a rotting lump down in the ground! Earth to earth! And you, you can all go back to being home-birds, making the coffee, discussing your fibromyalgia, gossiping like old women. You can read your magazines and serve your men.
She walked in and the sight of her daughter interrupted her train of thought.
Mimmi. Wiping the tables and windowsills with a cloth. Her tri-colored hair in two big bunches above her ears. Pink lacy bra peeping over the neckline of her tight black jumper. Cheeks rosy with warmth, presumably she’d been in the kitchen getting the food ready.
“What are we having?” asked Lisa.
“I’ve gone for a bit of a Mediterranean theme. Little olive bread rolls with dips to start,” answered Mimmi without slowing down her actions with the cloth. It was swishing across the shiny bar counter. She followed it with the hand towel she always carried folded over the waistband of her apron.
“There’s tzatziki, tapenade and hummus,” she went on. “Then bean soup with pistou, it made sense to do vegetarian for everybody, because half of you are grass eaters…”
She looked up and grinned at Lisa, who was just taking off her cap.
“But Mum,” she exclaimed, “what on earth do you look like? Are you letting the dogs chew your hair off when it gets too long?”
Lisa ran her hand over her cropped hair to try and flatten it. Mimmi looked at her watch.
“I’ll fix it,” she said. “Pull up a chair and sit down.”
She disappeared through the swing door into the kitchen.
“Mascarpone ice cream with cloudberries for dessert,” she shouted from the kitchen. “It’s absolutely…”
She finished the sentence with an appreciative wolf whistle.
Lisa pulled up a chair, took off her jacket and sat down. Majken immediately lay down at her feet; just this short walk had worn her out, or she was in pain, probably the latter.
Lisa sat as still as in church as Mimmi’s fingers worked through her hair and the scissors evened it all out to the width of a finger.
“What’s going to happen now, without Mildred?” asked Mimmi. “Your hair grows in three circles in a row just here.”
“I suppose we’ll just carry on as normal.”
“With what?”
“Meals for mothers and children, the clean panties and the wolf.”
The clean panties project had begun as an appeal. When it came to the practical help social services offered women who were on drugs, it turned out to be very much focused on men. There were disposable razors and underpants in the clothing pack, but no women’s panties or tampons. Women had to make do with sanitary towels like nappies, and men’s underpants. Magdalena had offered to work with social services, buying panties and tampons as well as things like deodorant and moisturizer. They had also provided a contact list. The name of the contact person was given to a landlord who could be persuaded to let a room to the woman who was using. If there were problems, the landlord could ring the contact person.
“What are you going to do about the wolf?”
“We’re hoping for some kind of monitoring in association with the Nature Conservancy Council. When the snow comes and they can start tracking on scooters, she’s going to be at serious risk if we can’t get something sorted out. But we’ve got some money in the foundation, so we’ll see.”
“You realize you’re stuck with it now, don’t you?” said Mimmi.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the one who’ll have to be the driving force in Magdalena.”
Lisa blew away a few prickly hairs that had settled under her eye.
“Never,” she said.
Mimmi laughed.
“What makes you think you’ve got a choice? I think it’s quite funny, I mean you’ve never actually been one for joining clubs and things, I bet you never thought this would happen. My God, when I heard you’d been elected chairwoman… Micke had to give me first aid.”
“I can imagine,” said Lisa dryly.
No, she thought. I never imagined this would happen. There were a lot of things I’d never have imagined I’d do.
Mimmi’s fingers moved through her hair. The sound of the scissors’ blades against each other.
That evening in early summer… thought Lisa.
She remembered sitting in the kitchen, sewing new covers for the dogs’ beds. The sound of the scissors’ blades against each other. Snip, snip, clip, clip. The television was on in the living room. Two of the dogs were lying on the sofa in there, you could almost imagine they were drowsily watching the news. Lisa was listening with half an ear as she cut the material. Then the sewing machine rattling across the fabric in straight lines, the pedal right down to the floor.
Karelin was lying in the basket in the hallway, snoring. Nothing looks more ridiculous than a sleeping, snoring dog. He was lying on his back, back legs in the air and splayed out to the sides. One ear had flopped over his eye like a pirate’s eye patch. Majken was lying on the bed in the bedroom, her paw over her nose. From time to time she made little noises in her throat and her legs twitched. The new Springer spaniel lay happily beside her.
All at once Karelin wakes up with a start. He leaps up and begins to bark like mad. The dogs in the living room jump off the sofa and join in. Majken and the spaniel puppy come racing in and almost knock Lisa over; she has got up too.
As if she might not have understood, Karelin comes into the kitchen and tells Lisa at the top of his voice that there’s somebody outside, they’ve got a visitor, somebody’s coming.
It’s Mildred Nilsson, the priest. She’s standing out there on the veranda. The evening sun behind her turns the edges of her hair into a golden crown.
The dogs are all over her. They’re ecstatic about the visit. Barking, racketing about, whining, Bruno even sings a note or two. Their tails thud against the door frame and the balustrade.
Mildred bends down to say hello to them. That’s good. She and Lisa can’t look at each other for too long. As soon as Lisa saw her out there, it felt as if they’d both waded out into a fast-flowing river. Now they’ve got a bit of time to get used to it. They glance at each other, then look away. The dogs lick Mildred’s face. Her mascara ends up just below her eyebrows, her clothes are covered in hairs.
The current is strong. It’s a question of standing firm. Lisa holds on to the door handle. She sends the dogs to their baskets. Normally she yells and shouts, that’s how she normally speaks to them and it doesn’t bother them at all. This time the command is almost a whisper.
“Go to your baskets,” she says, waving feebly in the direction of the house.
The dogs look at her in bewilderment, isn’t she going to yell at them? But they lope off anyway.
Mildred doesn’t waste any time. Lisa can see she’s angry. Lisa is a head taller than her, Mildred has to stretch her neck slightly.
“Where have you been?” says Mildred furiously.
Lisa raises her eyebrows.
“Here,” she replies.
Her eyes fasten on the marks of summer on Mildred. She’s got freckles. And the light down on her face, on her upper lip and around her jawbone, has turned blonde.
“You know what I mean,” says Mildred. “Why aren’t you coming to the Bible study group?”
“I…” begins Lisa, scrabbling around in her head for a sensible excuse.
Then she gets angry. Why should she need to explain? Isn’t she an adult? Fifty-two years old, surely at that age it’s okay to do what you want?
“I’ve had other things to do,” she says. Her tone is more abrupt than she would like.
“What other things?”
“You know perfectly well!”
They stand there like two reindeer, vying to be leader of the herd. Their rib cages heaving up and down.
“You know perfectly well why I haven’t been coming,” says Lisa in the end.
They’ve waded out up to their armpits now. The priest loses her footing in the current. Takes a step toward
