The Swedish Girl Read Free Page B

stripping off the industrial rubber gloves that the boss had insisted he wear.
    No fur your benefit, son. It’s in case ye tak us tae a tribunal if ye get dermatitis, ken?
 
    Colin had nodded, understanding the man’s aggrieved tone. There had been so much red tape involved at the beginning of this summer job, forms to fill in, things to sign. And he was only a kitchen hand, after all. It was not as if he was handling any of the stuff out of the ovens, like some of the other young lads, or being yelled at by the head chef.
    He untied the greasy apron from around his waist, hung it on the peg behind the door and slipped out into the lane that ran behind the restaurant, the sudden daylight making him blink. A couple of the older chefs were lounging at the corner, taking a quick fag break now that the lunchtime rush was over. They barely glanced at Colin as he walked along the cobbled lane and crossed over to the car park that separated Ashton Lane from the university buildings. But that was fine. Nobody usually gave Colin Young a second look.
The sort of guy who would be lost in a crowd
, one of his pals at school had said. The rest of them had laughed, Colin with them, but afterwards, looking in the wardrobe mirror in his bedroom, he had wondered about that remark. There was nothing wrong with his appearance: at seventeen he had reached his full height of five feet eight in his stocking soles, a slim verging on skinny teenager with a pale face that was the result of too much late-night study for end of term exams.
    Now, three years on, little had changed. He was still slightly built, his mid-brown hair cut shorter and better styled than it had been in his schooldays but there was nothing unpleasing about Colin’s appearance. Whenever he smiled his eyes would crinkle at the corners and one could almost believe his was an attractive sort of face. It was when he spoke that people turned to give him a second look, this young man with that unusual lilt in his voice that came from being born to a Lewis woman whose own speech had been peppered with Gaelic words and phrases.
    The students’ residence office was situated over the hill and along one of the streets that criss-crossed the area between Great Western Road and University Avenue. Colin glanced at his watch and quickened his pace. He’d have to hurry if he was to pick up the details of the other flats he’d been offered before catching a bus out to Anniesland. The afternoon sun beat down on his head as he turned into Great George Street. Well, at least he had a decent break before his evening shift and maybe there was even the chance of lounging about in the park, watching the skateboarders, letting the heat soak into his skin.
     
    The bus stopped with an ear-splitting squeal of brakes and Colin descended onto the pavement, his eyes turning immediately to the street on his left. There was a pub just around the corner from Merryfield Avenue, he noticed, where afternoon drinkers were enjoying their pints outside in the Glasgow sunshine. A couple of blue and yellow parasols that boasted the logo of a well-known brewery made the place almost festive and Colin paused for a moment, wondering if this might become his local, if he were lucky enough to get a room in the flat.
    There was the usual line of names by an entryphone buzzer and Colin saw the name Magnusson right at the top. Typical, he thought, raising his eyebrows, every student flat he knew was on the top floor. He pressed the bell and waited. There was a crackle followed by a man’s deep voice: ‘Hello?’
    ‘It’s Colin Young. I’ve come about the room.’ Colin bent forward, his mouth close to the intercom.
    There was a pause then a click. ‘Come up. Top right,’ the voice said and Colin pushed open the green-painted main door, his eyes blinded for a moment by the change from bright sunlight into the comparative gloom of the close. A few blinks dispelled the dullness and, as he made his way up the stone