“And you can’t let the girls freeze to death tonight, Ove, right? It’s quite enough that they had to watch you assault a clown, no?”
Ove gives her a dour glance. Silently, to himself, as if negotiating, he concedes that he can hardly let the children perish
just because their no-good father can’t open a window without falling off a ladder.
There’d be a hellish amount of nagging from Ove’s wife if he went and arrived in the next world as a newly qualified child murderer.
Then he picks up the plastic tube from the floor and hangs it up on a hook on the wall.
Locks the Saab with the key. Closes the garage. Tugs at it three times to make sure it’s closed.
Then goes to fetch his tools from the shed. Tomorrow’s as good a day as any to kill oneself.
A MAN WHO WAS OVE AND A WOMAN ON A TRAIN
She had a golden brooch pinned to her dress, in which the sunlight reflected hypnotically through the train window.
It was half past six in the morning, Ove had just clocked off his shift and was actually supposed to be taking the train home the other way.
But then he saw her on the platform with all her rich auburn hair and her blue eyes and all her effervescent laughter.
And he got back on the outbound train. Of course, he didn’t quite know himself why he was doing it.
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