‘Malin, Dad here. How are things?’
‘Good. But cold. I’ve been watering the plants.’
‘That’s not why I’m calling. Is everything all right?’
‘I just said it was. Everything’s fine.’
‘So it’s cold up there, isn’t it? We saw on TVSverige that there are radiators bursting in Stockholm.’
‘That’s been happening here too.’
He’s got something on his mind, Malin thinks. I wonder if he’ll manage to get it out. ‘Did you want anything in particular?’
‘Well, just that I . . . No, we can talk about it another time.’
Can’t be bothered to wheedle it out of him, can’t be bothered.
‘Whatever you like, Dad.’
‘Is Tove there?’
‘She just went into the bathroom.’
‘Well, it wasn’t important. Talk to you soon, bye for now.’
Malin is left standing with the phone in her left hand. No one can end a conversation as abruptly as her father. He’s there, then he’s gone.
Tove comes back into the kitchen.
‘Who was that?’
‘Grandad. He sounded a bit odd.’
Tove sits down at the table, looks out of the window. ‘All the clothes people have to wear at this time of year make them look ugly,’ she says. ‘They all look fat.’
‘Do you know what,’ Malin says. ‘There’s enough here for Janne as well. Shall we call and ask if he wants to come over?’
A sudden desire to see him. To touch something. Feel him. Just a whim.
Tove brightens up.
‘You call him,’ Malin says, and Tove’s smile vanishes as quickly as it arrived.
‘You’ll have to do that for yourself, Mum.’
One, two, three, four, five rings. No answer.
Maybe he’s on duty at the fire station.
At the station the operator says, ‘He’s off today.’
His mobile.
Janne’s mobile, straight to the answering service: ‘Hi, you’ve reached Janne. Leave a message after the tone and I’ll get back to you.’
No message.
‘Couldn’t you get hold of him?’
‘No.’
‘Just the two of us, then, Mum.’
Tove is asleep in bed.
It is just after half past eleven. Malin is wide awake on the sofa.
She gets up, looks into Tove’s room, at the perfect girl’s body under the covers, the chest rising and falling.
An overflow of life.
Warm, warm blood circulating. Another body in another bed.
Janne, Janne, where are you? Come here. Come back. There’s meat stew on the stove.
Can’t. I’m driving sacks of flour over a mountain in Bosnia, the road’s been mined. They need my help, here.
We need you.
Malin goes into her bedroom. Is sitting quietly on the edge of the bed when her mobile rings.
She rushes out into the hall and finds her mobile in her jacket pocket.
‘Daniel Hogfeldt here.’
First anger, then resignation, then hope.
‘Have you got anything for me?’
