Read Online Britt-Marie Was Here by Fredrik Backman - Free Book Online Page B

inches in the air between her thumb and index finger to illustrate how short a period of time “a little longer” really is.
    Britt-Marie realizes that the woman has the upper hand in these negotiations.
    Kent should have been here; he loves negotiating. He always says you have to compliment the person you’re negotiating with. So Britt-Marie collects herself and says:
    “Here in Borg people seem to have all the time in the world to go shopping in the afternoon. It must be nice for you to have so much leisure.”
    Somebody raises her eyebrows.
    “And you? You’re very busy?”
    With a deep patience, Britt-Marie puts one hand in the other.
    “I am extremely busy. Very, very busy indeed. But as it happens I am out of baking soda. Do you sell baking soda in this . . . shop?”
    She says the word “shop” with divine indulgence.
    “Vega!” Somebody roars at once so that Britt-Marie jumps into the air and almost knocks over the pile of pizza boxes.
    The child from yesterday turns up behind the counter, stillholding the soccer ball. Beside her stands a boy who looks almost exactly the same as her, but with longer hair.
    “Baking soda for the lady!” says Somebody with an exaggerated theatrical bow at Britt-Marie, which is not at all appreciated.
    “It’s her,” whispers Vega to the boy.
    The boy immediately looks as if Britt-Marie is a lost key. He runs into the stockroom and stumbles back out with two bottles in his arms. Faxin. All the air goes out of Britt-Marie.
    She assumes that she has what is sometimes in crossword clues known as an “out-of-body experience.” For a few moments she forgets all about the grocery shop and the pizzeria and the men with beards and cups of coffee and newspapers. Her heart beats as if it’s just been released from prison.
    The boy places the bottles on the counter like a cat that’s caught a squirrel. Britt-Marie’s fingers brush over them before her sense of dignity orders them to leave off. It’s like coming home.
    “I . . . I was under the impression that they’d been discontinued,” she whispers.
    The boy points eagerly at himself: “Chill! Omar fixes everything!”
    He points even more eagerly at the bottles of Faxin.
    “All the foreign trucks stop at the petrol station in town! I know them all there! I fix whatever you like!”
    Somebody nods wisely.
    “They shut down petrol station in Borg. Not, you know, profitable.”
    “But I fix petrol in can, if you like, free home delivery! And I can get you more Faxin if you want!” the boy hollers.
    Vega rolls her eyes.
    “I’m the one who told you she needed Faxin,” she hisses at the boy and puts the jar of baking soda on the counter.
    “I’m the one who fixed it!” the boy maintains, without taking his eyes off Britt-Marie.
    “This is my younger brother, Omar,” sighs Vega to Britt-Marie.
    “We’re born the same year!” protests Omar.
    “In January and December, yeah,” snorts Vega. If anything, Britt-Marie notices, the brother looks slightly older than her. Still a child, but approaching that age when they can become quite pungent.
    “I’m the best fixer in Borg. The king of the castle, you know. Whatever you need, come to me!” says Omar to Britt-Marie, winking confidently without paying any attention to his sister, who’s kicking him on the shin.
    “Twit,” says Vega with a sigh.
    “Cow!” answers Omar.
    Britt-Marie doesn’t know if she should be concerned or proud that she actually knows that this means something bad, but she doesn’t have much time to reflect on this before Omar is lying on the floor, holding his lip. Vega goes out of the door with the soccer ball in one hand and the other still formed into a fist.
    Somebody titters at Omar.
    “You have, what’s-it-called? Marshmallows for brains! Never learn, do you?”
    Omar wipes his lip and then looks as if he’s letting go of the whole business. Like a small child forgetting to cry over a dropped ice cream when he catches