“Well. I think. Some people turned up, not that many, but at least we weren’t completely alone. They enjoyed the food, no one complained about the service.… Kalle was like a high-tension cable with a short circuit and crackled with sparks if you got too close at first, but he calmed down when guests started turning up.” There was a few seconds’ silence as Agnes heard Lussan typing something into her computer. “Well, it was nothing important. Shall we get together soon?”
“Absolutely. Sorry if I’m a bit distracted.”
“Forget it. Oh, yes, before we hang up. Paolo was asking after you.” Lussan stopped typing.
“Was he?”
“Yes. He asked if I’d met you since last Saturday. I told him we’d talked on the phone.”
“Did he say anything else?”
Agnes hesitated. “No.” She wished that she’d had more to add.
“Pah, whatever.”
“He’s not your type anyway, eh?” Agnes laughed. This had been a standing joke between them for as long as they’d known each other. Failed pick-ups were never “their type.”
“No, exactly. But cute.”
“But cute.”
They said goodbye to each other and hung up. Agnes lay down on the sofa and looked at the wall opposite, upon which was a large painting by rock hero Ulf Lundell. It didn’t go with the room. The colors were garish, the motif straggly and disharmonious. It was supposed to represent something from Gotland, but however hard Agnes looked, she could never see anything more than an old man with a huge nose and no eyes. She’d never liked it, but Tobias had pestered her into buying it. This had surprised her, as Tobias had never shown any particular interest in art. But of course, this was a Lundell. It had been expensive, too, but they’d split the cost, Tobias had said, finally convincing her with the argument that it was a good thing to be joint owners of a painting. An investment for the future, much better than frying pans or double beds or whatever other crap couples bought to celebrate their union. If Agnes was honest, she’d have preferred both frying pans and double beds to this eyeless old aquiline grouch at whom she now lay staring.
She rose from the sofa and walked over to the picture. Who said it had to hang there? This was her home, her wall, and, actually, her painting. For once it was up in their apartment, paid with Agnes’s savings, Tobias’s interest in sharing the cost proved rather meager.
She unhitched it from its hook, leaving a gray stripe on the wall where its upper edge had been. Dust, probably. The picture was too large to fit in her closet, so Agnes carried it into her bedroom and shoved it under the bed. There it would have to lie for the time being; she’d have to decide what to do with it later.
She got dressed for a walk. It was still sunny, and in some distant future there was a hint of spring and budding leaves, but that was still some time away. Agnes descended the stairs, slowing her steps as she reached the second floor. She could hear music from the left-hand door. Kummel’s apartment. She stood for a while listening. The track was so familiar to her, but it wasn’t until she heard the chorus that she could identify it. How I wish, how I wish you were here.… That was it, Pink Floyd. Jesus, what was wrong with this guy?
CHAPTER 21
IT HADN’T REALLY taken off yet, Agnes and Kalle established as they sat for a while before opening. On Wednesday they’d had nineteen guests, on Thursday, sixteen. Now it was Friday and the start of the weekend. They both hoped that things would be all right then, but neither dared to say it out loud.
“We’ll have to see how it goes,” said Kalle diffidently. Agnes tried to cheer him up. “Our reputation has to spread. All our guests have been happy, haven’t they? They’ll tell their friends and then things will kick off. Just you wait!”
“Yes, but until then.…” He sighed. “The restaurant’s too expensive, and there are five of us who have to make a living off of it. I’ve got so many bills lying around that I can’t bring myself to think about them.”
Agnes thought for a second. She knew what the solution was, and she knew that Kalle knew. And yet they said nothing. In the end, Agnes began warily:
“Maybe it’s too many. Five, I mean.…” Kalle looked at her. His expression was an unhappy one.
“I know. But what can I do? I can’t just fire people I’ve just employed. I just couldn’t handle it.”
“But maybe you can explain the situation, sound people out, at least. Pernilla might even prefer working a few days less. It doesn’t have to be forever, does it. This is, after all, a running-in period. The restaurant will probably pick up soon.” She bit her tongue. “I mean, it will pick up soon.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s what I’ve got to do, but I’m going to feel like a bastard doing it.”
“I know. Do you want me to talk to Pernilla?”
“No, that’s not for you to do. It’s my job. But thanks for the offer. I’ll wait until after the weekend. You never know.”
Just then Pernilla entered. She unbuttoned her coat and greeted Kalle and Agnes.
“God, you look gloomy.”
“Yeah, we’re sitting here crunching numbers. It’s all looking a bit tight.”
“We need more guests,” explained Agnes.
“Then we’ll have to go and get some!”
Kalle gave a little wan smile. “Got any suggestions?”
“We just need to adjust our concept slightly, advertise on the subway and serve steak and fries and a beer for ninety-nine kronor. What do you reckon?” She laughed. “No, seriously. It’ll be all right.” She walked off to get changed into her working clothes. By the time she returned in her lime green top and jeans, Kalle had disappeared into the kitchen again.
“I realize my position here’s a bit iffy,” said Pernilla. “It’s a bummer, sure, but that’s the risk you take with a newly opened place.”
Agnes said nothing, not wishing to lie. Just as she was about to speak, the door opened and the first guests of the evening arrived.
At nine thirty, Lussan turned up. She sat at the bar with a glass of wine. She tried to look nonchalant, but kept peeking at the kitchen door. Agnes couldn’t resist teasing her.
“Looking for someone?”
“What do you mean?”
“It looked like you were looking for someone.”
“Oh, stop it.” Lussan looked embarrassed. “Got any peanuts?”
Agnes filled a bowl and placed it on the counter.
“On me.”
“No way. Put them on my bill. Here it’s the guests that leave the tips.”
“How generous.”
“Isn’t it? Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be working? There’s someone waving at you over there.”
Agnes went over to the four-seater window table. They wanted to pay. Pernilla was clearing up after two girls who’d each had a bruschetta, the cheapest item on the menu, and shared a bottle of the house wine. A middle-aged couple looked in to ask if they had Irish coffee. Agnes said that they did and directed them to the bar where Kalle stood chatting with Lussan. The evening started to wind down. It had gone well, relatively speaking. Thirty guests, hardly enough to cover their costs, hardly what could be expected of a Friday evening, but at least it was progress.
When the restaurant had closed, Filip came out of the kitchen, closely followed by Paolo.
“So you’re here again, I see,” said Paolo when he spotted Lussan at the bar.
“Someone has to keep the turnover up.” She raised her wineglass to demonstrate that, true enough, she was indeed contributing to their revenue.
“And we’re grateful.” Paolo walked up to Lussan, and Agnes noticed that she was blushing.
“Anyone interested in going out somewhere?” asked Lussan. She looked at all of them, but Agnes understood at whom the question was directed.
“I could hit the town for a bit,” said Pernilla. Agnes shook her head.
“Not me. I’m exhausted.”
“Count me out, too,” said Kalle. “I’d like to get home before
Sofia gets to sleep. Otherwise we never get to see each other.”
“Filip? Paolo?” Lussan tried to look blasé.
“Yeah. I won’t sleep anyway if I go home,” said Filip.
“OK, I’ll join you,” answered Paolo after a second’s thought. “Someone has to make sure this guy gets put in a taxi before he passes out outside some nightclub.” He grinned.
They parted outside the restaurant, and Kalle, the last to leave, locked up.
By the time Agnes arrived home, the brisk evening air had invigorated her so much that going to bed was out of the question. She made herself a glass of hot chocolate and sat herself down in front of the television. She checked the answering machine just in case. She had one message. It was from Tobias. He just wanted to hear how she was, he said. Asked her to call him on his cell phone if she wanted.
The sound of his voice made her pulse race. She hated it. She wanted so much to remain aloof, but that bastard could still touch her, affect her. Even via an answering machine. What did he want with her? What did that mean, just wanted to hear how she was? Why did he care? If she was sick, what would he do? Come rushing to her side with an aspirin? Soothe her feverish brow and her broken heart? Hardly. All that Tobias was capable of doing now was making her feel even worse. He should leave her alone, she wanted nothing to do with him! She tried to feel angry, violated, furious, but while thinking this, did something completely different. Slowly dialed the all-too familiar digits of his telephone number, lifted the receiver to her ear, and awaited his answer. His “Hello?” brought her to her senses. She slammed the phone back down. What was she doing? Calling Tobias. Was she completely out of her mind?
She turned off the TV and gulped down the rest of her drink. The chocolate powder had sunk to the bottom of her glass, where it formed a brown sludge. It was time to go to bed. Whether she felt like it or not.
There was little change over the weekend, and on Monday Kalle had a chat with Pernilla. She was upset, as expected, but said that she understood. They agreed that she would work for three days a week, until further notice. The same went for Paolo. Henrik would have to make do with every other weekend for now. Kalle promised to restore things as soon as business picked up. He tried to sound positive, but Agnes could recognize his concern. Not only for his employees, but for the entire restaurant. His margins were small, there was no room for miscalculation and overoptimistic estimates.
Otherwise, they worked on as usual and Agnes was happy. It was fun serving meals that she had helped to design in the restaurant of her dreams. Literally. In the evening light, the lemon yellow walls became even lovelier. The glow of the candles reflected in the rough, uneven surface and all the wooden details – the tables, the chairs, the benches – gave the restaurant an almost rustic feel. It was a good restaurant, which served good food, really good food in fact, but that didn’t help. They had too few guests. If it continued like this, The Yellow Lemon Tree would be closing down in a few months. Agnes couldn’t understand what the problem was. The restaurant was on a good street, its owner was well known – in the business, at least – the food was good and they took good care of their guests. People should be pouring in. And maybe they would, too, eventually. Once their reputation had spread. If Kalle’s capital could only stretch that far.
CHAPTER 22
AGNES RECOGNIZED HIM. Definitely. But where from? He looked totally normal: of medium height, short brown hair, wearing jeans and a green parka. His shoes were heavy, the lace on the right foot didn’t match, and he looked a little bewildered when he stepped into the restaurant.
Agnes walked up and welcomed him, still unable to place him. He looked at her, and then he smiled.
“It’s you!”
“Yes.…” She looked at him with a pensive furrow between her brows. And then it struck her. “Kummel.”
“David.”
“Right, it’s you.” Agnes didn’t exactly go to great lengths to make him feel welcome. She hadn’t seen him for a long time, but she’d certainly heard him. Or rather his stereo. Last night when she came home he’d been playing Nirvana. Loudly, thought Agnes, but she didn’t know if that was true. The building had thin walls, and there were mainly retirees living there. Old people who didn’t make a noise. It had actually crossed her mind that her own music could also be heard. Not to mention when Tobias used to play guitar on the evenings she was working. She recalled that he once mentioned something about a “cantankerous old cow” who’d complained, but then he’d convinced Agnes that it was the neighbor and not he who was in the wrong.
“Can I sit where I like?” David Kummel pointed a little gawkily around the empty restaurant. It wasn’t even seven, and what Kalle and Agnes ironically called the “rush” hadn’t started yet.
“How many of you are there? Or are you alone?” she asked, with a little extra emphasis on the “alone.” That wasn’t particularly nice. At Le Bateau Bleu she would have asked the guest if he was expecting company. A question that could be answered with a simple, dignified “No.” A solitary guest was vulnerable as it was, without having it pointed out to him by insensitive waitresses.
“It’s just me. I’m alone,” he explained.
“I see. Actually, the Royal Household has booked the whole restaurant from eight onward, but I guess you’ll be done by then?”
“Yes.…”
“Otherwise, maybe you could take the rest of your meal in a doggy bag?” David Kummel looked so bemused that Agnes almost felt sorry for him. “I’m joking. You can sit there.” She gestured towards a little table to one side. The reserve table, as Kalle liked to call it.
David removed his parka. His hair became static by the maneuver and a few strands stood cracklingly up like swaying seaweed on top of his head. Agnes pointed out the coatroom and went to fetch a menu. When he sat down, she left it on the table in front of him. She felt uncomfortable. Of all the restaurants in town, why did her neighbor have to go and choose the one at which she worked?
There was actually nothing really wrong with him, apart from his tufty toes and his bad taste in music, but he bugged her in some way with his bewildered air and his bashful manner. And he also swiped her laundry time and played music too loud.
When she’d taken a few steps from the table, she heard a tentative “excuse me.” She turned.
“Could I have a glass of water?”
She sighed. It was exactly what she’d been expecting. Water. She made a bet with herself that he’d order the bruschetta, too. He didn’t only have a bad taste in music, he was probably stingy as well.
Several more guests arrived, and Agnes welcomed them with a smile, ushering them toward a table by the window. She waited while they seated themselves, asked them if they wanted something to drink before their meals, took their orders and distributed menus. As she headed off to the bar to pour their drinks, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that David was trying to catch her attention. She pretended not to have seen him. He could wait a little longer. On the way back with the tray to the other guests, she stopped by his table and discharged a glass of water.
“I’d like to ord –”
Agnes interrupted him. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Before returning to him, she took the orders from the other table. Smiling.
“Yes, are you ready?” She gave him an interrogative look.
“Yes.” He looked down at the menu. “I was thinking of having the bruschetta.”
Agnes sighed wearily. She’d won the bet with herself.
“As a starter,” he continued. “For the main course, perhaps the fish soup with scampi and angler fish. Or can you recommend something else?” He looked at her inquiringly. Agnes didn’t know what to think. Was he messing with her? The fish soup was the most expensive item on the menu.
“No,” she said. “I would recommend that whole-heartedly.”
“Good. Then I’ll have that. And for dessert.…” He thought for a moment. Agnes began to feel guilty. Maybe he felt compell
ed to prove to her that he did in fact have money by ordering a three-course meal. But what if he didn’t? He might be blowing all he had on this, in which case it was her fault. She might not have liked him, but she wasn’t malicious.
“You don’t have to order now. You can decide later.”
“OK, I will.” He smiled and handed her back the menu.
Agnes went and entered his order. A few other guests turned up during the evening. But not many, and she didn’t exactly have difficulties keeping tabs on them. And yet she took her time when she noticed that David Kummel’s wineglass was empty and that he was out of bread. The only thing she was quick to produce was the bill. He’d skipped the dessert, so she’d probably been right. He wanted to impress her without being able to afford it.
When he paid he thanked her for the food, adding politely that it had tasted excellent. He then fetched his parka from the coatroom and left the restaurant. She watched him wander away down the street with his hands buried in his pockets. There was something tragic about him. Going out to eat all alone, didn’t he have any friends? Agnes shook off the thought. If that was so, it’d hardly be her problem.
A free weekend. The first since she had started her new job. It felt weird. What would she do with herself? Fortunately, Madde called on the Saturday and asked her if she could come to Stockholm and stay the night at Agnes’s. Sure. Madde wanted to “do the town,” as she put it. Agnes knew what that meant.
Despite it not being much more than an hour away by train, Länninge was a different world. The little world. That could be so kind and secure and caring, that represented her mom, dad, and childhood friends, and in which you said ’morning and hi to everyone you met. But that was also stupefyingly boring. A town where nothing happened. An unexpected tasting of a new sandwich topping down at the supermarket could be reported as a major event by the end of the day. An unknown poet reading her own poems at the library on a Tuesday evening was a cultural affair worthy of a review in the local paper. The local mini-golf championship was Länninge’s largest sporting event and the winner became something of a celebrity in town. A respectable person.
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