increased in direct proportion to the amount of wine he drank. Per thought he must have knocked back four or five glasses since they sat down to eat; he was drunk, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Jerry had been drunk before, usually in restaurants.
It was pitch black beyond the veranda now, with thick clouds covering the night sky. Per felt something cold touch his cheek, and realized it had started to drizzle. Soon it would be time to go indoors, and for everyone to head home.
Nilla was probably already asleep over in the cottage. Per turned his head, and could see only one isolated light in the living room. He had pushed her home in the wheelchair after she had been at the table for about an hour; she had whispered to Per that she couldn’t cope any longer. Had she eaten anything? He wasn’t sure.
Jesper had stayed for another hour or so before he too headed back to Casa Morner, hopefully to get an early night. Per was also intending to leave soon, taking Jerry with him. He had met the neighbours now; they seemed like decent, reliable people, but he had no desire to become friends with them. He only had to compare his own shack with their newly built luxury houses to see how different they were.
Suddenly a question came across the table: ‘So what do you do, Jerry?’
Max Larsson.
Jerry put down his wine glass and shook his head. He could find only two words: ‘Not working.’
‘OK, but what is it you do when you’re not sitting here?’
Jerry looked at his son in confusion. Per leaned forward: ‘Jerry’s retired … He ran his own business for many years, but he’s recently downsized.’
Max nodded, but didn’t give up. ‘So what kind of business was it? Jerry Morner … I’ve been sitting here pondering, and I’m sure I recognize the name.’
‘Media,’ Per said quickly. ‘Jerry worked in the media. So do I.’
‘Oh,’ said Max, suddenly more interested. ‘Are you on television, then?’
‘No … I work in marketing surveys.’
‘Right,’ said Max, looking disappointed.
‘I do a fair amount of jogging too,’ said Per, glancing around the table, ‘although that’s more of a hobby. Does anyone else go jogging?’
‘I go running,’ said a voice in the darkness. ‘I’ve done it for years.’ It was Vendela, their hostess. She had large, beautiful eyes.
‘Good,’ said Per, smiling at her.
He wanted to round off the evening now, to say thank you and leave this enormous house – but at that moment Jerry straightened up and looked at Max Larsson. His gaze was suddenly completely clear and focused. ‘Films!’ he said.
Max turned his head. ‘Sorry?’
‘Films and magazines.’
Max laughed a little uncertainly, as if Jerry were teasing him, but Jerry looked annoyed at not being taken seriously. He raised his voice and went on, ‘Me and Bremer and Markus Lukas … films and magazines. Girls!’
There was complete silence around the table now; the last word had made all the guests stop talking and turn to look at Jerry. Only Per kept his eyes downcast.
Jerry himself seemed very happy with the attention, almost proud, and he pointed across the table with a steady finger; Per knew there was no escape.
‘Ask Pelle!’
Per gazed into the distance and tried to give the impression that he wasn’t listening, as if there was no point in listening to Jerry. Eventually he did look at his father, but by that time it was too late.
Jerry had already picked up his old briefcase; he had refused to leave it at home. He quickly undid the straps and pulled something out. It was a brightly coloured magazine, Per saw, made of thick, glossy paper.
His father threw it into the middle of the table, smiling proudly.
The title on the cover was written in red: BABYLON. Beneath the name a naked woman lay sprawled on a sofa, her legs spread wide apart.
Per stood up. The magazine seemed to lie there for an eternity before he leaned over and picked it up. But of course everyone had seen it by then; he noticed Vendela Larsson leaning forward to study the picture, her eyes wide with surprise.
At the same time his father’s voice echoed across the entire veranda: ‘Girls! Naked girls!’
24
Per didn’t want to wake up the morning after the party, but it happened anyway. It was quarter to nine. He lay there blinking at the ceiling.
It was Maundy Thursday. It was almost the Easter weekend, or had it already started? And how were they going to celebrate it, with the way things were?
He supposed they would just have to celebrate as best they could, as he had promised Nilla. With eggs – fresh eggs and chocolate eggs.
Then Per remembered that his father was in the house, and what had happened at the party the previous evening.
Jerry’s hoarse laughter. Vendela Larsson, smiling nervously at her guests. And the porn magazine, lying there in the middle of the table.
The cottage was silent, but inside his pounding head he could hear echoing voices and shouts. He had drunk too much red wine yesterday, he wasn’t used to it.
‘Markus Lukas,’ Jerry had said several times.
That name and the memory of Vendela’s smile made Per think of Regina, the girl he had met one warm, sunny spring day many years ago. She too had had a quick, slightly nervous smile and a pair of big blue eyes framed by short brown hair, and high cheekbones dusted with freckles.
Had Regina been the first real love of his life? She had certainly seemed much more exciting than the girls at his school. Older, more worldly-wise. They had sat next to each other for several hours in a car one day when he was thirteen years old.
An outing in the car in springtime with a pretty girl should have been straightforward, but not for Per. Regina had been sitting in the back doing her make-up when Jerry and a friend turned up at Anita’s in the Cadillac to pick him up. For once Jerry was on time. They were going to hang out together for the whole of the Easter weekend, father and son.
And how old had Regina been? Several years older than Per, maybe sixteen or seventeen. She had laughed and patted him on the head when he sat down beside her on the leather seat, as if he were just a little boy.
It was Jerry’s fault; as soon as they got in the car he started referring to Per as ‘my lad’.
‘Regina,’ said Jerry, exhaling cigarette smoke as he turned his big black sunglasses towards the back seat and touched the girl’s cheek, ‘this is my lad … Pelle.’
Per wanted to touch the girl’s cheek as well, in the same confident way as his father.
‘My name is Per,’ he said.
Regina laughed and ruffled his hair with her slender white fingers. ‘So how old are you, Per?’
‘Fifteen,’ he lied.
He felt quite grown up, sitting there in Jerry’s car, and he grew bolder and bolder; he ventured a smile at Regina, and realized she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Her quick smile was beautiful, and he became more and more smitten. He kept on stealing glances at her, admiring the sunburnt legs disappearing under her short skirt, the slender hands protruding from her leather jacket. Her fingers fluttered like eager butterflies as she talked to Jerry and the man who was driving. Per could see only the back of the man’s head; he had broad shoulders and thick, black hair, but he was bound to be a friend of Jerry’s. His father had a lot of friends.
They set off, and Per sat next to Regina, feeling his legs and back grow; he didn’t look back to see whether Anita was waving to him, or whether she had gone indoors. He had already forgotten his mother; he was sitting next to Regina, and they were smiling at one another.
The car smelled of cigarettes, as Jerry’s cars always did.
