CHAPTER 14
“THE YELLOW LEMON TREE?” Kalle rolled the name around his tongue a couple of times. “Not bad,” he said at last. “It sounds familiar somehow.” Agnes started to hum.
“I wonder how, I wonder why, yesterday you told me ’bout the blue, blue sky, and all that I can see is a yellow lemon tree.…”
“Of course! But that’s wonderful: blue sky, lemons, the Mediterranean, Italy.… Exactly the right associations!” He looked delightedly at Agnes. She hesitated a moment.
“Er, I was wondering if I could make a few more suggestions… on the color scheme and so on?”
“Sure, was that something you dreamed too?”
“Actually it was.” Agnes felt slightly foolish. She didn’t normally let herself be guided by her dreams – it was just that the images had been so powerful. So clear. “But they’re just suggestions,” she added. “You don’t have to give them any thought.”
“No, go ahead.…” He was looking amused. “Come on, out with it!”
She shut her eyes for a brief second and conjured up the image again. “Well, I was thinking lemon yellow walls, surprise surprise, and the upholstery and cushions on the side benches in red, light red, like Dutch tomatoes. And then bare wood tables and crockery in Mediterranean blue.…” Agnes went quiet and looked at Kalle. His expression remained blank, and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Agnes started to regret it, after all it wasn’t her restaurant. What right had she to go round making all these suggestions? She was just about to take back what she’d said when Kalle started to speak.
“Lemon yellow, tomato red, and, what did you say, Mediterranean blue? Well, well, well, Agnes, apart from sounding very poetic, it also sounds…” he looked around, as if imagining the restaurant in its new colors, “lovely.”
Agnes exhaled. “Seriously?” she asked uncertainly.
“Yes. It’s not at all like I’d been picturing. But it’s better, goes better with the food. It’ll create a warm atmosphere, sunny… yet light and fresh, just like the food.”
“We can have big bowls of lemons in the windows, too.”
“And have Limoncello as the house liqueur.” Kalle started to laugh. “Agnes, if I didn’t have Sofia, I’d be in love with you!” He took a step towards her and hugged her. She felt a little embarrassed, but mostly quite pleased. “We’ll go and get the paint tomorrow and start painting. I’ve got to go now and meet a chef and see if I can entice him over. You don’t happen to know any wait staff going free, do you?”
“How many do you have in mind?”
“Two, apart from you. Plus an extra who can come in now and then in an emergency.”
“I’ll check around.”
“You’re an angel!”
They busied themselves frenetically with the painting for a few days. A friend of Kalle’s had designed a logo, and as soon as it was ready, Kalle ordered a sign and menus with the restaurant’s name on. It was hard work, but fun.
As Agnes was returning home after the last of the painting, she hummed about the blue, blue sky. She was in high spirits, so when Lussan called and asked if she wanted to have a drink after work she said yes. They arranged to meet in a hotel bar on Vasagatan since Lussan was showing an apartment in the area. Agnes would have just enough time to go home and shower beforehand.
Just as she was about to leave, the phone rang.
“Agnes darling, it’s Mom. How are you?”
“Fine.” Agnes sat down on a chair in the hall. It shouldn’t actually have been there, there was no room for a chair in the hall, but she’d used it to reach the fuse box that morning and had neglected to return it to the kitchen where it belonged. Sitting there in her thick coat, she soon started to sweat. She unzipped it with her free hand. “You?”
“Great.”
“Have you started your class?”
“Oh, yes, and it’s such great fun! We’re taking turns in the evenings sitting down at the computer. We’ve enrolled onto a continuation course, too.”
“Really?” Agnes sounded dubious.
“We’re going to learn how to make our own web sites.”
“What? Why?”
“Why, so that we can make our own web sites, of course.”
“Web sites about what?”
“I don’t really know. Our garden, maybe?”
Agnes burst out laughing. “Are you going to put your garden out on the net? But who do you think’s going to visit it?”
“Well, there are so many avid gardeners out there.…” She sounded a little hurt, and Agnes immediately felt guilty.
“But, really, that’s great. It’s great that you’ve found a hobby!” Maud started to talk again, about the garden, about the class, about the neighbors, about Madde and Jonas, about.… Finally, Agnes had to cut her off. She was going to be late for Lussan. “Mom, listen. I was just on my way out. Can I call back later in the week?”
“Of course, but you haven’t told me anything about you.…”
“I will next time.” So they said good-bye and hung up. Agnes hurried away, just missed a train, and had to wait thirteen minutes for the next.
Lussan was sitting in an armchair with a glass of wine when Agnes entered the bar. A fire was burning in an open hearth, but it hardly made the place any cozier. Everything was so trendy and designed that Agnes felt as if she had come to a Prada show in a mail-order outfit. The ceiling was high and the walls were painted in a red and black optical pattern. The lamps looked like tutus and the armchairs were upholstered in black and white cowhide. She looked around while walking over to Lussan. How was one to dress to match this environment? Maybe like the guys at the table beside Lussan? They looked like geeks, every one of them. Hypermodern geeks. Probably worked at some advertising agency, or maybe a record company.
Agnes embraced Lussan, who had stood up to greet her.
“Get one for me too, will you?” said Lussan, pointing to her glass when Agnes went to order. When she returned, she placed the glass on the table and sat in one of the cows. Lussan seemed hyper; she talked rapidly and loudly and was quick to laughter. It had been another stressful day, that much Agnes could tell. It took a while before she was given a chance to tell her what had taken place at Pasta King and Kalle’s restaurant. Lussan was delighted on hearing the news.
“But that’s fantastic! We have to celebrate! Wait here.” She got up and went to the bar, returning a little later with a bottle of Champagne in a bucket of ice and two glasses. The guys at the next table looked inquisitively at her. She pretended not to notice, but Agnes knew that she had the situation under total surveillance.
“My God, Lussan, Champagne! And a full bottle at that.…”
“And good news! I’m proud of you. First you throw a bottle of the world’s most expensive wine onto the floor because your boss can’t keep his grubby paws off you.…”
“I dropped it, actually,” objected Agnes.
“So it was a Freudian slip,” laughed Lussan and continued. “Then you ball out Mr. Mafia in Skärholmen.…”
“Mafia?” Agnes had told her about Micke, but had never mentioned the word Mafia. Or even thought it. Lussan dismissed the protest with a wave.
“If you wear a tracksuit and a leather jacket and cook the books, then you’re Mafia. That’s just the way it is.” Lussan downed her second drink before filling the champagne glasses. Agnes looked a little anxiously at her.
“Are you really going to drink so fast?”
“What do you mean, fast? It’s you who’s so slow. Get those last drops down you, a more noble grape awaits!” She handed her the glass of Champagne. “Cheers!” They drank. Agnes looked at Lussan over the rim of her glass.
“Do you drink wine every day?” she asked as innocently as she could, but Lussan was quick to react.
“What is this? You’re starting to sound like my mother. If I had one, that is.” She grinned. “You don’t need to worry. And in reply to your question: No, I don’t drink wine every
day.”
Agnes nodded, feeling a little foolish.
“Good.”
“I drink cosmopolitans sometimes, too.” Lussan grinned. “Seriously, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“OK.” They fell silent for a while. The mood had faltered somewhat. Lussan looked over at the next table and smiled. Agnes drank her Champagne. It was good.
“So have you heard from the ol’ tosser then?” asked Lussan finally. “Tobias?”
“Good, you’re learning. Of course I mean Tobias.”
“He’s been to pick up his stuff.”
“At last. I guess it must have been nice to finally get rid of it?”
Agnes nodded, and said nothing about the things he’d left behind. Like his CDs and his battered old Fender Telecaster, which stood in the wardrobe awaiting a renovation that would probably never happen. In actual fact, Tobias had only picked up a few clothes. She’d thought about calling him to ask him to take the rest, but she didn’t have the strength. If he wanted to use her apartment as storage, he could go ahead. For a while longer. Then she’d have words. She really would.
“What about you? How’s the love life?”
“Same as usual. Nonexistent, in other words. The only one who seems to want me is that Peter at work.”
“Really?” Agnes was curious.
“54, married, two teenage daughters. Great.… He’s not even nice looking.” She sighed. “The single life isn’t so glamorous at the moment.”
“No.…” Agnes was still unaccustomed to thinking of herself as single. She wasn’t the single type. A single was someone who’d chosen that life, who helped herself to what life had to offer and didn’t just sit at home waiting to get married. Nor did Agnes – sit around waiting to get married that is, Things weren’t that bad. But she enjoyed being a couple. The feeling that there was someone special, someone she could focus on, care for, love. She had no desire to help herself. She’d tried once, but it hadn’t whetted her appetite for more and had been enough to last for a while. Lussan was different. She was single. Enjoyed it. For the most part, at least. Agnes tried to comfort her. “You’ll have to dig out one of all your other lovers. That architect, it’s been a while since I heard anything about him. And the Dane, isn’t he ever in Stockholm any more these days?”
“Torben? Actually, he called me yesterday.”
“There you go.”
“But I turned him down.”
“Why?” Agnes was surprised. Saying no wasn’t really Lussan’s style.
“I don’t know, it just all suddenly felt so sordid. He’s there, fancying a bit of rumpy-pumpy and thinks, I know, I’ll give Lussan a call.… No, it feels wrong.”
“I thought you were always up for a bit of rumpy-pumpy. And that’s why it worked so well.”
“Yeah, it was like that once but then suddenly it just didn’t feel like fun any more. I can’t really explain. Maybe it’s just because I’ve been living like this for such a long time.” Lussan filled their glasses with Champagne. “Although to be honest I’m not sure if I’ve chosen this life or if I’ve just been grinning and bearing it. Maybe I’ve just been putting up with the occasional fling and lovers in transit just because I’ve not been able to get anything else.” Agnes was just about to protest when Lussan gave a little shake. “Pah! It’s probably just a low patch. I’ll soon be back on track again! Torben’s in town for a couple more days. I said I might call him. And anyway, there are plenty more fish in the sea.…” She nodded discreetly towards the advertising geeks.
“That’s more like the old you, I was getting a little worried there!” They clinked glasses, and Agnes continued: “But seriously.…”
Lussan interrupted her. “No, no more ‘seriously’ tonight. Look at this instead!” She produced a tabloid that someone had left behind on the chair beside them and read the headline. “Is your electric hand mixer a death trap? Check out our list! It’s incredible what fascinating things you can read about in the papers these days!”
CHAPTER 15
LUSSAN HAD DRAGGED HER out on a pub crawl, and even though Agnes had stopped drinking long before her friend had downed her third Mojito, she had ended up totally blasted. Unlike Lussan, who never seemed to get drunk. It was treacherous partying with her – Agnes could take only a fraction of what Lussan could. So here she was, trying to cure her headache with two painkillers that were dissolving with a fizz into an unappetizing broth in the glass in front of her.
She should have been helping Kalle. Much of the morning had already gone, but the thought of the noise of the drills and sanders was unbearable. She tried to compensate by calling round to see if she could find anyone who wanted a waiting job at the restaurant. They could advertise of course, but that would take too long. Agnes looked in her address book. There were many names there, but few she actually knew. It was understandable – restaurant staff were fickle and although it was easy to accumulate contacts, rarely did anyone become close friends.
She started by calling Pernilla. No one in. Agnes left a message on her answering machine saying that she could offer her a great job if Pernilla was interested. Then she called Johanna and Karin. Johanna thanked her for the offer, but had just changed jobs and was happy where she was. Karin had recently started studying but asked if she could get back to her if it turned out that her student loan didn’t stretch far enough. Agnes thumbed through her address book again. Deselected a few names, people she had never actually liked but who, for politeness’ sake, she’d entered into her book when they went their separate ways. Under VWYZ, X having obviously been dispensed with by the diary publisher, she found Henrik Valke. It was a long time since she last met him, but as far as Agnes could recall, he was both skilled and good-natured. She took a chance. At first, he was a little lost as to who she was, but when she explained that they had worked together at Trevor & Co, the fog cleared.
“All right, now I’ve got it! It’s been ages! How are things?”
“Just fine, thanks.” Agnes held the receiver away from her ear to protect her poor head from the all-too chirpy voice. “Listen, I was wondering if you’d be interested in a job.”
“Waiting?”
“Yes. A newly opened restaurant. Do you know who Kalle Reuterswärd is?”
“The head chef at Picnic’s, isn’t he?”
“Yes, although he’s opened up his own place now. On Skånegatan. Fancy it?”
“Yes.…Starting when?”
Agnes crossed her fingers. “Next week.”
“Wow. You’re cutting it fine.”
“Well, you know how it is.… So anyway, what are you up to these days? Are you working?”
“Yeah, well, to be honest… you couldn’t really call it a proper job. I’m writing. A book.”
“Really? How exciting! What kind of book?”
Henrik sighed. “The thing is that I meant to write this novel that I’ve had running around my mind for years now. So I quit in my old job, as I thought it would never get written otherwise.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“The problem is, it’s still not getting written.” He gave a little dry laugh. “I’ve written fourteen pages in three months.”
“That’s not so bad, is it?”
“It is when you think I’ve scrapped the lot of them. I’ve, like, been going around for years believing that really I’m an author, though I’ve never had the chance to write anything for real.”
“And now you’ve got the chance.…”
“Yeah, and I’m not so convinced any more.”
“It’s probably just writer’s cramp, or whatever it’s called.”
“Possibly, but until it goes away I guess I ought to think about making some money. My partner’s getting tired of acting the patron.”
Agnes thought about all the months she had supported Tobias when his “pride” had prevented him from getting a job cleaning or ticket collecting.
“Well, to be honest, I can sympathize with her,” she said c
autiously.
“Him.”
“Sorry?”
“Him. My partner.”
“Oh, right.… of course.… him, yes.” Agnes felt stupid.
“But listen, about the job. I’ll give it a thought. Can I call you later on today?”
“Do.” Agnes left her number with him and they said goodbye. That was the last call she could be bothered to make, so she went into the bedroom and lay down on the bed. The painkillers were starting to take effect, and her head wasn’t throbbing as much as it had been.
Before dozing off, she thought about the restaurant, The Yellow Lemon Tree. There were only five days left before opening, and she sincerely hoped that Kalle had the situation under control. The kitchen was pretty much ready, they’d painted the dining room walls, the bar had been built and the tables were due to be delivered during the week. But everything else was in chaos. They had no crockery, the company that was supposed to deliver the chairs had “hit a snag”—how serious no one knew— there was no basin in the guest bathroom and nowhere to hang coats. They had no chefs or wait staff. The freezer had a manufacturing defect and had to be replaced, and from the light fittings in the dining room hung two naked 100-watt bulbs. The water hadn’t been plumbed into the bar, and the fridge had yet to be installed. The front door made a noise like a stone crusher. It was touch and go whether the sign would be ready in time, and it was the same for the menu covers. The menu wasn’t written, even though she and Kalle had discussed it a great deal while painting, and the wine list was only half done. There was, to put it briefly, much to be worried about. Yet that was not what Agnes was doing as she lay there. She was thinking of the beautiful lemon yellow walls and the sky-blue crockery that she and Kalle had chosen. She was thinking of the little drink corner and the two battered old leather sofas that they’d found in a charity shop that were so perfect. Things will be all right, she thought, and fell asleep.
“Hi, it’s Pernilla! You called?”
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