Saturday?’
Susso knew they were negotiating the loan of the car and the cost of the fuel, which she had not even mentioned yet. There was no way out.
‘I think so,’ she said, wiping a cold knuckle under her nose. ‘If I don’t get any worse, I mean.’
‘Because Ella’s going to some dressing-up thing. A friend from pre-school.’
Susso nodded.
‘I’m sure it’ll be okay,’ she said, getting out her mobile. She did this quite unnecessarily, looking at the digits of the clock without registering the time. She turned and walked towards the door but was halted by Cecilia’s question:
‘What have you been doing?’
She took a deep breath, wanting to avoid this part.
After a few seconds she said:
‘I went to visit an old lady.’
‘An old lady?’
‘She saw something.’
‘Where?’
It was pointless lying. She would see the mileage counter anyway.
‘In Vaikijaur.’
There was a momentary silence.
And then it came:
‘And where’s that?’
Now she was really going to get it in the neck because she had driven the car more than five hundred kilometres. Her sister was enjoying dragging it out.
‘A little village just north of Jokkmokk.’
Cecilia slowly tucked her feet beneath her as she reached for the silver-coloured plastic snus tin on the coffee table. She looked at her little sister with narrow, glittering brown eyes. A square of oily skin shone on her forehead where her fringe had parted.
‘How did it go then?’
‘She seemed pretty sound,’ Susso said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘So I set up a camera. The Reconyx.’
Cecilia inserted a snus pouch.
‘Tell Mum’, she said slowly, ‘that you’ll work instead of me.’
*
Not a day went by without Susso looking in on her mother. It seemed natural because they lived in the same block of flats on Mommagatan 1, Susso on the second floor and Gudrun on the third. It was a shabby concrete three-storey building with a dirty-pink facade, situated opposite the big hotel with its dark-brown brick permanently covered with expanding frost patches.
When she opened the door the dog started barking and thrashing its bushy tail. Susso crouched down and was forced to grab hold of a coat hanging in the hall to stop herself from being knocked over by the eager dog. He was part terrier but also part Spitz, as was evident from his curled tail. In the spirit of irony he was called Hound of the Baskervilles, but was also known as Basker. Her mother claimed he was registered with the kennel club.
‘Hasn’t he had a walk today?’ she called into the flat.
‘I’m not well!’
‘So I heard.’
Susso removed her jacket and hung it from the hall cupboard handle. Through the doorway she saw half of her mother sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper. Her sleeve was pulled up, revealing her watch with its thin strap of blue leather. The radio was on, the volume turned to a pointlessly low level. There was a smell of burnt coffee.
When Susso sat down at the table Gudrun looked up and smiled quickly, wrinkles radiating out from the corners of her eyes. There were beads of mascara on the tips of her eyelashes. Had she been working in the shop anyway? Either that or her boyfriend Roland had looked in.
Susso pulled off her hat, put it on the table and kept her hand inside it, playing with the wool.
‘Do you want coffee?’
‘Coffee? What, now?’
Gudrun folded the newspaper and looked at her.
‘Wine then?’
Susso shrugged: why not? She took out a stick of lip salve and rubbed it over her lips. They were always dry when she was out in the cold. There was something wrong with her, some gene that made her unsuited to the subarctic climate. Gudrun stood up, took two glasses out of the cupboard and walked over to the worktop, where the wine bottles lay in a cast-iron rack next to the microwave. She was wearing a loose-fitting apricot-coloured viscose top, the fabric so thin her bra was visible.
The glasses arrived on the table and Gudrun sat down, one foot beneath her, the way
Susso knew they were negotiating the loan of the car and the cost of the fuel, which she had not even mentioned yet. There was no way out.
‘I think so,’ she said, wiping a cold knuckle under her nose. ‘If I don’t get any worse, I mean.’
‘Because Ella’s going to some dressing-up thing. A friend from pre-school.’
Susso nodded.
‘I’m sure it’ll be okay,’ she said, getting out her mobile. She did this quite unnecessarily, looking at the digits of the clock without registering the time. She turned and walked towards the door but was halted by Cecilia’s question:
‘What have you been doing?’
She took a deep breath, wanting to avoid this part.
After a few seconds she said:
‘I went to visit an old lady.’
‘An old lady?’
‘She saw something.’
‘Where?’
It was pointless lying. She would see the mileage counter anyway.
‘In Vaikijaur.’
There was a momentary silence.
And then it came:
‘And where’s that?’
Now she was really going to get it in the neck because she had driven the car more than five hundred kilometres. Her sister was enjoying dragging it out.
‘A little village just north of Jokkmokk.’
Cecilia slowly tucked her feet beneath her as she reached for the silver-coloured plastic snus tin on the coffee table. She looked at her little sister with narrow, glittering brown eyes. A square of oily skin shone on her forehead where her fringe had parted.
‘How did it go then?’
‘She seemed pretty sound,’ Susso said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘So I set up a camera. The Reconyx.’
Cecilia inserted a snus pouch.
‘Tell Mum’, she said slowly, ‘that you’ll work instead of me.’
*
Not a day went by without Susso looking in on her mother. It seemed natural because they lived in the same block of flats on Mommagatan 1, Susso on the second floor and Gudrun on the third. It was a shabby concrete three-storey building with a dirty-pink facade, situated opposite the big hotel with its dark-brown brick permanently covered with expanding frost patches.
When she opened the door the dog started barking and thrashing its bushy tail. Susso crouched down and was forced to grab hold of a coat hanging in the hall to stop herself from being knocked over by the eager dog. He was part terrier but also part Spitz, as was evident from his curled tail. In the spirit of irony he was called Hound of the Baskervilles, but was also known as Basker. Her mother claimed he was registered with the kennel club.
‘Hasn’t he had a walk today?’ she called into the flat.
‘I’m not well!’
‘So I heard.’
Susso removed her jacket and hung it from the hall cupboard handle. Through the doorway she saw half of her mother sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper. Her sleeve was pulled up, revealing her watch with its thin strap of blue leather. The radio was on, the volume turned to a pointlessly low level. There was a smell of burnt coffee.
When Susso sat down at the table Gudrun looked up and smiled quickly, wrinkles radiating out from the corners of her eyes. There were beads of mascara on the tips of her eyelashes. Had she been working in the shop anyway? Either that or her boyfriend Roland had looked in.
Susso pulled off her hat, put it on the table and kept her hand inside it, playing with the wool.
‘Do you want coffee?’
‘Coffee? What, now?’
Gudrun folded the newspaper and looked at her.
‘Wine then?’
Susso shrugged: why not? She took out a stick of lip salve and rubbed it over her lips. They were always dry when she was out in the cold. There was something wrong with her, some gene that made her unsuited to the subarctic climate. Gudrun stood up, took two glasses out of the cupboard and walked over to the worktop, where the wine bottles lay in a cast-iron rack next to the microwave. She was wearing a loose-fitting apricot-coloured viscose top, the fabric so thin her bra was visible.
The glasses arrived on the table and Gudrun sat down, one foot beneath her, the way
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