no doubt perfectly able to decide for themselves how they wanted to spend the night.
The last of the guests left – or rather were ushered out – at a quarter past two. Agnes was exhausted, drunk, and very contented. The party had been a success, and she was dead beat. Kalle was also there, and Pernilla. The others had gone home or out on the town. Lussan had hugged her before leaving and Agnes couldn’t really figure out if she’d left alone or with Paolo and some others who were heading off elsewhere. She’d get a full report in the morning, as usual.
Kalle yawned widely.
“OK, everyone, time to call it a day. I’ll take care of this tomorrow,” he said, pointing around him at the room, which was in a pretty serious condition, with wine-stained tablecloths, full ashtrays, scraps of food on the floor, and burnt out candles. “Thanks for everything you did tonight. On Tuesday, it’s for real.”
Agnes walked up to Slussen and didn’t have to wait any longer than four minutes for the next Norsborg-bound train. Just as the doors were closing she saw two figures come hurrying down the stairs. They were late, the train had already started to pull away. Which was lucky. For Agnes. It was Tobias and a pair of prime gazongas.
CHAPTER 18
AGNES WOKE WITH a terrible headache. It felt as if someone was stamping on a poor little cat inside her head. She’d been having a bad dream about a street musician in the old town. The worst kind, one of those who monotonously churned-out, tired covers on a poorly tuned guitar. She and two German tourists had been bound to a drainpipe opposite the busker. Why, she couldn’t remember. It took a while for her to realize what was wrong. She was awake, her mouth was dry and her head hurt, but there was something else besides. The music. It was unrelenting. She blinked a few times and pulled her comforter over her head. It was still there. In fact, the singer had returned with renewed vigor. Knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door.… Agnes sat up in her bed. Her head throbbed. This was no dream. It wasn’t even some disorientated busker standing under her window with his acoustic guitar. It was Bob Dylan. Himself. At an intolerably loud volume. The noise penetrated from the stairwell, forcing its way through the ventilation and heating systems. Agnes checked the time. It was after ten but it was a Sunday, and Agnes hadn’t made it home until almost half past three. She wanted to sleep for a lot longer. And not to be awakened by the bleating of some lousy crooner.
She grabbed her robe from the floor, her head thumping as she bent down. Enough was enough! She stepped into a pair of sneakers that were lying in the hallway and trod down the backs so she could wear them as slippers. That was always how she wore them, to the laundry room for instance. A kind of sports-slipper or squashed sneaker, depending on how you looked at it.
When she opened her front door, Bob hit her like a musty old 1960s wind. It wasn’t hard to locate the source of the music. As soon as she reached Kummel’s door she knocked. And knocked again, hard. It took a while for her neighbor to open it, but eventually he did. David Kummel had buttoned his shirt up wrongly, and had flip-flops again and hairy toes, but he was without his fur hat. That was something, at least.
Agnes said nothing and just glared at him. He looked inquiringly back at her.
“Don’t you think you should turn down your music a bit?” she said at last, as loudly as she could to make him realize that it was impossible to even talk at a normal conversational pitch with the volume set that high on the stereo. He blinked, as if only now reacting to his music.
“Oh, dear, is it too loud? Wait here.” He disappeared into his apartment and after a few seconds the music went quiet. He reappeared. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to, I thought it was OK at this time of day. I was sitting working and.…” He lost the thread.
“You never thought that some of us might work at night? And need to sleep in the mornings?”
He looked ashamed. “No, it never crossed my mind. I’m sorry. I really do apologize. It won’t happen again.”
“OK.” Agnes made to leave, but suddenly David brightened.
“But, look. Do you want to come in? I mean, now that you’re already awake? I can put on some coffee. Start the day with great taste and all that, isn’t that what they say in the ad?”
Agnes looked down at her robe and sports-slippers with the backs projecting a little, and tasted the rankness of her mouth. “No, thanks,” she said before going back up the stairs. “Another time, maybe.”
Lussan called in the afternoon. She didn’t sound so bright-eyed either.
“So when did you get home?” asked Agnes.
“Don’t know. Late.”
“What did you get up to? I mean you both?”
Lussan ignored the insinuation. “We went to some awful place on Kungsgatan. I can’t remember what it was called. They had karaoke, at least. I think I gave a less than rousing performance of It’s Raining Men.”
“And? Paolo?”
Lussan sighed. “We kissed goodnight and then he put me in a taxi.”
“Really?”
“Oh, God, you’re not angry with me, are you?”
“Angry? Why?”
“Well, you know, if I’ve interrupted something that.…”
“Don’t be silly, I told you I wasn’t interested.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely,” answered Agnes while wondering if she actually meant it. “I can’t believe you didn’t take him home.”
“I tried. He didn’t want to.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah, embarrassing, but it’s not the first time. Being a woman that takes the initiative makes you thick-skinned. Men say that they like women who know what they want, but as soon as you try to take it they get all impotent on you.”
“Does that apply to Paolo, too, do you think?” The impotence thing Agnes found hard to imagine. But then again, the initiative that time had hardly been hers.
“I don’t know. He said he thought I was too drunk.”
“Were you?”
“Probably.” Lussan gave a little laugh, as she always did when things got serious. “What about you?”
“Sure, I reckon I was pretty drunk, too.”
“That’s nice to hear.… Did you get a taxi home?”
“No, I took the subway.” Agnes went quiet. A picture popped into her head. A couple, hand in hand, laughing and running down some stairs. She’d tried to prepare herself for that image, had made herself imagine Tobias with his new girlfriend. And yet the reality of it had been overwhelming. Overwhelmingly terrible. Would the pain never end?
Lussan was still talking. “It was a nice party you organized. And, as I said, a terrific restaurant! I’m sure it’ll be a hit.”
Agnes was grateful for the change of subject. “I hope so, for Kalle’s sake,” she said. “And mine. I don’t think my career or my bank balance can take another failure.”
“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
Worry. Was that what she was doing? Maybe. Maybe not. She was finding it hard to think straight, despite two aspirins with caffeine. She was finding it hard to think, period. Except about food. She had to end the call with Lussan. She couldn’t take it any more. She had to get something inside her. Really greasy, unhealthy food. She knew exactl
y what she wanted, and it had very little to do with lemons and sage.
CHAPTER 19
THERE WAS ONE DAY to go before the opening, the official one. Agnes caught herself pacing listlessly around her sitting room. Three times she turned on the television and zapped through infomercials, reruns of reality shows, and newscasts. She briefly tried to concentrate on an episode of Little House on the Prairie. Little Laura was gazing tearfully at her Pa, who was gazing tearfully at his wife, who was gazing tearfully at a field of trampled turnips. Someone had been nasty to the Ingalls family. Agnes couldn’t be bothered to discover who.
It was still morning, and the day threatened to be long if she didn’t find something with which to occupy herself. There was no point going to the restaurant, as she’d already spoken to Kalle and no one was to be there during the day. Possibly himself for a while in the evening, but he thought she needed the rest. She’d do better to turn up rested and bright-eyed on Tuesday instead, when her energy would come in more useful.
Agnes picked up her phone and dialed her parents’ number. Of course they were home, and of course she was welcome. She got dressed and went down to the Central Station. The trains departed every other hour on weekdays, and she would just make the 12:26.
The train was relatively empty and she found a good window seat. The landscape hurtled by, with the sun shining on muddy fields and sprawling, naked trees. The spring was ruthless in the intensity of its light, and made the countryside look pale and emaciated, like a terminally ill patient recently resuscitated.
The train whistled past a tiny disused station. Agnes caught a glimpse of what used to be a town, with its florist, paint shop, and pharmacy. Now there was nothing left. Stockholm commuters and their cars did their shopping at out-of-town shopping centers, and the new generation that was to keep the town alive had fled the luckless, godforsaken place for a brighter future elsewhere. Perhaps Länninge would look the same in a few years.
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