by Koppel, Hans
The little agency often came up with identical solutions, but had far greater difficulties in selling their ideas. When the small agency presented their proposals, the client started to squirm and came out with the most ridiculous objections.
‘Well, I took your adverts home and showed them to my daughter. She thought…’
Imagine if an auditor was treated in the same way.
‘Yes, yes, that’s okay, but my daughter thought it looked nicer with more figures on the next line.’
And not only did the clients question Sven’s work, he was even assailed privately too. He’d been at a fiftieth birthday party recently and ended up sitting opposite some left-wing person who regurgitated seventies nonsense all night. Life was easy for those who could afford to stick to their ideals, there was no question about it.
Sven wrote twenty-three hours. He calculated the hourly rate and wrote in the total on the right.
Twenty-three, uneven numbers. Sounded reliable and good. He printed out the invoice and wrote the client’s address on an envelope. The telephone rang and he answered.
‘Hi, Sissela here.’
Sven didn’t make the connection.
‘From Family Journal.’
‘Oh, hello, hello. How’s things?’
‘Good, thank you. And you?’
Sven told her about the daily trials and tribulations of an advertising man in a light and social manner. Small talk was something everyone in his business had mastered.
‘Sorry to have kept you waiting,’ Sissela said.
Sven leaned back in his chair and scratched his neck with his free hand.
‘Not at all, it’s always a process.’
‘Yes, however, having given it considerable thought, we have decided not to go ahead with the campaign right now.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I talked to the marketing department recently and we agreed that we should wait until the spring and then go for a more traditional subscription drive. We don’t really believe that we can get men interested.’
‘You don’t? Personally, I’ve always found the magazine a very interesting read.’
‘Men read their wives’ magazines and give them subscriptions as a present,’ Sissela said. ‘But they wouldn’t subscribe themselves. Unless it was for tax reasons, that they could subscribe through the company or something like that.’
‘I understand,’ Sven said. ‘It’s possible we did go a bit off-piste in our enthusiasm for your product. Could we perhaps submit a new proposal?’
‘From what I understand, that’s what Erik has just done. Yes, he was here just now and spoke to Anna. And she wasn’t particularly impressed. No, I think we’ll just leave it for the moment. But thank you so much for all your hard work, and of course, it was delightful to meet you at Mölle. Maybe we’ll get in touch again on another occasion.’
I am not interested.
Erik slapped his hand against the dashboard. Who did she think she was? She was old and ordinary, he was young and attractive. He had made her scream. Erik found it hard to believe that her husband managed to do that.
‘Very hard,’ he said out loud to himself.
I love my husband, we have a daughter.
‘You love your husband?’ Erik said. ‘Is that why you jump into bed with anyone? Because you love your husband?’
What happened happened.
‘Yes, it was convenient. No guilt, a victim of circumstances.’
Erik turned the key and pulled out into the road.
Until yesterday, I thought it was something positive, a memory that I could enjoy with real pleasure and warmth. Now, I don’t know any more.
‘No, because it has to be on your terms, when you feel like it. Well, I’ve got news for you, Anna Stenberg. You don’t rule the world.’
Erik drove back to work, looked at himself calmly in the mirror as he took the lift up. He had no intention of showing any of his inner chaos to Sven and Olof. He went into the office and was met with an accusing smile. Erik looked at them.
‘What?’
‘I was just speaking to Sissela at Family Journal,’ Sven said.
Erik went over to his desk, tried to look busy.
‘Right.’
‘And they’ve said no to the campaign.’
‘That’s a shame.’
Erik studied them. Unsuccessful advertising men, but a necessary springboard for him to the career that was without doubt waiting just around the corner. Within a couple of years, Sven and Olof would be telling anecdotes about how they discovered him.
Sven nailed him with gimlet eyes.
‘Sissela said that you’d run up there with another proposal. That you’ve been out sailing your own sea.’
Erik looked up, felt his cheeks flush. What had Anna said? That he was following her?
‘It’s all well and good that you take the initiative,’ Olof said, ‘but you have to pass things by us first. We have to show a united front.’
‘You can’t just give the client an alternative,’ Sven said. ‘That way you’re communicating uncertainty.’
Anna hadn’t said anything. Of course not. What could she say? Nothing. Not without telling.
‘It wasn’t anything concrete,’ Erik said. ‘I was just sounding it out. Trying to get a handle on what they wanted.’
‘What did you find out?’
Erik shrugged.
‘I don’t think they’re willing to pay anyone outside the company for their advertising.’
‘So we’re wasting our time?’
Erik didn’t answer.
‘Well,’ Sven sighed, ‘there’s nothing to be done. We’ll just have to find a new client. But next time, talk to us first.’
His expression was paternal, nurturing. Erik couldn’t help smiling. What a boor! The uneducated, mediocre, overweight small-town failure was being strict with him. That was very funny.
Sven and Olof exchanged uncertain glances.
‘We’re serious,’ Olof said.
Erik nodded.
‘I am too,’ he said, and picked up his computer and left.
23
‘Hello, love, what are you doing here? What a nice surprise.’
‘Have you got a minute?’
‘Of course.’
Anna went into her mother’s flat and closed the door behind her. She took off her shoes.
‘I’ve just put on the kettle. Come in, sit down. Don’t you want to take your coat off?’
Anna sank down on to one of the kitchen chairs, and immediately and automatically turned into a morose teenager.
‘And to what do I owe the honour?’ Kathrine asked.
‘Nothing in particular, just thought I’d say hello,’ Anna said, playing with the salt cellar on the table.
‘I see,’ her mother said, and opened one of the kitchen cupboards. ‘I’ve got Earl Grey and Söder tea.’
‘Earl Grey.’
Kathrine looked at her daughter on the sly as she scooped the tea into the sieve. Anna was staring out of the window. It was windy and wet, typical Helsingborg weather. The kettle boiled and switched off.
‘It’s always nice to get visitors,’ Kathrine said, as she poured the tea. ‘Doesn’t happen every day. Milk?’
‘Mm.’
‘Do you want anything to eat with it?’
Anna shook her head.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
Kathrine put the cups on the table and sat down.
‘Have you done something stupid again?’
‘What? No, never.’
‘You haven’t told him? Magnus, I mean.’
‘No.’
‘Good. What’s up then?’
Anna pulled the cup towards her, took a careful sip but still managed to scald her lips.
‘Well…’ she started.
This time she left nothing out. She told her that he’d lied about his mother, about the broken glass, about the camera on his mobile phone, that he’d just appear
ed from behind the bus, phoned her drunk and come to the office without calling first.
‘Gosh,’ Kathrine said, when she was finished. ‘That’s quite a lot to take in over a cup of tea.’
She looked at her daughter, who was sitting all hunched up and staring blankly at the table.
‘Are you sure that you deleted the photographs on his phone?’
Anna nodded absentmindedly. She was off in her own world.
‘Good, you have to be careful with things like that.’
Kathrine reached across the table and took her daughter’s hand.
‘It feels creepy,’ Anna said.
‘Oh, I’m sure he’s just a little in love. And I can understand that.’
Anna pulled a face at her mother’s compliment.
‘I lay awake all night.’
‘But now you’ve told him and you don’t have to work together any more. Everything is as it should be again. It’s a good thing you put your foot down.’
Anna looked up, leaned forwards over the table.
‘And the guy he said he was visiting, Johan Andersson. He doesn’t exist.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘No, but…’
‘In which case he’s out there, hiding behind the bushes. And so what? Have you never gone past the home of someone you’re secretly in love with and hoped that you might bump into them by accident?’
‘No.’
Kathrine looked at her daughter, with amused arched eyebrows.
‘That was at high school, Mum. That’s not quite the same thing. Erik is an adult.’
‘Has he been nasty or threatening? Violent?’
Anna shook her head.
‘No, apart from the glass.’
Kathrine nodded as if she were digesting all the information she’d been given.
‘Don’t worry, just take it easy. He’ll tire of it soon enough.’
‘But I have to tell Magnus,’ Anna said in despair.
‘If he goes far enough, you’ll have to, yes.’
‘But don’t you understand? If I tell him, he’ll leave me.’
‘No, he won’t. He’ll play the self-pitying martyr for a while. Until it gets to the point where it’s so ridiculous that you tell him to stop. And then he’ll be quiet. And when he’s cowed and suppressed, you’ll gradually lose all respect for him. I can’t imagine anything else. If you want to keep him, the wisest thing to do is to keep it to yourself and don’t spill your heart.’
24
Anna opened the door and took in the smell. Clean, roast pine nuts, flickering light from the candle flame.
‘Hello?’
‘In the kitchen.’
She took off her shoes, hung up her coat and went in. Magnus was grinding basil and the pine nuts in a mortar. He took a short break to hand her a glass of wine.
Anna scrutinised him.
‘Where’s Hedda?’
He clinked his glass against Anna’s.
‘Cheers. At Louise’s. She’s having dinner there.’
Anna held the wine glass up to the light and the beautifully laid table.
‘And this is?’
‘Dinner on Monday.’
‘Dinner on Monday?’
Magnus nodded.
‘Am I missing something? The date or something else?’
Magnus put down his glass.
‘Exactly fifteen years ago today,’ he started, with great ceremony. ‘Nope, you’re not missing anything.’
‘Have you got a new job?’
‘No. Just thought that for once. You know, the days slip by, and you forget the most important thing.’
‘The most important thing?’
‘That I got the best.’
‘The best?’
Anna smiled, bewildered. Magnus nodded earnestly.
‘Best luck of all,’ he said. ‘Nothing special, just home-made pesto.’
‘Just and just,’ Anna said, and sat down. ‘I popped into Mum’s on the way home.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t know, just felt like it. We had a cup of tea.’
‘We both just felt like it on the same day,’ Magnus concluded.
‘If it’s a Monday, it’s a Monday,’ Anna smiled.
Her phone pinged. A text message from Erik. She turned away from Magnus and read it.
Lost my job today because of you. Hope you have a nice dinner.
She turned all the way round and peered out of the window. The street was dark. She saw her own reflection in the window and felt her heart hammering hard inside her ribs.
‘Who was that?’ Magnus asked.
Anna swallowed hard.
‘Oh, just work.’
She put her hand on her stomach and forced a smile.
‘Just have to…’
She pointed in the direction of the bathroom and left the kitchen. She locked herself in and caught her breath, without turning on the light. She opened the message and read it again. The bathroom was illuminated by the text on the screen.
Hope you have a nice dinner.
Was he standing outside?
‘Are you okay?’ Magnus called, from the other side of the door.
‘Yes, fine. Just a bit of a sore tummy. Will be there in a minute.’
She heard her husband go back out into the kitchen. She deleted the message and held the screen up like a torch. The stool that Hedda had used when she wanted to reach the sink had for many years now stood under the high window that they opened when they wanted to get rid of the steam after a shower. Anna turned off her phone and stepped up on to the stool, looked out cautiously. The wind was dancing in the treetops. Otherwise deserted. No people.
Hope you have a nice dinner.
It was a normal enough expression. An ironic dig from a hurt young man. I’m unemployed and you’re having a feast.
Unemployed? Had he really lost his job? It sounded improbable. And surely it had nothing to do with Sissela saying no to their stupid campaign proposal? Had he resigned in a huff? Whatever, it wasn’t her problem.
Anna got down from the stool, turned on the light, flushed the toilet. She splashed her face with cold water and looked at herself in the mirror.
‘Take it easy,’ she said to herself. ‘Don’t lose it.’
Kathrine logged on to birthday.se, the website where you could look up people’s birthdays. She had spent a whole afternoon looking up old friends and checking their birthdays, so that she could surprise them with cards or a telephone call on the right day. It was perhaps a bit extreme, but it was one of the many things she had done in order to avoid sitting at home alone in front of the TV. All you needed was the person’s name and possibly an address when they had a usual name, like Erik Månsson. So much the better that her daughter had told her that she had gone to his flat on Drottninggatan.
Kathrine typed in the information and got a hit that informed her Erik Månsson had been born on 29 July 1984. In other words, he was twenty-eight years old. Not an unusual age for a bachelor, but definitely unsuitably young to be chatting up a woman who was fifteen years older with a family.
She wrote down his address and his six-digit personal ID number. Then she went out into the kitchen and rummaged around on a shelf full of recipes she’d torn out, batteries, paperclips, pens, card games, boxes of toothpicks, almost empty nasal sprays, scraps of paper with long-since forgotten names and telephone numbers, plus half a million other bits and pieces that had no special place in the home but that weren’t to be thrown away immediately.
Kathrine was sure that she’d pulled out a newspaper article about how to find information about people. She’d kept it for the day when she was going to write a crime novel, which was more or less a grassroots movement these days, certainly among middle-aged women. The phenomenon had caused considerable indignation among middle-aged writing men, who, as soon as the opportunity arose, declared that such works could not be considered Literature. The male genius was a sensitive organism that required constant care.
Finally she found the article. HOW TO CHECK UP ON YOUR NEIGHBOURS was the appealingly small headline. It said clearly that the first thing she should do was contact the Swedish Tax Agency. Which, to be honest, she could have worked out for herself. Who knew anything, if not Big Brother?
Kathrine looked at the clock. It was past six. Her snooping would have to wait until tomorrow. It was high time to get some food in her stomach.
Anna twisted away. Magnus looked up from between her legs.
‘No?’ he asked.
‘I’m too stressed.’
He crept up and lay down beside her.
‘I’ll give you one.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘No, really.’
‘Another time.’
They both looked up at the ceiling. Anna had glanced over at the gap between the drawn curtains, screwed up her eyes and was almost certain that she saw Erik outside. Obviously it was just her imagination, but it was enough to stop her relaxing.
‘Is it work?’ Magnus ventured.
Anna sent him a quick look.
‘It’s all a bit much at the moment,’ she said.
Magnus nodded.
‘You have to learn to relax.’
‘I know.’
The whole evening with candles and wine and home-made food was an easy ticket into the sack. Which Anna didn’t mind, quite the opposite. The sex was predictable, a well-practised routine, but Magnus was a gentle and sensitive lover, ambitious to the extent that he always satisfied her first. After that, things generally moved along swiftly. A few seconds of extra effort. You scratch me and I’ll scratch you. The fact that he was so content irritated her sometimes, the smug smile that assumed that she couldn’t possibly want anything else. Maybe she had too high expectations of life. A deep desire that it should be greater, more intimate.
Why couldn’t Anna allow herself to be fooled by the sort of philosophical messages and thoughts you got on fridge magnets? Life is what happens when you’re thinking about something else. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life. Carpe diem.
