You're Mine Now

by Koppel, Hans

Anna felt her tense shoulders soften. He wasn’t a stupid boy. His analysis of Sissela was perfect, his objection to his colleagues’ campaign idea was smart and his apology was sincere. She had nothing to fear. More than her own desire to go round to his flat and ask him to take her again.

  No, she wasn’t going to do that. She mustn’t. Or maybe…?

  The big question was what he saw in her. No matter how flattering his interest was, she still had to face facts. Something wasn’t right. Anna pressed REPLY. The white page made her hesitate.

  Hi Erik, thanks for your email. I have to say that…

  No. Delete.

  Erik, the pleasure was very definitely mutual…

  Not pleasure. What sort of a word was that? Start again.

  Erik. Thank you.

  Thank you for what? That could be misunderstood. Gone.

  Sorry if I was a bit short on the phone. I think you’re on the right track with regard to the campaign. Can’t meet you right now. Let’s speak in a couple of weeks. Anna.

  Swoosh.

  Anna swallowed. She clicked on Sent and read her own email again. Was there anything that could be misinterpreted? Had she been too dismissive? Not enough?

  She deleted her answer and read his email again.

  I understand that we’re in different situations and that there can never be anything between us…

  Had he given up? She had been convinced that there was only one possible solution and that was to put a stop to it immediately, dismiss him with no pardon. Now she wasn’t so sure. Should she deny herself the best sex she’d ever had? What was the alternative? Uninspiring two-minute panting for the rest of her life?

  . . . but I would still like to meet you again.

  Why?

  If nothing else just to clear the air after last time.

  So he wanted them to sit down and talk? She would sit there and talk about her family and all the years she’d invested and Hedda, or what?

  Do you want to? Can you?

  Yes. She wanted to. There was no doubt about. One more time at least. Create yet another memory to amuse herself with in the nursing home.

  14

  There was something easy about the way Magnus drove. He was in control of the situation, confident and unthreatened inside the metal shell. In the car, he was free to comment on his surroundings without fear of reprisal, in the car he could shake his fist at those who drove too slowly and make soothing gestures to those who were irritated. In the car, Magnus was part of the flow, with no obligations other than to stay on the right side of the road and stop at red lights. Magnus was never as free as when he was confined in a car. Anna recognised how ironic the situation was.

  The car showroom was on the Berga industrial estate and the dealer came towards them with outstretched arms and a smile on his lips.

  ‘Hello. Welcome. Coffee?’

  ‘No thank you.’

  ‘Shall we go into my office?’

  He ushered them in, offered them a chair each and then took his place opposite. Anna thought it looked like a doctor’s waiting room. The dealer made a great fuss turning off his mobile phone. He was busy man, a slave to the electronic shackles of modern life and was tired of people demanding his attention all the time, time which he would far rather dedicate to Magnus and Anna.

  ‘So, are we wanting to up the ante?’

  Magnus looked at Anna before replying.

  ‘Yes, it’s about time. Our current car is four years old, after all, and it’s just as well to trade it in when you can still get something for it.’

  ‘Absolutely, absolutely. Smart move. A lot of people make the mistake of waiting too long. Which is often more expensive. So, what are you looking for? What do you need? Any children?’

  ‘A daughter. And she rides.’

  ‘So are we talking tow-bar and horsebox?’

  ‘No, no, not for a few years. She rides ponies. What I meant was that it can get a bit muddy when it’s raining outside.’

  It took a few seconds before it dawned on Anna that he was talking about the barely hundred-metre dirt track to the stables. The dealer was even quicker and happy to oblige.

  ‘Ah, a four-wheel-drive,’ he said.

  Three minutes later, Anna had stopped listening to the endless tirade of abbreviations and performance statistics that were bandied between the two men. It was a foreign language that didn’t interest her.

  ‘Right, we’re talking an XC60 if I’m right,’ the dealer concluded and tapped the pen he’d been playing with during the conversation on the desk.

  ‘I think that sounds like the wisest choice,’ Magnus agreed.

  ‘Without a doubt. Shall we take a look at her?’

  The dealer smiled fleeting at Anna, to include her in what was going on: time to choose the colour, dear. Your turn. They went out into the showroom. He opened the door to the driver’s seat of some shiny model and Magnus got in. The dealer rested his arm idly on the car door.

  ‘The buttons for the seat are down to the right.’

  Magnus adjusted the seat slowly back.

  ‘The back also has several positions for comfort, which is good when you’re driving long distances.’

  ‘What does it do?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Zero point eight, zero point nine, somewhere in that region.’

  ‘Isn’t that a lot?’

  The dealer shrugged.

  ‘There are cars that take less fuel, of course. But not at this level. We’re talking two hundred horsepower, after all. If you were to go for diesel…’

  ‘That’s not where the money is,’ Magnus said, as if to make it clear to Anna that she shouldn’t interfere with things she didn’t understand.

  He got out.

  ‘Get in, darling.’

  Anna sat down behind the wheel. Magnus helped her to move the seat forwards. The smell of new cars was overwhelming. Did they use some kind of special spray?

  ‘How does it feel?’ the dealer asked.

  ‘Very luxurious. Big.’

  ‘It’s a totally different kind of car, sure enough. A new generation, if you like. Not least when it comes to safety. Airbags behind and in front and at the sides.’

  Anna got out, the dealer dumped down on the seat and opened the bonnet. Magnus clasped his hands behind his back and nodded sagely while the dealer pointed to various components in the engine and shared some more abbreviations and terms with him. He finished by closing the bonnet with a manly resolve.

  ‘You won’t find anything better today. I drive one myself and would never dream of going back. But you should do a test drive.’

  Anna looked at her husband and decided that he was every car dealer’s wet dream.

  ‘The red one out there to the right,’ the dealer said, and handed over the keys.

  Magnus took them with reverence.

  ‘Do you want my licence or anything else?’

  The dealer closed his eyes and shook his head. No need. He trusted them.

  ‘Is it okay if we take a whirl out on the motorway?’ Magnus asked.

  He had already accepted the hierarchy of the car salesroom, where the dealer was king and the customer his grateful servant.

  ‘I wouldn’t give you the car for less.’

  He did, he winked: Anna saw it.

  ‘A true salesman,’ she said, as they passed Väla shopping centre.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘I like him,’ Magnus said. ‘He says it like it is, isn’t trying to sell anything.’

  Anna looked at her husband. Was he being ironic? No. She didn’t get it. How could a clever man be so stupid?

  ‘Can you feel the pull?’ he said, and accelerated.

  ‘Oi, watch your speed.’

  ‘Something else under the bonnet, that’s all I’m saying.’

  Like a child at Christmas.

  Twenty minutes later they were back in the car dealer’s office, discussing the price and additional features. The dealer don
ned a pair of glasses to give him the serious look and was writing down different quotes on a pad that he then turned round for his audience to see. Different deluxe deals worth x were being offered for no more than y, which meant a saving of x thousand, plus he would throw in four winter tyres with alloy rims, because he was feeling generous.

  ‘We’d also like to know what we’d get for trading in our old car,’ Anna said.

  The dealer nodded.

  ‘Is it a zero point eight?’

  ‘Two point five T,’ Magnus corrected.

  ‘Mileage?’

  ‘Eight thousand k.’

  ‘Service?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’

  ‘No catches?’

  ‘Nothing, goes like a dream.’

  The dealer sat down at the computer and tapped away.

  ‘Is that carprices.com?’ Magnus asked, with interest.

  ‘No, it’s an intranet page,’ the dealer told him, thereby underlining the difference between amateurs and professionals.

  He read what came up and pulled a face.

  ‘Well, I actually shouldn’t offer you more than…’

  He shook his head.

  ‘… a hundred and ten thousand, but let’s say I add another five. I can’t go any higher. We have to give a guarantee, and well, I just can’t go any higher.’

  ‘It said a hundred and fifty thousand on carprices.com,’ Magnus objected. ‘From a dealer, that is. If I sell it myself I could ask for between a hundred and twenty-five and a hundred and forty.’

  The dealer pulled his chin in, a sceptical pose.

  ‘That’s sound pretty optimistic to me. We have to go over the car and give it a service, plus we obviously have to take a bit for our services. After all, it’s how we make a living. But yes, sure, it might be best for you to sell it yourself. Put an advert in for the top price, but be prepared to drop by a few thousand. Give her a polish and take some pictures.’

  Magnus gave Anna a questioning look.

  ‘Worth a try,’ she said.

  He squirmed.

  ‘Trying to sell involves a lot of work.’

  ‘We can do something nice with the money we save,’ Anna said, and turned to face the dealer. ‘When we did the calculations at home we said no less than one hundred and twenty-five thousand. We didn’t think that we would need to go lower.’

  ‘The difference is only ten thousand,’ Magnus pleaded. ‘Max fifteen. Plus we’ll be saved the bother. And what will we do if we sell the car and then something happens? Not that it would,’ he added for the benefit of the dealer, ‘it runs like clockwork.’

  ‘I think we should go home and sleep on it,’ Anna suggested. ‘We still need to pay two hundred and eighty-five. How much would a new roof cost, a hundred?’

  She sounded annoyed, she was annoyed. She didn’t want to discuss their finances in front of a stranger. But the dealer didn’t seem bothered.

  ‘Who holds the purse strings then?’ he joked.

  The air went out of Magnus, as he knew what was coming. Anna turned to the dealer.

  ‘What did you say?’ she asked.

  ‘It was just a joke,’ the dealer assured her, his cockiness gone.

  ‘Strange,’ Anna said, ‘considering it wasn’t funny at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry. No harm meant.’

  Anna got up.

  ‘We’re going home to sleep on it. You’ll hear from us tomorrow. And I suggest that you go through your calculations again to make sure that you can’t tweak the price a little bit more, at both ends.’

  She held out her hand. The dealer was quick to his feet.

  Anna walked out, Magnus apologised with a quick handshake and some gesturing: no worries, I’ll call tomorrow. She can be difficult, but who’d want to be married to a sheep?

  ‘What?’

  Anna’s face was closed and she was staring straight ahead. Magnus looked at her more than the road.

  ‘Thought you were a bit harsh.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Yes, I mean, after all, he wasn’t being mean or cocky on purpose.’

  ‘He was just being a pompous horse trader. Sitting there, making it sound like he was doing us a favour.’

  ‘Well, wasn’t he?’

  ‘And that stupid last-minute stuff – I’ll throw in four alloy rims as well. Like some bloody TV auction.’

  ‘So, we’re not going to buy a car then?’

  ‘We are going to buy a car. You phone him tomorrow and get him to give you five more for ours. Either we’ll accept that or we’ll put in an ad and try to sell it ourselves.’

  ‘But then we’ll sell first and buy after?’

  ‘Isn’t that what you normally do?’

  Magnus shook his head.

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re so angry.’

  ‘Don’t you? Maybe because I don’t see the point in shelling out three hundred thousand for a car that’s neither bigger nor better than the one we’ve got, just because it’s newer and a lot more expensive.’

  ‘Okay,’ Magnus snapped.

  His tone of voice was argumentative. He wasn’t going to put up with any more shit.

  ‘You were the one who suggested that we should sit down and do the calculations. You were the one who said – now, what was it you said? Life is short and death is eternal?’

  He glared at her.

  ‘And you accuse him of being clichéd?’

  Anna didn’t answer. Magnus shook his head again.

  ‘Sometimes you’re so bloody unbelievably pigheaded.’

  ‘Pigheaded?’

  ‘Whatever. You get an idea into your head about something and when it doesn’t turn out that way, you get mad.’

  ‘I’m mad because we’ll have to bow and fawn and humbly beg to remortgage our house for a toad of a car that won’t even smell new in two weeks and what’s more, will be dirty, and we’ll be all uptight about getting the first scratch and won’t be able to relax until it’s there, at which point you’ll start dreaming about another new car.’

  She looked out over a field.

  ‘Pigheaded,’ she said, and laughed.

  Magnus laughed too. And a few seconds later they were both howling with laughter.

  ‘Okay,’ Magnus said, as they turned into their street. ‘I’ll call tomorrow. If he gives us another five thousand, I’ll accept. If not, we’ll put in an ad. You okay with that?’

  ‘I promise not to be pigheaded.’

  15

  Sven, or was it Olof, was standing at the end of an oval table. The other one was sitting beside him, as was Erik. All three dressed like advertising men, that’s to say, casual but proper. Their proposal was attached to black panels that were covered with plastic, which had been stuck to the edge of the cardboard. The purpose was not so much to protect the sketches, but rather to make the proposal look more exclusive and important than it actually was. The atmosphere was intense, as it always is when advertising people are showing their wares. Anna presumed that their great earnestness was meant to disguise their candyfloss profession.

  It had been to the men’s advantage that they’d met them in the bar at the Grand in Mölle, because now they came across as the kind of self-inflated idiots that Anna was more than happy to avoid in daily life. There were disadvantages to being surrounded by mainly female colleagues, but at least she didn’t have to deal with male self-importance.

  ‘We haven’t targeted the already converted,’ droned Sven-or-Olof, ‘but rather those with preconceived ideas about the contents of Family Journal. We want to open their eyes, make them realise that the magazine is more than just knitting, crocheting and baking. We want men to snatch the magazine from their wives’ hands.’

  Sissela was leaning forwards. She nodded, in the way she showed her agreement when the magazine management were giving a report. The one that said, yes, I’m a woman but a successful one who knows how to appreciate professional men.

  Anna’s telephone pinged. She gave a
n apologetic look to those round the table and opened the text message.

  You are totally irresistible when you’re sitting this close. I want to take you here on the table. Now.

  Anna looked up, avoided Erik’s amused expression.

  ‘So we’ve designed a campaign that will appeal to the family man as well as women,’ Sven-or-Olof continued.

  He held up a panel and pulled back the plastic as if he were unveiling a piece of great art. A number of isolated quotes from the most recent edition had been positioned to dramatic effect over various magazine headlines. The pulse of provincial news.

  ‘We thought direct mail to highlight the reading material. Features, biographies, weekly crime features.’

  Sissela whipped round and looked at Anna, who was responsible for the material. Anna realised that her cheeks were flushed and she felt distinctly uncomfortable.

  Sissela ventured a careful objection that perhaps men would never subscribe to Family Journal. This was welcomed by frenetic nodding from the marketing representative, who thought it was an expensive proposal that the publishing house could do better themselves at half the cost.

  Sven and Olof weren’t so stupid that they didn’t nod humbly at the same time as giving assurances in their smoothest voices that they had naturally given this some thought. Even though the campaign was not targeted at the converted, but rather at new readers, it would still have a reinforcing affect on their ordinary readership.

  In brief, the proposal they had presented was not quite as catastrophic as the time a bigger advertising agency had, on their own initiative, redesigned the magazine logo and mocked up a front cover that had nothing to do with the magazine’s contents, but equally contained nothing to get excited about.

  ‘As we said, this is just an outline and we hope that we can work closely with the editorial team to develop it further. Our proposal is that Erik…’