Read Online A Man Called Ove: A Novel by Fredrik Backman - Free Book Online Page B

handle again, looks at the Lanky One, and tries to quickly change the subject.
    “And what are you, then?”
    He shrugs his shoulder a little and smiles, slightly overwhelmed.
    “I’m an IT consultant.”
    Ove and Parvaneh shake their heads with such coordination they could be synchronized swimmers. For a moment it makes Ove dislike her a little less, although he’s very reluctant to admit it to himself.
    The Lanky One seems unaware of all this. Instead he looks with curiosity at the hammer-action drill, which Ove is holding in a firm grip, like a guerrilla fighter with an AK-47 in his hand.
    Once the Lanky One has finished perusing it, he leans forward and peers into Ove’s house.
    “What are you doing?”
    Ove looks at him, as one does at a person who has just said “What are you doing?” to a man standing with a hammer-action drill in his hand.
    “I’m drilling,” he replies scathingly.
    Parvaneh looks at the Lanky One and rolls her eyes, and if it hadn’t been for her belly, which testified to a willingness on her part to contribute to the survival of the Lanky One’s genetic makeup, Ove might have found her almost sympathetic at this point.
    “Oh,” says the Lanky One, with a nod.
    Then he leans forward and peers in at the living room floor, neatly covered in the protective sheet of plastic.
    He lights up and looks at Ove with a grin.
    “Almost looks like you’re about to murder someone!”
    Ove peruses him in silence. The Lanky One clears his throat, a little more reluctant. “I mean, it’s like an episode of Dexter ,” he says with a much less confident grin. “It’s a TV series . . . about a guy who murders people.” He trails off, then starts poking the toe of his shoe into the gaps between the paving stones outside Ove’s front door.
    Ove shakes his head. It’s unclear to whom the Lanky One was primarily aiming what he just said.
    “I have some things to get on with,” he says curtly to Parvaneh and takes a firm grip on the door handle.
    Parvaneh gives the Lanky One a purposeful jab in the side with her elbow. The Lanky One looks as if he’s trying to drum up some courage; he glances at Parvaneh, and looks at Ove with the expression of someone expecting the whole world to start firing rubber bands at him.
    “Well, the thing is, we actually came because I could do with borrowing a few things . . .”
    Ove raises his eyebrows.
    “What ‘things’?”
    The Lanky One clears his throat.
    “A ladder. And an Eileen key.”
    “You mean an Allen key?”
    Parvaneh nods. The Lanky One looks puzzled.
    “It’s an Eileen key, isn’t it?”
    “Allen key,” Parvaneh and Ove correct at the same time.
    Parvaneh nods eagerly at him and points triumphantly at Ove. “He said that’s what it’s called!”
    The Lanky One mumbles something inaudible.
    “And you’re just like ‘Whoa, it’s an Eileen key!’” Parvaneh jeers.
    He looks slightly crestfallen.
    “I never sounded like that.”
    “You did so!”
    “Did not!”
    “Yes you DID!”
    “I DIDN’T!”
    Ove’s gaze travels from one to the other, like a large dog watching two mice interfering with its sleep.
    “You did,” says one of them.
    “That’s what you think,” the other one says.
    “Everyone says it!”
    “The majority is not always right!”
    “Shall we Google it or what?”
    “Sure! Google it! Wikipedia it!
    “Give me your phone.”
    “Use your own!”
    “Duh! I haven’t got it with me, dipshit!”
    “Sorry to hear that!”
    Ove looks at them as their pathetic argument drones on. They remind him of two malfunctioning radiators, making high-pitched whines at each other.
    “Good God,” he mutters.
    Parvaneh starts imitating what Ove assumes must be some kind of flying insect. She makes tiny whirring sounds with her lips to irritate her husband. It works quite effectively. Both on the Lanky One and on Ove. Ove gives up.
    He goes into the hall, hangs up his suit jacket, puts down the hammer-action drill, puts