Britt-Marie Was Here Read Free Page A

five—”
    “We certainly can’t have a meeting later than five,” Britt-Marie protests.
    “What?” says the girl.
    Britt-Marie smiles with enormous, enormous patience.
    “I don’t want to cause a scene here. Not at all. But my dear girl, civilized people have their dinner at six, so any later than five is surely a bit on the late side for a meeting, wouldn’t you agree? Or are you saying we should have our meeting while we’re eating?”
    “No . . . I mean . . . What?”
    “Ha. Well, in that case you have to make sure you’re not late. So the potatoes don’t get cold.”
    Then she writes “6:00. Dinner” on her list.
    The girl calls out something behind Britt-Marie but Britt-Marie has already gone, because she actually doesn’t have time to stand here going on about this all day.

3

    I t’s 4:55. Britt-Marie is waiting by herself in the street outside the unemployment office, because it would be impolite to go in too early for the meeting. The wind ruffles her hair gently. She misses her balcony so much, it pains her to even think about it—she has to squeeze her eyes shut so tightly that her temples start hurting. She often busies herself on the balcony at night while she’s waiting for Kent. He always says she shouldn’t wait up for him. She always does. She usually notices his car from the balcony, and by the time he steps inside, his food is already on the table. Once he’s fallen asleep in their bed she picks up his shirt from the bedroom floor and puts it in the washing machine. If the collar is dirty she goes over it beforehand with vinegar and baking soda. Early in the morning she wakes and fixes her hair and tidies up the kitchen, sprinkles baking soda in the balcony flower boxes, and polishes all the windows with Faxin.
    Faxin is Britt-Marie’s brand of window-cleaner. It’s even better than baking soda. She doesn’t feel like a fully fledged human being unless she has a more or less full bottle at the ready. No Faxin? Anything could happen in such a situation. So she wrote “Buy Faxin” on her shopping list this afternoon (she considered adding exclamation marks at the end, to really highlight the seriousness of it, butmanaged to contain herself). Then she went to the supermarket that isn’t her usual, where nothing is arranged as usual. She asked a young person working there for Faxin. He didn’t even know what it was. When Britt-Marie explained that it’s her brand of window-cleaner, he just shrugged and suggested a different brand. At which point Britt-Marie got so angry that she got out her list and added an exclamation mark.
    The shopping cart was acting up and she even ran over her own foot with it. She closed her eyes and sucked in her cheeks and missed Kent. She found some salmon on sale and got some potatoes and vegetables. From a little shelf marked “Stationery” she took a pencil and two pencil sharpeners and put them in her cart.
    “Are you a member?” asked the young man when she reached the cashier.
    “Of what?” Britt-Marie asked suspiciously.
    “The salmon is only on sale for members,” he said.
    Britt-Marie smiled patiently.
    “This is not my usual supermarket, you see. In my usual supermarket my husband is a member.”
    The young man held out a brochure.
    “You can apply here, it only takes a sec. All you do is fill in your name and address here an—”
    “Certainly not,” said Britt-Marie immediately. Because surely there’s some kind of limit? Do you really have to register and leave your name and address like some suspected terrorist just because you want to buy a bit of salmon?
    “Well, in that case you have to pay full price for the salmon.”
    “Ha.”
    The young man looked unsure of himself.
    “Look, if you don’t have enough money on you I ca—”
    Britt-Marie gave him a wide-eyed stare. She wanted so badly to raise her voice, but her vocal cords wouldn’t cooperate.
    “My dear little man, I have plenty of money. Absolutely