short in a style which could most charitably be described as practical.
“Anything I can help you with?” asked the earring behind the counter.
Rebecka turned toward him and had just about managed to say yes when the swing door from the kitchen flew open and a woman in her twenties hurtled out with three plates. Her long hair was dyed in stripes—blond, an unnatural pink and black. She had an eyebrow piercing and two sparkling stones in her nose.
What a pretty girl, thought Rebecka.
“Yes?” said the girl to Rebecka, a challenge in her voice.
She didn’t wait for an answer, but put the plates down in front of the three men. Rebecka had been about to ask if they served food, but she could see that they did.
“It says ‘rooms’ on the sign,” she heard herself asking instead, “how much are they?”
The earring looked at her in confusion.
“Mimmi,” he said, “she’s asking about rooms.”
The woman with the striped hair turned to Rebecka, wiped her hands on her apron and pushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair off her face.
“We’ve got cottages,” she said. “Sort of chalets. Two hundred and seventy kronor a night.”
What am I doing? thought Rebecka.
And the next minute she thought:
I want to stay here. Just me.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll be in shortly having a meal with a man. If he asks about rooms, tell him you’ve only got space for me.”
Mimmi frowned.
“Why should I do that?” she asked. “It’s bloody awful business for us.”
“Not at all. If you say you’ve got room for him as well, I’ll change my mind and we’ll both go and stay at the Winter Palace in town. So one overnight guest or none.”
“Having trouble fighting him off, are you?” grinned the earring.
Rebecka shrugged. They could think what they liked. And what could she say?
Mimmi shrugged back.
“Okay then, ” she said. “But you’re both eating, are you? Or shall we say there’s only enough food for you?”
* * *
Torsten was reading the menu. Rebecka was sitting opposite, looking at him. His rounded cheeks, pink with pleasure. His reading glasses balanced as far down his nose as possible without actually stopping him from breathing. Hair tousled, standing on end. Mimmi was leaning over his shoulder and pointing as she read it out. Like a teacher and pupil.
He loves this, thought Rebecka.
The men with their powerful arms, their sheath knives hanging from their belts. Who had mumbled a reply when Torsten swept in wearing his gray suit and greeted them cheerfully. Pretty Mimmi with her big boobs and her loud voice. About as far as you can get from the accommodating girls at the Sturecompagniet nightclub. Little anecdotes were already taking shape in his head.
“You can either have the dish of the day,” said Mimmi, pointing to a blackboard on the wall where it said “Marinated elk steak with mushroom and vegetable risotto. Or you can have something out of the freezer. You can have anything that’s listed there with potatoes or rice or pasta, whichever you want.”
She pointed to the menu where a number of dishes were listed under the heading “From the freezer”: lasagne, meatballs, blood pudding, Piteå potato cakes filled with mince, smoked reindeer fillet in a cream sauce and stew.
“Maybe I should try the blood pudding,” he said excitedly to Rebecka.
The door opened and the tall lad who’d arrived on the moped came in. He stopped just inside the door. His massive body was encased in a beautifully ironed striped cotton shirt buttoned right up to the neck. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at the other customers. He kept his head twisted to one side so that his big chin was pointing out through the long narrow window. As if it were sign-posting an escape route.
“Nalle!” exclaimed Mimmi, abandoning Torsten to his deliberations. “Don’t you look
“Anything I can help you with?” asked the earring behind the counter.
Rebecka turned toward him and had just about managed to say yes when the swing door from the kitchen flew open and a woman in her twenties hurtled out with three plates. Her long hair was dyed in stripes—blond, an unnatural pink and black. She had an eyebrow piercing and two sparkling stones in her nose.
What a pretty girl, thought Rebecka.
“Yes?” said the girl to Rebecka, a challenge in her voice.
She didn’t wait for an answer, but put the plates down in front of the three men. Rebecka had been about to ask if they served food, but she could see that they did.
“It says ‘rooms’ on the sign,” she heard herself asking instead, “how much are they?”
The earring looked at her in confusion.
“Mimmi,” he said, “she’s asking about rooms.”
The woman with the striped hair turned to Rebecka, wiped her hands on her apron and pushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair off her face.
“We’ve got cottages,” she said. “Sort of chalets. Two hundred and seventy kronor a night.”
What am I doing? thought Rebecka.
And the next minute she thought:
I want to stay here. Just me.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll be in shortly having a meal with a man. If he asks about rooms, tell him you’ve only got space for me.”
Mimmi frowned.
“Why should I do that?” she asked. “It’s bloody awful business for us.”
“Not at all. If you say you’ve got room for him as well, I’ll change my mind and we’ll both go and stay at the Winter Palace in town. So one overnight guest or none.”
“Having trouble fighting him off, are you?” grinned the earring.
Rebecka shrugged. They could think what they liked. And what could she say?
Mimmi shrugged back.
“Okay then, ” she said. “But you’re both eating, are you? Or shall we say there’s only enough food for you?”
* * *
Torsten was reading the menu. Rebecka was sitting opposite, looking at him. His rounded cheeks, pink with pleasure. His reading glasses balanced as far down his nose as possible without actually stopping him from breathing. Hair tousled, standing on end. Mimmi was leaning over his shoulder and pointing as she read it out. Like a teacher and pupil.
He loves this, thought Rebecka.
The men with their powerful arms, their sheath knives hanging from their belts. Who had mumbled a reply when Torsten swept in wearing his gray suit and greeted them cheerfully. Pretty Mimmi with her big boobs and her loud voice. About as far as you can get from the accommodating girls at the Sturecompagniet nightclub. Little anecdotes were already taking shape in his head.
“You can either have the dish of the day,” said Mimmi, pointing to a blackboard on the wall where it said “Marinated elk steak with mushroom and vegetable risotto. Or you can have something out of the freezer. You can have anything that’s listed there with potatoes or rice or pasta, whichever you want.”
She pointed to the menu where a number of dishes were listed under the heading “From the freezer”: lasagne, meatballs, blood pudding, Piteå potato cakes filled with mince, smoked reindeer fillet in a cream sauce and stew.
“Maybe I should try the blood pudding,” he said excitedly to Rebecka.
The door opened and the tall lad who’d arrived on the moped came in. He stopped just inside the door. His massive body was encased in a beautifully ironed striped cotton shirt buttoned right up to the neck. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at the other customers. He kept his head twisted to one side so that his big chin was pointing out through the long narrow window. As if it were sign-posting an escape route.
“Nalle!” exclaimed Mimmi, abandoning Torsten to his deliberations. “Don’t you look
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