Virku barked in agreement.
“Don’t you listen to her,” said Sanna, throwing her arms around Virku’s neck. “You’re not a stupid dog! You’re the best, most wonderful dog in the whole wide world. And I love you to bits.” She hugged Virku, who reciprocated these declarations of affection by trying to lick Sanna’s mouth.
Curt stared jealously at them.
“It’s a rented car, isn’t it?” he asked. “I can drive into town and pick up the spare keys.”
He was talking to Sanna, but it was as if she couldn’t hear him. She was completely taken up with Virku.
'I’d really appreciate that,' Rebecka said to Curt.
Not that you could care less whether I appreciate it or not, she thought, contemplating the slump of his shoulders as he stood behind Sanna, waiting for her to pay him some attention.
Sivving Fjallborg, she thought then. He’s got a spare key to the house. At least he used to have. I’ll go and see him.
It was quarter past seven when Rebecka walked into Sivving Fjallborg’s house without ringing the doorbell, just as she and her grandmother had always done. There was no light in any of the windows, so he was presumably still asleep. But that couldn’t be helped. She switched on the light in the little hallway. There was a rag rug on the brown lino floor, and she wiped her feet on it. She had snow over the tops of her boots as well, but she couldn’t get much wetter now. A staircase led up to the top floor, and next to it was the dark green door down to the boiler room. The kitchen door was closed. She shouted upstairs into the darkness.
“Hello!”
A low bark came at once from the cellar, followed by Sivving’s strong voice.
“Quiet, Bella! Sit! Now! Stay!”
She heard footsteps on the stairs, then the cellar door opened and Sivving appeared. His hair had turned completely white, and he might have gone a bit thin on top, but otherwise he hadn’t changed at all. His eyebrows were set high above his eyes, making him look as if he were always about to discover something unexpected or to hear some good news. His blue-and-white-checked flannel shirt just about buttoned over his paunch, and was tucked well into a pair of combat trousers. The brown leather belt holding up the trousers was shiny with age.
“It’s Rebecka!” he exclaimed, a huge smile splitting his face.
“Come, Bella!” he called over his shoulder, and in a trice a pointer bitch came galloping up the stairs.
“Well, hello there,” said Rebecka. “Is it you that’s got such a deep voice?”
“She’s got a really manly bark,” said Sivving. “But it keeps the people trying to sell raffle tickets and the like away, so I’m not complaining. Come on in!”
He opened the kitchen door and switched on the light. Everything was terribly neat, and it smelled slightly musty.
'Sit down,' he said, pointing to the rib-backed settee.
Rebecka explained why she was there, and while Sivving fetched the spare key she looked around. The freshly washed green-and-white-striped rag rug was in precisely the right place on the pine floor. Instead of an oilcloth on the table, there was a beautifully ironed linen cloth, decorated with a little vase of beaten copper, holding dried buttercups and everlasting flowers. There were windows on three sides, and from the window behind her you could see her grandmother’s house. In daylight, of course. All you could see at the moment was the reflection of the pine lamp hanging from the ceiling.
When Sivving had given her the keys he sat down at the opposite side of the table. Somehow he didn’t look quite at home in his own kitchen. He was perched on the very edge of the red-stained chair. Bella didn’t seem able to settle either, but was wandering about like a lost soul.
“It’s been a long time.” Sivving smiled, looking closely at Rebecka. “I was just about to have my first cup of coffee. Would you like one?”
“Please,” said Rebecka, sketching out a timetable in her head.
It wouldn’t take more than five minutes to pack her case. Tidying up, half an hour. She could catch the ten- thirty plane, provided Curt turned up with the car keys.
“Come on,” said Sivving, getting up.
He went out of the kitchen and down the cellar steps, with Bella at his heels. Rebecka followed them.
Everything was cozy and homely in the boiler room. A made-up bed stood against one wall. Bella climbed straight into her own bed, which was next to it. Her water and food bowls were sparkling clean, newly washed. There was a washstand in front of the water heater, and an electric hot plate stood on a little drop-leaf table.
“You can pull up that stool,” said Sivving, pointing.
He took down a little coffeepot and two mugs from a string shelf on the wall. The aroma from the tin of coffee blended with the smell of dog, cellar and soap. A pair of long johns, two flannel shirts and a T-shirt with “Kiruna Truck” on it were hanging on a washing line.
“I must apologize,” said Sivving, nodding toward the long johns. “But then, I wasn’t expecting such an elegant visitor.”
“I don’t understand,” said Rebecka in bewilderment. “Do you sleep down here?”
“Well, you see,” said Sivving, running his hand over the stubble on his chin as he carefully counted scoops of coffee into the pot, “Maj-Lis died two years ago.”
Rebecka muttered a few words of sympathy in reply.
“It was stomach cancer. They opened her up, but all they could do was stitch her back together. Anyway, the house was too big for me. The kids had moved out long ago, and with Maj-Lis gone too… First of all I stopped using the top floor. The kitchen and the little bedroom downstairs were enough. Then Bella and I realized that we were only using the kitchen. So then I moved the TV into the kitchen and slept in there, on the sofa bed. And stopped using the bedroom.”
“And in the end you moved down here.”
“Well, it’s much less cleaning. And the washing machine and the shower were down here. I bought that little fridge. It’s big enough for me.”
He pointed toward a little fridge in the corner with a plate rack on top of it.
“But what does Lena say, and…” Rebecka fumbled for the name of Sivving’s son.
“Mats. Ah, the coffee’s ready. Well, Lena makes a lot of noise and plays hell and reckons her dad’s lost the plot. When she comes to visit with the kids, they run about all over the house. And in some ways that’s good, because otherwise I might as well sell up. She’s moved to Gallivare, and she’s got three boys. But they’re getting quite big now, and starting to live their own lives. They do like fishing, though, so they usually come over quite a bit in the spring to fish through holes in the ice. Milk? Sugar?”
“Black.”
“Mats is divorced, but he’s got two kids. Robin and Julia. They usually come on the holidays and so on. What about you, Rebecka? Husband and children?”
Rebecka sipped at the hot coffee. It went all the way to her cold feet.
“No, neither.”
“No, I suppose they wouldn’t dare come near you…”
“What do you mean?” laughed Rebecka.
“Your temperament, my girl,” said Sivving as he got up and fetched a packet of cinnamon buns from the fridge. “You’ve always been a bit fierce. Here, have a bun. God, I remember that time you lit a fire in the ditch. You were a tiny little thing. Stood there like a policewoman with your hand raised when your grandmother and I came running. ‘Stop! Don’t come any closer!’ you shouted, full of authority, and you were so cross when we put the fire out. You were going to grill fish on it.”
Sivving was laughing so much, he had to wipe away a tear at the memory. Bella raised her head and barked happily.
“Or the time you threw a stone at Erik’s head because you weren’t allowed to go with the lads on their raft,” Sivving went on, laughing so that his stomach quivered.
“All barred by the statute of limitations.” Rebecka smiled as she gave Bella a piece of her bun. “Is it you who’s been clearing the snow over at Grandmother’s?”
“Well, it’s nice for Inga-Lill and Affe to be able to do other things when they come here. And I need the exercise.”
