The Little Old Lady Behaving Badly

by Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg

  He had already started cheating when they played Bullshit. Cards disappeared all the time and it didn’t get any better when they changed to bridge and canasta. Now and then, a card would turn up in the aisle, a card that nobody could explain where it had come from, but since Rake was winning all the time they did, of course, have their suspicions. However, nobody said anything since they were all pleased that their friend was in a buoyant mood and had evidently survived the concussion better than expected. And of course he was soon going to meet his son, Nils. The forty-year-old lived in Gothenburg and was Rake’s only child. Rake and Nils had the same way of thinking, understood each other well and didn’t need to bicker unnecessarily. His son was a captain on container ships and oil tankers and spent most of his life at sea so they couldn’t meet very often, but for the time being he was at home and Rake was looking forward to seeing him. Rake had neglected him when he was a child as he had been at sea himself, but now he wanted to make up for what he had missed. And very soon they were going to meet again. Nils still lived in his beloved Majorna district in old Gothenburg and had promised to lend his summer cottage to his father. And who would think of looking for a pensioner-gang of bank robbers there? The League of Pensioners intended to stay at least two weeks on the west coast, so that Rake could spend plenty of time with Nils.

  “Of course I’ll prepare somewhere for you to stay, Dad. And you’ll have a garden too. You’ll love it!” Nils had said.

  Martha had mumbled something about it being difficult to switch from a three-story Djursholm villa to a cottage, but Rake had assured them that the west coast was fantastic and so the house didn’t really matter. Besides, they didn’t have any option. On the radio they had heard that the police were following a new lead. Shortly, said a Chief Inspector Jöback, they would be issuing descriptions of wanted criminals. It had sounded decidedly threatening.

  “We are close to solving the case now,” the constable had declared and then said something about a new gang being active in the country that hadn’t figured in the investigation earlier. Now the police were closing in. Had somebody who had seen them with the skylift outside the Grand Hotel raised the alarm, or what if Charlie Concrete had snitched? Martha recalled how she, Brains and Anna-Greta had rather carelessly gone across to the neighbor’s garden to look at the pool that had just been filled with concrete. Then all five of them would have been visible. They had admittedly got rid of the evidence, but perhaps there were things they hadn’t thought about? And if the truth be told, you could still smell rotten herring in the cellar.

  No, it would be a relief to get away for a while and the west coast wasn’t at all bad. Suddenly the train came to a halt and the lights went out.

  “What’s going on now? Problem with the signals, downed power lines or trains switching?” Martha wondered, peering out through the window.

  “No, a sun kink in the track,” Anna-Greta ventured.

  “Or leaves covering the tracks,” Christina suggested.

  “Unless it’s a snowstorm and the tracks have iced up, of course,” muttered Rake.

  “Don’t be so negative,” said Brains. “Now that they’ve privatized the entire railway system we ought to be pleased to even arrive at all.”

  “Don’t confuse SJ and the Transport Administration,” Martha corrected him. “SJ is the state-owned company that runs most of the trains, while the Transport Administration—”

  “Next time I’ll damn well go by boat. Then at least you can be certain of reaching your destination,” Rake cut in, very grumpy on account of the delay.

  This was followed by a discussion in which they all regretted that they had taken the train instead of flying, until Martha opened her big flowery handbag and laid out plastic cups, nuts, crisps, carrots and different sorts of dipping sauces. Then, with a knowing look, she paused for effect before pulling out a bottle of Ronar champagne.

  “One can always find an opportunity to celebrate. Now we are celebrating that the train has traveled many miles without derailing.”

  “If we’re going to celebrate every mile we manage, then we’re going to be totally sloshed when we disembark in Gothenburg,” said Rake.

  “Ah, you only live once,” Martha declared, poured the bubbly into the cups and proposed a toast.

  EIGHT HOURS LATER THE PENSIONERS, SOMEWHAT THE WORSE for wear, arrived at Central Station in Gothenburg where Rake’s son Nils met them. He was tall and lanky, with a leather jacket and a tattoo on one wrist. His movements were quick and his eyes never relaxed. Slightly horrified, he met the happily babbling seniors who could barely keep their balance and switched from singing drinking songs to cursing the Transport Administration. He quickly realized that Rake and his friends had evidently not had anything to eat (the electricity hadn’t worked properly on board the train) so he rapidly escorted them all to a restaurant by Slottsskogen Park in the Majorna district.

  Martha and her friends, who were extremely hungry, settled in a corner of the restaurant at a solid wooden table with a tablecloth and a vase of flowers. It smelled good and homemade and Martha grabbed the menu before they had even sat down. They all ordered fish, except Christina, who wanted a Greek salad, and they chose soda water to go with it. While they ate, they were all silent, but as soon as their feelings of hunger had been satisfied and they had cleaned their plates, they started talking about where they would stay. Rake wanted to hear a little more about the cottage and how they would share the rooms between them.

  “Well, it’s just a shed, Dad. You’re not all thinking of staying there, are you? I mean I sold the old cottage and have recently bought a new one, you see; it’s very small . . . “No matter, we aren’t so fussy. We can all squeeze in!” Rake happily announced, still decidedly tipsy.

  “Well, it would indeed be a squeeze,” said Nils. “I mean, it really isn’t a large place, so I think it would be best to—”

  “No problem, we aren’t your average seniors. We can put up with most things. And in comparison with care homes, your place must be pure luxury. And, you know, it can never be like in the sailing ships. When I sailed the Atlantic, there were eight of us in one cabin of just a few square meters. Like sardines in tiny bunks with straw mattresses! You should have seen it when a storm was blowing, so—”

  “I can book hotel rooms,” Nils suggested.

  “Oh no, now we want to see where we’re going to stay,” Rake exclaimed and waved his hand dismissively. He was proud of Gothenburg and his old Majorna district and wanted to show his friends. Of course they would stay at Nils’s place, he would hear of nothing else. And if they were going to be hiding from the police, then they would have to rough it a bit . . .

  15

  THERE WAS A SMELL OF EARLY AUTUMN AND HARVEST TIME IN the community gardens by Slottsskogen Park. Many community gardens also had a shed or a tiny cabin-like cottage. The trees were magnificent with a maze of colors and on the gravel paths you could already see the first autumn leaves. The berry bushes no longer had any berries, and here and there you could still see some apples and pears in the trees. Some of the gardens were rather overgrown, others a miracle of well-tended lawns, fruit trees and flower borders. There were lots of very small picturesque cabins, some just glorified sheds, with white edgings and mullioned windows. The atmosphere was one of peace and quiet. Nils stopped in front of a neatly painted gate and pointed.

  “A cottage in Majorna is nothing to be ashamed of. You can’t imagine how desirable they are. There’s water and sewerage and lots of owners live here during the summer. Welcome to my cabin!” he said and he opened the gate. A newly raked gravel path led up to a little red-painted wooden cabin with a flag pole in the garden. The cabin had a saddle pitch roof, the construction was framed in white and there was a little glazed terrace with a table and chairs and small sofa. Outside was a hammock and a largish tool shed. The garden had an apple tree, some plum trees and a few berry bushes. Some neat borders ran along the side of the fence.

  “So this is
all that is left of the summer cottage?” Rake asked, disappointment in his voice.

  “But Dad, I told you, right? I said that I’d sold the old cottage and that the new one was very, very small.”

  “Small yes, but we aren’t damn pygmies!” Rake groaned, tugging at his chinstrap beard. But he said this very quietly, because he didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t really listened.

  “Yes, I don’t really understand what you were thinking, Rake. Surely you aren’t planning on our staying here?” Martha wondered.

  “Don’t worry. This is the sort of cabin that looks little from outside, but is much bigger inside,” he ventured.

  “Uh huh, and I suppose you believe in fairies too?” said Martha.

  Nils unlocked the door, opened it and let them step inside. Just on the immediate left was a minimal kitchen with a fridge, a little stove, a shelf and a sink. In the cabin’s living room the furniture consisted of a dining table, a few chairs, a sofa bed and an armchair. You could glimpse a sort of loft at the back. Some rag rugs covered the floor and there was an old-fashioned wall clock on the long wall behind the sofa.

  “Yes, it’s so spacious here that there’s an echo,” said Brains as he veered to avoid bumping into the dining table. He hadn’t understood at all why they had to travel to Gothenburg. Only rarely had he been outside his hometown Sundbyberg just north of Stockholm, and if they were going to have to lie low a while, they could have done so there. But most of all he was thinking about the wedding. Martha seemed to have everything but the wedding on her mind. Good God, how long would he have to wait?

  “No, there isn’t exactly much room to sleep,” Christina said, looking around.

  “But I can hang a hammock up,” Rake offered. “We often had those on board. You roll them up in the daytime and then there’s room for everyone.”

  “Yeah, why not. And there are two mattresses in the tool shed and a bed up in the loft. If you use the one up there, then there would be room for three to sleep in here,” said Nils.

  “The loft?” Martha stared at the opening near the ceiling. “So you had planned on catapulting me up there, or what?”

  “But don’t you worry, Martha dear. I’ll take the loft,” said Brains. “You won’t have to use those steep steps.” But then he looked a little closer. In fact, he probably couldn’t climb up either, and besides, there was his prostate to think about. He couldn’t manage any number of nocturnal wanderings. It would have to be the tool shed for him.

  Anyhow, it didn’t take very long (for obvious reasons) to look around the house, and once they had done that the seniors sat down on the sofa. Nils started up the coffee maker and soon a delightful aroma of brewed coffee spread through the room.

  “This reminds me of the scouts. Lots of people in the same tent,” said Brains pulling his legs in when Nils stretched out to reach the coffee pot.

  “Just as long as it isn’t put up with tent pegs and then blows away,” Martha added. Everything inside her was swaying. What on earth had they embarked upon? They were going to give money to health care and open a restaurant, but here they were sitting in a tiny cabin in Gothenburg. Something had sort of not really ended up as they had intended. But when it came to it, perhaps they could, after all, learn something about gardens here. The Vintage Village would have a greenhouse as well, so it would be a good idea to study some plants and horticulture too. That was the only positive aspect she could think of just now, so she would stick with it. There wasn’t exactly a great deal otherwise to be pleased with now that they had to squeeze together, all five of them, in just a few square meters.

  When the coffee was ready, Nils handed out plastic mugs to all, but the mood was somewhat depressed since there was a marked difference between a Djursholm villa and a cabin—and between an ordinary cottage and a tiny cabin like this. But after the coffee, Anna-Greta perked up a little.

  “I’ve been thinking about something,” she said, putting her plastic mug down. “We are here to lie low and keep away from the police. But don’t you think we will be rather conspicuous, five seniors cooped up like this? It might lead to the opposite, and our being discovered.”

  This was followed by the sort of silence that reigns when people are mulling over something. There was something in what Anna-Greta said, and Martha felt the tension in the air.

  “My dear friends. There aren’t any police in these cabins,” she tried to distract them, and then she opened her flowery handbag and pulled out a bag of flavored chocolates that were left over from the train journey. “Let’s sleep here tonight and then tomorrow morning we can discuss what we should do.”

  They all thought this was a good idea and after guzzling the chocolates and drinking up the coffee, their mood improved. Nils fetched sheets and sleeping bags and when he left Rake and the others, it was nearly midnight and happy voices and singing could be heard from inside the cabin. This was accompanied by motley clinks and clanks when Brains and Martha played with spoons on empty snack tins. But they were too tired to go on for long, and the sound soon turned into a weak humming before everything went quiet. Nils smiled to himself. It would all straighten itself out in the end.

  16

  IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT ANNA-GRETA WOKE WHEN THERE was an enormous crash and the ground shook under the terrace. Mysterious sounds could be heard and even though the flashlight lay next to her on the pillow, she didn’t dare turn it on. What if it was burglars, or the police . . . With her hands clutching the pillow she listened to the noises and tried to identify them. No, it couldn’t be the forces of law and order, it sounded more like someone digging a tunnel under the cabin. She thought about all the adventure films she had seen and she knew that you could dig a tunnel from somewhere far away and surface somewhere completely different. But why would anybody dig a tunnel that led to a cabin? The noise got louder and was accompanied by huffing and puffing and scraping. Anna-Greta started trembling and now regretted that she had volunteered to sleep on her own on the glazed terrace. What if it was a burglar!

  Stiff and a bit unsteady on her legs, she got up from the sofa, went up to the window and peered out into the dark. She couldn’t see anything. She carefully reached out to get hold of the flashlight and tried to feel where the on/off switch was. No, it was best to find some sort of weapon first. The grill accessories! She got hold of a skewer and turned the flashlight on. Then she saw something dark running across the lawn and disappear behind a fence. A badger!

  Oh for goodness’ sake! Relief mixed with horror. What if there were rats too? Perhaps she would have been calmer if she had a man to protect her. She remembered Gunnar, her computer hacker friend, and how she had sat in front of a computer with him for almost a whole year. For a while she had been totally enthralled, but then . . . He never wanted to go to the cinema or the theater, or join her at an opera or an art exhibition. And she never saw him with a book in his hands. He was quite simply boring. At first, Gunnar had taught her a lot and they had had a good time together, but she had been far too quick to learn for his taste. And then he had done what he could to hold her back. Indeed, to stop her. There were all the fewer hugs and all the more excuses. In the end, she hadn’t even wanted him to hug her. How could it have ended up like that? If only he had reinvented himself, but he had just plodded along. Silence had settled between them. After a while he had begun to blame his absence on his having to go home to his nephew; those occasions became all the more common and he stayed away for longer and longer periods. When finally he didn’t come back, she almost felt relief—but her life wasn’t more fun because of it. She had discovered the happiness of sharing your life with somebody else and now she missed the company. Brains and Martha, Christina and Rake, they were paired off, but she was completely alone. Experiencing things and not being able to tell anyone—no, she must really do something about her life. Otherwise she would end up a grumpy old lady and she definitely didn’t want that to happen.

  She took her slippers off and lay down again
. She needed a few hours’ sleep before the morning because she had a lot to do. She had discovered that her mobile broadband worked here and so she must make sure that the lawyers had done their job and that the money transfers to the West Indies were working properly. Of course, it would have been nice to have somebody to talk to about all this. The responsibility for the money weighed so heavily on her, even though the others encouraged and tried to support her. And she could never be really free because cyberspace reached you everywhere—even if you were lying low in a little cabin. Lawyer Hovberg’s assistant had been retirement age. Could he be married, she wondered? And there was online dating, of course. Perhaps she should try that? Deep in thought, she pulled up the covers to her chin, practiced licking her lips sensually (a trick she had recently learned) and fell into a deep sleep. Soon she was snoring loudly while meeting—in her dreams—a young, stylish retiree who liked her just as she was: tall as a drainpipe, not especially attractively dressed, well on in years, and far too intelligent. But the handsome retiree wasn’t afraid of her at all, and despite her laughing like a horse he kissed her a long time and passionately. That night she smiled in her sleep from midnight right up until the morning.

  WHEN THE LEAGUE OF PENSIONERS, SOMEWHAT STIFF AND bruised, woke up the next day, the sun was shining. It was one of those madly beautiful autumn days of which there were only a few each year. Martha and her friends sat down with their coffee cups on the terrace and looked around at the small, well-tended cabins on every side. It was nice and cozy, just a bit bothersome in that you had to go to the communal building in the center of the cabins to have a shower and freshen up. But as a retiree you could take it easy and they didn’t even have any new crimes coming up. Not just yet, at any rate. Martha finished her coffee and hummed a little before she started to speak.