the blueberry leaves just starting to turn red.
Come and lie down, whispered the forest. Lay down your head and watch the wind swaying the tops of the trees to and fro.
There was another knock on the car window. She nodded a greeting to the big lad. He stayed out on the steps when she went in.
The two garages that made up the old workshop had been converted into an eating area and a bar. There were six pine tables, stained with a dark color and varnished, arranged along the walls, each with room for seven people if somebody sat at the corner. The plastic flooring of coral red imitation marble was matched by the pink fabric wall covering; a painted design ran right around the room and even continued straight across the swing doors leading into the kitchen. Someone had wound plastic greenery around the water pipes, also painted pink, in an attempt to cheer the place up. Behind the dark-stained bar on the left of the room stood a man in a blue apron, drying glasses and putting them on a shelf where they jostled for space with the drinks on offer. He said hello to Rebecka as she came in. He had a dark brown, neatly clipped beard and an earring in his right ear. The sleeves of his black T-shirt were pushed up his muscular arms. Three men were sitting at one of the tables with a basket of bread in front of them, waiting for their meal. The cutlery wrapped in wine-red paper serviettes. Their eyes firmly fixed on the football on TV. Fists in the bread basket. Work caps in a pile on one of the empty chairs. They were dressed in soft, faded flannel shirts worn over T-shirts with adverts printed on them, the necks well worn. One of them was wearing blue overalls with braces and some kind of company logo. The other two had unfastened their overalls so that the upper half trailed on the floor behind them.
A middle-aged woman on her own was dunking her bread in a bowl of soup. She gave Rebecka a quick smile then stuffed the piece of bread into her mouth quickly, before it fell apart. A black Labrador with the white stripes of age on his muzzle was sleeping at her feet. Over the chair beside her was an indescribably scruffy Barbie-pink padded coat. Her hair was cut very 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
Come and lie down, whispered the forest. Lay down your head and watch the wind swaying the tops of the trees to and fro.
There was another knock on the car window. She nodded a greeting to the big lad. He stayed out on the steps when she went in.
The two garages that made up the old workshop had been converted into an eating area and a bar. There were six pine tables, stained with a dark color and varnished, arranged along the walls, each with room for seven people if somebody sat at the corner. The plastic flooring of coral red imitation marble was matched by the pink fabric wall covering; a painted design ran right around the room and even continued straight across the swing doors leading into the kitchen. Someone had wound plastic greenery around the water pipes, also painted pink, in an attempt to cheer the place up. Behind the dark-stained bar on the left of the room stood a man in a blue apron, drying glasses and putting them on a shelf where they jostled for space with the drinks on offer. He said hello to Rebecka as she came in. He had a dark brown, neatly clipped beard and an earring in his right ear. The sleeves of his black T-shirt were pushed up his muscular arms. Three men were sitting at one of the tables with a basket of bread in front of them, waiting for their meal. The cutlery wrapped in wine-red paper serviettes. Their eyes firmly fixed on the football on TV. Fists in the bread basket. Work caps in a pile on one of the empty chairs. They were dressed in soft, faded flannel shirts worn over T-shirts with adverts printed on them, the necks well worn. One of them was wearing blue overalls with braces and some kind of company logo. The other two had unfastened their overalls so that the upper half trailed on the floor behind them.
A middle-aged woman on her own was dunking her bread in a bowl of soup. She gave Rebecka a quick smile then stuffed the piece of bread into her mouth quickly, before it fell apart. A black Labrador with the white stripes of age on his muzzle was sleeping at her feet. Over the chair beside her was an indescribably scruffy Barbie-pink padded coat. Her hair was cut very 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
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