station, along Götgatan and Katarina Bangata to Södermannagatan to Jimmy’s – no, their
shared
flat. She breathed in the scent of tarmac and admired the façades of the buildings as she passed, hundred-year-old brick, with ochre stucco, and the trees. It had almost stopped raining now.
Jimmy’s –
their
– rented apartment was on the third floor of a house built in 1897, six rooms plus kitchen, which he had acquired through his contacts in the trade-union movement. (Yes, a clear case of corruption, definitely worth a front-page exclusive in the
Evening Post
.) As he had added her name to the lease, which was as good as marriage without a prenuptial agreement, she was now an accomplice.
The lights in the stairwell went on with a humming sound that spread up through the building. She ran up the steps, past the leaded windows looking out onto the courtyard, her heart thudding. Suddenly she was in front of the brass nameplate, shimmering in the glow of the low-energy bulb:
HALENIUS SISULU
BENGTZON SAMUELSSON
Their surnames, and those of their children. The sight of it always made her pulse quicken. She unlocked the door and stepped into the hall, removed her jacket and kicked off her shoes. ‘Hello, everyone!’
Kalle and Ellen came running out of the living room, gave her a quick hug, then disappeared back to their video game.
Then Jimmy was there, his brown hair on end, wearing an apron and a pair of running shoes, holding a wooden spoon. She put her hands to his face. felt his unshaven cheek under her fingers as she kissed him on the lips. ‘Hello,’ she murmured.
‘Hello, you.’
She pressed up to him.
‘You’ll mess up your clothes,’ he muttered into her mouth. ‘I’ve spilled some sauce on the apron.’ But he put a hand to the base of her spine and drew her to him.
She kissed him again.
‘When’s food ready?’
Jimmy let go of her abruptly. His daughter, Serena, was standing right next to them. Her eyes were cold and black. ‘In a quarter of an hour. Do you want to help Annika lay the table?’
She turned away and went back to her room.
Jimmy disappeared into the kitchen. Annika followed him and put the things she had bought on the way home in the freezer, then laid the table in the dining room, six places.
‘Could you get the water?’ Jimmy said, as he brought in the casserole dish and a frying-pan.
She carried two jugs to the table.
‘Will you call the kids?’ she asked, feeling a pang of cowardice.
Serena and her twin brother Jacob lived with Jimmy all the time. Their mother, Angela Sisulu, worked for the South African government and lived in Johannesburg. She had been awarded her PhD while she was working part-time as a model, and was the cause of Annika’s huge inferiority complex.
Kalle and Ellen came into the dining room, and Kalle hovered close to Annika so he could be next to her. She sat at the table and started to ladle the stew onto the children’s plates. Neither Serena nor Jacob looked at her as they took their seats. Serena identified strongly with her mother: she had the same cornrow plaits, and wore the same colourful cotton blouses. She was chatty and talkative with everyone but Annika. Annika wasn’t allowed to touch her, help with her hair, do her coat up or give her a goodnight hug. Jacob looked a lot like Jimmy, and his hair was an unruly mess, just like his dad’s. He was quieter, more uncertain than his sister and a little easier to reach.
Jimmy sat down opposite Annika and spooned some of the stew onto his own plate. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Good and bad things about today. Kalle, you start.’
Kalle took his time chewing the food in his mouth, then put his knife and fork down. ‘I scored a goal when we played football during the lunch break. But Adam in 5B tackled me and pushed me over in the mud.’
Kalle’s accounts of school life always revolved around his friends and what they had done or not done to him, around arguments and
shared
flat. She breathed in the scent of tarmac and admired the façades of the buildings as she passed, hundred-year-old brick, with ochre stucco, and the trees. It had almost stopped raining now.
Jimmy’s –
their
– rented apartment was on the third floor of a house built in 1897, six rooms plus kitchen, which he had acquired through his contacts in the trade-union movement. (Yes, a clear case of corruption, definitely worth a front-page exclusive in the
Evening Post
.) As he had added her name to the lease, which was as good as marriage without a prenuptial agreement, she was now an accomplice.
The lights in the stairwell went on with a humming sound that spread up through the building. She ran up the steps, past the leaded windows looking out onto the courtyard, her heart thudding. Suddenly she was in front of the brass nameplate, shimmering in the glow of the low-energy bulb:
HALENIUS SISULU
BENGTZON SAMUELSSON
Their surnames, and those of their children. The sight of it always made her pulse quicken. She unlocked the door and stepped into the hall, removed her jacket and kicked off her shoes. ‘Hello, everyone!’
Kalle and Ellen came running out of the living room, gave her a quick hug, then disappeared back to their video game.
Then Jimmy was there, his brown hair on end, wearing an apron and a pair of running shoes, holding a wooden spoon. She put her hands to his face. felt his unshaven cheek under her fingers as she kissed him on the lips. ‘Hello,’ she murmured.
‘Hello, you.’
She pressed up to him.
‘You’ll mess up your clothes,’ he muttered into her mouth. ‘I’ve spilled some sauce on the apron.’ But he put a hand to the base of her spine and drew her to him.
She kissed him again.
‘When’s food ready?’
Jimmy let go of her abruptly. His daughter, Serena, was standing right next to them. Her eyes were cold and black. ‘In a quarter of an hour. Do you want to help Annika lay the table?’
She turned away and went back to her room.
Jimmy disappeared into the kitchen. Annika followed him and put the things she had bought on the way home in the freezer, then laid the table in the dining room, six places.
‘Could you get the water?’ Jimmy said, as he brought in the casserole dish and a frying-pan.
She carried two jugs to the table.
‘Will you call the kids?’ she asked, feeling a pang of cowardice.
Serena and her twin brother Jacob lived with Jimmy all the time. Their mother, Angela Sisulu, worked for the South African government and lived in Johannesburg. She had been awarded her PhD while she was working part-time as a model, and was the cause of Annika’s huge inferiority complex.
Kalle and Ellen came into the dining room, and Kalle hovered close to Annika so he could be next to her. She sat at the table and started to ladle the stew onto the children’s plates. Neither Serena nor Jacob looked at her as they took their seats. Serena identified strongly with her mother: she had the same cornrow plaits, and wore the same colourful cotton blouses. She was chatty and talkative with everyone but Annika. Annika wasn’t allowed to touch her, help with her hair, do her coat up or give her a goodnight hug. Jacob looked a lot like Jimmy, and his hair was an unruly mess, just like his dad’s. He was quieter, more uncertain than his sister and a little easier to reach.
Jimmy sat down opposite Annika and spooned some of the stew onto his own plate. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Good and bad things about today. Kalle, you start.’
Kalle took his time chewing the food in his mouth, then put his knife and fork down. ‘I scored a goal when we played football during the lunch break. But Adam in 5B tackled me and pushed me over in the mud.’
Kalle’s accounts of school life always revolved around his friends and what they had done or not done to him, around arguments and
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