the waiter gave up and went into the kitchen and wrote them a new bill.
In the meantime Rune and Ove nodded grimly at one another without noticing that their wives, as usual, had taken a taxi home twenty minutes earlier.
Ove nods to himself as he sits there in the Saab looking at Rune’s garage door. He can’t remember when he last saw it open.
He turns off the headlights of the Saab, gives the cat a poke to wake it up, and gets out.
“Ove?” says a curious, unfamiliar voice. Suddenly an unknown woman, clearly the owner of the unfamiliar voice, has stuck her head into the garage.
She’s about forty-five, wearing tatty jeans and a green windbreaker that looks too large for her.
She doesn’t have any makeup on and her hair is in a ponytail.
The woman blunders into his garage and looks around with interest. The cat steps forward and gives her a threatening hiss. She stops.
Ove puts his hands in his pockets. “Ove?” she bursts out again, in that exaggerated chummy way of people who want to sell you something,
while pretending it’s the very last thing on their mind.
“I don’t want anything,” says Ove, nodding at the garage door—a clear gesture that she needn’t bother about finding another door,
it’ll be just fine if she walks out the same way that she came.
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