rather have driven straight home. But according to Krister, there was a threat of starvation in the pantry and refrigerator, so there was no choice.
Krister was driving. Irene leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Thoughts swirled around aimlessly in her tired brain.
Her comfort level had suffered when Krister began to work full-time five years earlier. Before that, he had worked thirty hours a week and everything had run more smoothly at home. During the whole time the twins were young, he had had a reduced work schedule, since there were no part-time positions for detective inspectors and Irene hadn’t wanted to take a desk job. The deciding argument had been that she earned more as a policewoman than he did as a cook. When he got the offer to take over as head of the kitchen at Glady’s Corner, Irene had energetically supported him. It was his turn to focus on his career. She had regretted this many times since, but would never have told him so. He loved his work, even if he was often tired to the point of exhaustion when he came home. And who wasn’t, thought Irene. The worst thing was that they didn’t see each other very often. Now, with the twins living their own lives, it was more and more common that she came home to an empty house. Good thing Sammie was around.
They split up inside the shopping mall according to a well-rehearsed strategy. Irene had a list on which her husband had written what she should buy at the State Liquor Store. He went and botanized in the fruit and vegetable aisles, toured at the fishmonger, and rounded things off with a visit to the delicatessen. According to Krister, cheeses had to be tasted before they were purchased. He could stand and sample for fifteen minutes before he made up his mind. When Irene was doing the shopping, a plastic-covered Herrgard’s mild cheese went right into the basket without further ado, or maybe a tub of soft cheese flavored with shrimp.
IT WAS almost seven o’clock when they finally dragged themselves and their heavy bags over the threshold of their row house. Sammie jumped and bounced around them, eagerly investigating what was in the bags. He stuck his nose into a bag and sniffed. Little wieners? Liver pate? Grilled chicken? Yes! Grilled chicken!
Irene tripped over him when he was fussing around her legs. With repressed violence, she shooed him away from the grocery bags and went into the kitchen.
She made sure that she remedied the threat of starvation by filling the cupboards. Krister had purchased fresh baguettes which were still a little warm, a piece of whiskey cheddar, and a perfectly aged Brie. The cheese was going to be enjoyed with the evening’s salad. Because Jenny didn’t eat meat or fish or anything of animal origin whatsoever, all members of the family got to make their own salads. A base of tomatoes, onions, corn, cucumber, black olives, lettuce, and fresh basil was set in the middle of the table in a large bowl. There were smaller bowls with feta cheese, chicken pieces, and Thousand Island dressing around it. The dressing was made light with creme fraiche, which was the reason Jenny wouldn’t eat it but used vinaigrette instead.
Both girls were at home, and they helped slice the ingredients of the salad. Naturally, Jenny refused to involve herself with the chicken cadaver, so Krister had to do it himself. He paused in the middle of cutting up the chicken and said, “Girls. As usual, Mamma and I are working at different times this weekend-”
He was interrupted by Katarina, who exclaimed, “But you were supposed to have the weekend off!”
She looked at Irene accusingly. Irene knew full well that she worked too much, but with the occupation she had, there wasn’t much she could do about it. When there was a lot of work to do, there was also a lot of overtime.
“Had you planned on being home?” Irene asked Katarina.
Katarina didn’t answer, but merely shrugged. Recently she had turned eighteen, giving her the right to vote, the right to marry without parental permission, and the right to drive a car, but still sometimes she was just a child. At least she couldn’t buy alcohol at the State Liquor Store yet, thought Irene.
“Katarina probably planned on driving practice. Just like me,” said Jenny.
“We’ll arrange it. When are you going to take the test?” Irene asked.
“In three months. There’s a waiting list,” Katarina said sulkily.
Both girls had had their learner’s permit and had driven, accompanied by their parents, for more than a year. They were very good. The driver’s test would certainly go well. But it would be difficult financially, since both of them were going to obtain their much-desired licenses at the same time.
Krister cleared his throat. “If I may return to what I was saying earlier, we’re going to have Easter dinner on Good Friday. It’s the only day both myself and Mamma are free at the same time. And I start work at five o’clock on Easter Eve. But I should have time for a smaller Easter lunch before I start.”
Jenny stopped in the middle of chopping onions and said hesitantly, “Is it okay if I invite Martin?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Krister said, smiling wide.
Irene was pleasantly surprised. Katarina had dragged home various boyfriends over the years, but Jenny had never brought anyone home. There had been romances in Jenny’s life, but nothing more serious ever seemed to develop. They had died and gone to glory at an early stage and quietly disappeared without leaving any noticeable marks on their daughter. Martin must be special.
“How long have you been together?” she ventured to ask, curious.
Jenny answered, “A few months.”
A few months! Irene had heard about him for the first time last week.
“Grandma is coming, right?” Katarina asked.
“Oh, good thing you said that! I need to call and change the day. Otherwise she’ll think it’s Easter Sunday,” Irene exclaimed, hurrying out of the kitchen to the telephone in the hall.
GOOD FRIDAY dawned with sunshine and a clear blue sky, even if it was cool. Irene and Krister devoted the morning to their sorely neglected garden. What did it matter if last year’s leaves were raked up only at the beginning of April? Irene used to convince herself that it was healthy for the lawn to have a protective cover of leaves in case it was a cold winter. And some nutrients went into the ground when leaves decomposed. On the other hand, those were the only nutrients the lawn ever got. If you thought about it, their little garden plot was actually ecologically managed, completely without artificial fertilizer.
Krister started fixing the Easter buffet around lunchtime. He had started preparing the herring at the beginning of the week. He had finished the coriander-preserved salmon and the shellfish pate then as well. Now he was baking the chicken filets, which he was going to serve cold with various sauces. Irene had greedily circled him like a barracuda and noted a delicious mango chutney sauce and a creme fraiche sauce with fresh basil and garlic.
The seductive smell of Jansson’s Temptation-with its spicy anchovies-came from the oven. It was Irene’s favorite dish at both the Christmas and Easter buffets. As usual, a rootstock casserole stood simmering next to it. Jenny had told them that Martin was a lacto-vegetarian. He wasn’t orthodox in Jenny’s vegan eyes, but apparently she could put up with this. She had also promised to make a large tomato and onion salad and chick-pea pilaf-red peppers filled with rice and chick peas, her specialty. The rest of the family also thought the chick-pea-filled peppers were delicious, and therefore the dish was included on the Easter buffet table. The obligatory hard-boiled eggs were cooling in cold water. Later they would be peeled and halved. The egg halves were decorated with mayonnaise, caviar, and shrimp.
The dessert had even been ready for a few days; Krister’s punch parfait was in the freezer. He served it with his chocolate sauce made according to a secret recipe. Irene had managed to work out that it contained coffee, and she knew that he made it with dark chocolate of the finest quality. This was Glady’s Corner’s signature dessert, and if it wasn’t on the menu, the regulars would grumble.
Irene’s mother, Gerd, and her significant other, Sture, arrived at about five o’clock. The air was still warm enough that they could drink a glass of sparkling wine in the garden. They had to wear sweaters and over-shirts, but the air felt pleasant and spring-like. They were standing and chatting on the patio when Jenny and her Martin appeared in the doorway.
Irene quickly looked down at her right hand in order to make sure that her grip on her wineglass was firm. She understood why Jenny had looked hesitant when she spoke about Martin the day before. Conversation stopped completely, and everyone looked at the lanky figure in the doorway.
Martin was a few years over twenty. His shoulder-length hair was dyed black. His T-shirt was also black with a bright pink legend across his chest: “Fuck me, I’m famous!” He wore black jeans with large rips through which his pale knobby knees stuck out. A thick metal stud pierced his lower lip, and there was another in one eyebrow. He
