“Mascara today of all days, you idiot,” she said, softly shaking her head. She produced a handkerchief from her pocket and started to wipe Madde’s cheeks. The priest was standing on the steps waiting for them. Their dad joined them.
“Are you ready, girls?” he asked, and placed his hands on their shoulders. They nodded. And then they went inside.
It was a nice funeral. They sung about the wheel of time, and the kin that shall come as kin doth go. And for the first time, the familiar words actually had meaning, something real. Agnes let her tears fall onto her lap and could feel how they were making her skin wet. Madde sat beside her with Jonas’s arm around her shoulders. At times she took Agnes’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
When it was over and time to stand up, get up, move on, Agnes looked around the church for the first time. She was surprised at how many people had come. She had no idea that her parents had so many friends. Many she recognized, but some she’d never set eyes on before.
There was a wake with coffee and cake in the parish hall afterwards. Sven had insisted on ordering the cake from Roland’s, despite Gullan’s offer to bake it. Maud had always considered it fun to go to a tea room. There’d be no more opportunities to do that now.
When everyone had sat down, Sven tapped his coffee cup. He rose and unfolded a little piece of paper he had in his inner pocket. The room fell silent.
“Dear friends, dear family,” he began. Agnes removed the wet handkerchief from her pocket. “This is the saddest day of my life.” He blinked heavily and swallowed a few times, and then collected himself to commence. “And that’s how it’s meant to be, I suppose. Because with Maud, I’ve also spent the happiest days of my life.” Now more people were producing handkerchiefs. The sound of snuffling could be heard around the small, austerely furnished room. “She gave us our daughters, Agnes and Madeleine. She gave us her time and her love. Her care and her consideration. Maud was my wife and she was the best friend anyone could imagine. She was always just there, without fuss, without drama. Now she’s dead. Meaningless, one might think, but what would be the point of that? It would be better to think about how meaningful it has been to have had her here with us. To have been her husband, her child, her sister, and her friend. I hope you feel the same degree of gratitude for that as I do.” He stood in silence for a while before sitting himself back down.
Agnes, who was sitting next to him, put out her hand and took her dad’s, which was lying still on the table. They sat like that for a while. The silence remained hanging over the room. Finally, Madde stood up and walked over to her dad, who was still sitting motionlessly staring at his knees. She squatted down beside his chair and stroked his arm. He grasped her hand and held it for a while before looking up. “So, please, help yourselves. I hope the cake tastes good.” Someone coughed quietly and so the murmuring resumed. Gingerly, at first, and then with greater self-assurance. Cutlery clattered against plates. Agnes fetched more coffee and filled the cups of those who wanted more. There were no more speeches; it was as if there was no more to be said when Sven had finished reading from his little sheet of paper.
After a little over an hour, the guests said their thank-yous with hand-pressings, embraces, and pretty words about Maud. And then disappeared in small black-clad clusters out toward the parking lot beyond the stone wall that surrounded the church. Sven and Agnes took the car back to Snickarvägen. Madde and Jonas drove behind with Gullan in the Ford.
Agnes told her dad to sit down in the lounge while she fetched a bottle of whisky from the makeshift liquor cupboard above the fridge, where the bottles had ended up after Sven had dismantled the bar in the basement. She placed it on a tray with some glasses and a bowl of ice. Her dad nodded when she asked him if he wanted one, Gullan and Jonas, too. Madde declined. Agnes then poured one for herself and sat down in an armchair. They talked a little, mostly Gullan, about the funeral, the priest and who was who amongst the guests. About Maud they said nothing.
Madde sat in silence throughout. She was squirming anxiously and fingering the hem of her floral tunic. Jonas sat beside her on the sofa with his arm around her shoulders. Finally, she took a deep breath and started to speak. A little too loudly, as if she needed the extra push to get going.
“At least Mom will live on in a way,” she said without fixing her gaze on anyone in particular. Gullan had fallen silent. Sven and Agnes were looking at Madde. Jonas was squeezing her shoulder. “Because I’m having a baby.”
CHAPTER 31
ON THE SUNDAY Agnes was back at work. Not happy, certainly not cheery, but calm. She’d buried her mother, and things wouldn’t get worse than that for a while, she realized. And in that realization was some kind of consolation. Madde’s news had, of course, also helped. In the midst of all the sorrow, the joy had peeked out, like the sun suddenly breaking through on one of those hopelessly overcast days. They had all started to cry; even Jonas had turned aside and wiped away a tear. Madde had taken her pregnancy test on the same morning as the funeral, and it was hard not to reflect upon Fate and upon the kin that cometh and the kin that goeth. Perhaps even upon souls that pass on, even if Agnes didn’t actually believe all that. In some way, that evening, that mournful day, had still ended happily. Or at least propitiously. Agnes loved her sister for that.
When Agnes looked into the kitchen on her way to get changed into her working clothes, she saw Paolo sitting there on a stool. He was looking pale.
“Are you OK?” asked Agnes.
“Not very,” he replied, making a face. “My stomach doesn’t feel all that great to be honest.”
“Oh, that doesn’t sound too good.”
“It started last night, but I figured it’d pass if I could just go out and move around a bit.”
“But it didn’t?”
“No.” He screwed up his face again and held his stomach. “Here we go again!” He shot up and dashed out of the kitchen.
Kalle appeared a while later. When he heard how Paolo was he made a quick decision.
“You can’t work in this state. I’ll have to drive you home.”
“You don’t have to do that, I can take the subway.…” That was all he could manage before he had to rush out again. Kalle went to fetch his coat.
“I’ll be back in half an hour. We’ll have to open a little later, but no more than ten minutes, I hope.”
“Can you handle being alone in the kitchen this evening?”
“It’s all right. And anyway, it’s a Sunday.…”
Paolo appeared in the dining room. He was pale and walking a little stooped. He was no longer talking of taking the subway.
When they’d gone, Agnes got to work laying tables, folding napkins, and filling up the salt and pepper shakers. She then sliced some lemons and made sure that there was ice in the freezer. Kalle returned at a quarter past six. No guests had arrived yet and he hurried into the kitchen to prepare what Paolo hadn’t had time to complete.
Kalle had been right, it was a quiet evening. The two of them managed it without trouble. “I’ll call in Filip to replace Paolo,” he said while tidying up the kitchen and putting the leftover ingredients in their places. “Do you want help waiting tomorrow or do you think it went OK this evening?”
“It’s all right, I actually feel quite fine,” answered Agnes.
“OK. How was the funeral, by the way?”
She thought for a moment. “Good. Not exactly a bundle of laughs, but nice.”
Kalle stroked her shoulder. “Jesus, it’s not easy burying your parents. I hope I won’t have to for a long time.”
“I thought the same.” She fell silent. It was sad but not unbearable. This time there were no tears. Kalle looked at her for a few seconds, as if to check how she was. Really. Then he dropped his gaze and hung the cloth he’d been wiping the tops with over the tap. “Alrighty,” he said with a little smile. “Shall we call it a day?”
The following morning Kalle called Agnes at home. He sounded wretched.
; “Agnes, bad news. I’m also feeling sick. The same as Paolo. Must be some kind of bug. It’s no fun, I can tell you that.”
“Poor thing. Need help?”
“No, thanks. Sofia’s looking after me.” He gave a snort. “She must really love me. I’m not exactly looking my best.”
“I know what you mean, I saw Paolo yesterday. Have you spoken to Filip?”
“Yes, and that’s the problem. He’s away somewhere and won’t be back until tomorrow. It’d slipped my mind.”
“So what shall we do? Stay closed?”
“Preferably not. We can’t afford not to open. And besides, we have two reservations and Mondays are usually fairly busy. Listen, wait, I’ll call you back in a minute.” There was a click. Five minutes later Kalle called again, sounding this time even more pitiable, if that was possible. “Sorry for hanging up on you,” he said weakly. Agnes wanted to help him and tried to be as efficient as she could.
“But if we have to open and you, Paolo, and Filip can’t work, who’s going to be in the kitchen?”
“That’s where I was hoping you’d come in. In the office is a note with the name Rolf on it and a phone number.”
“OK.”
“A guy called today looking for work as a chef. I’ve not met him but he had good qualifications. Can you check with him and see if he can fill in for us one evening? Until Filip comes back.”
“Are you prepared to let a stranger into the kitchen?”
“It’s all down to you.… Do you think you can show him the ropes?”
“Well, yes.…” Agnes wasn’t feeling sure. She knew the recipes and kitchen procedures, naturally, but to be in charge was another matter. “Sure, it’ll be all right,” she said at last. “You don’t remember what this Rolf’s surname is, do you? Because I could call him right away.”
“Sorry.” He whimpered again. “Look, I’ve got to go. Could you call me and tell me how it goes?” He didn’t wait for an answer and Agnes put the receiver down. She got dressed and an hour later was back at the restaurant.
She turned the kitchen lights on and went into the little cubbyhole that Kalle called his office. After a brief search, she found the note under an order confirmation from the meat wholesalers. She dialed the number and had almost given up hope when someone finally picked up and answered with a baffled “Hello?” Agnes introduced herself and asked if it was Rolf she was talking to. It was. It took quite a while for her to explain to him why she was calling. He’d never heard of Kalle Reutersvärd and didn’t recognize the name of the restaurant.
“I’ve spoken to so many people,” was his excuse. “I can’t keep tabs on all of them.”
When Agnes got around to asking if he could step in as a chef for an evening he became dubious. Could he get paid in cash? The money straight in his hand that evening? Agnes wasn’t sure, that was for Kalle to say, but she didn’t want to disturb him unnecessarily. She took a decision. “We can work that out,” she said. It had to get worked out one way or another. What was important now was that the restaurant opened. The accounts they’d have to juggle with later. They arranged for him to come in at three o’clock so that Agnes could go through the menu with him and show him where things were. When they hung up, she didn’t feel all that comfortable with things. She didn’t have an altogether positive impression of this Rolf, whose surname she still didn’t know. She called Kalle straight away anyway to tell him the problem had been solved. It was Sofia who answered. Kalle was asleep. Agnes told Sofia to say hi and to give him the message. And then she returned home. She’d need to rest for a while before starting work. It had been yet another pretty much sleepless night.
She was at the restaurant at a quarter to three. She took a bottle of mineral water from the fridge and sat down at a table to wait for Rolf. By a quarter past he still hadn’t turned up, and at half past Agnes was beginning to feel really worried. No one answered when she called the number on the note again.
At twenty to four, the door of the restaurant opened. Agnes started. She’d been on pins and needles, going through different possible ways out of the crisis. The only thing she’d come up with was staying shut. When she heard the handle being depressed her relief was immediate. Until she saw the man standing in the doorway.
Rolf approached her and greeted her with an overly tight handshake. He was in his fifties, with bloodshot eyes, unkempt hair, and stubble. His clothes were wrinkled and he stank of tobacco smoke. “Sorry I’m late,” he said in a rasping voice. When he opened his mouth he emitted a moist cloud of beer fumes. Any further explanation for his tardiness was not forthcoming. This wasn’t looking good. Agnes could feel the panic rising in her, but she remained as composed as she could, trying to convince herself that chefs were hardly a neat and tidy breed. He might well have looked like a slob, but the guests didn’t have to suffer the view.
She showed Rolf into the kitchen and pointed out where things were. He nodded and mumbled in confirmation.
“Shall we maybe go through the menu?” she said when the tour was over. They sat down at the table where Agnes had been waiting. She fetched two menus, one each, and started going through them dish by dish as thoroughly as she could manage. Now and then Rolf would give a grunt. Disapproving, thought Agnes, but hoped that she was wrong. “Have you got any questions?” she said as she brought the run-through to an end. He looked wistfully down at the menu, scratching his head with a black fingernail.
“This tuna fish. What do you normally do to it?”
“Er, what do you mean?”
“You said it were grilled. So like a steak, or what?” He fished out a crumpled softpack of Princes from his pocket and lit one.
“No,” she answered slowly. “Not really like a steak.… Do you think it will be a problem?” she added quickly. “You can cross it off the menu for tonight.”
“Nah, shouldn’t be a problem. You just chuck it on the grill. Meat’s meat.”
“Though it isn’t really meat.…”
“Sure it is. Fish meat.” He burst out laughing. A gob of mucus rattled around his throat until he swallowed it and took a deep drag on his cigarette.
“Where did you say you’d worked before?”
“Here and there.” He gave a brief puff and nodded, almost as if he’d just narrated his life story.
“Like?”
He sighed. “As I said, here and there.”
“I see.” Agnes tried again. “Kalle said that you were highly qualified.”
“What Kalle?”
“My boss. The one you spoke to when you called up.”
“Oh, right, yeah.” He showed no signs of wanting to repeat what he’d said back then. “Well, you know, I’ve been around a bit,” he said at last. Agnes gave up. Rolf stayed seated on his chair.
“So maybe you want to get started, then. I can show you where everything is in the fridge.”
“Don’t bother, I’m sure I’ll find it.”
The restaurant was due to open in an hour. Rolf sat smoking on his chair. Not so much as an onion had been chopped in the kitchen. Agnes stood up.
“Well, there’s a lot to do,” she said jauntily. “Shall we get cracking?”
“Yeah, I suppose we should.” He took one last drag on his cigarette. The lit end was nudging the filter. And then he stubbed it out in the ashtray that Agnes put in front of him.
“You’ll let me know if there’s something you’re wondering about,” she said one more time before he disappeared into the kitchen.
He nodded with his back to her and mumbled something that she hoped was assent. As soon as he’d gone into the kitchen, Agnes removed the ashtray and started to lay the tables. Please let there be no guests tonight, she thought, before remembering what Kalle had said about the reservations. She ran her eye over the list. They weren’t big ones at least. One party was of four, the other of just two. If they were lucky no more guests would turn up, she thought in an attempt to pep herself up. It didn’t really work.
A
quarter of an hour before opening, she poked her head into the kitchen. What she saw calmed her somewhat. The ovens were on, the fryer and the broiler, too, and Rolf had lined up an apparently normal mise-en-place on the counter top. So he must have at least worked as a chef at some time: she was surprised how reassuring that conclusion could feel, but that said something about her expectations.
Agnes was grateful for every minute it remained empty in the restaurant, but at half past eight the guests started to arrive. She managed to get them to order a dry martini each before their meals and made them as strong as she dared. Maybe the alcohol would dull their taste buds a little.
The guests screwed their faces up at their cocktails and Agnes worried if she’d gone too far. There wasn’t more than a few drops of vermouth in their glasses, the rest was gin. However, the guests seemed actually pleased, and Agnes breathed out. Swedes’ drinks could never be too strong, as a friend who once worked at a bar in Tenerife had told her. The Italians and French complained if their drinks tasted too much of alcohol, but Swedes (or Finns for that matter) simply thanked their lucky stars and pretended not to notice. As far as they were concerned, they could have pure alcohol in their glasses if there was no extra charge.
When they gestured to her that they wanted to order, she made her way with heavy steps to their table. She was in luck. They each wanted a bruschetta followed by the fresh pasta with saffron and scampi. They were their simplest dishes. Kalle had made the pasta the day before, so all Rolf had to do was to toast the slices of bread and do the pasta sauce. Relieved, she went out to the kitchen with their order.
“So that’s two tomato sanies and spaghetti with saffron?” It was a rhetorical question. Rolf had already got the bread out. Agnes resisted the temptation to stay and keep her eye on things. She forced herself to return to the dining room, where she served the party red wine and water. She was hoping that they’d drink quickly, but they hadn’t so much as tasted the wine before their starters appeared in the hatch. He was obviously quick, at least, this Rolf. Agnes wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
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