The cat looks personally let down by Ove for making it travel all the way in the backseat with the three-year-old.
Ove adjusts the newspapers on the seats. He feels he’s been tricked.
When Parvaneh said she’d “get rid of” the journalist, he didn’t have a very clear idea of exactly how she’d manage it.
Obviously he didn’t have expectations of the woman being conjured away in a puff of smoke
or knocked out with a spade or buried in the desert or anything of that kind.
In fact the only thing Parvaneh had done was to open the garage door, give that journalist her card, and say, “Call me and we’ll talk about Ove.”
Was that really a way of getting rid of anyone? Ove doesn’t think, properly speaking, that it’s a way of getting rid of anyone at all.
But now it’s too late, of course. Now, damn it, he’s sitting here waiting outside the hospital for the third time in less than a week.
Blackmail, that’s what it is. Added to this, Ove has the cat’s resentful stares to contend with.
Something in its eyes reminds him of the way Sonja used to look at him.
“They won’t be coming to take Rune away. They say they’re going to do it, but they’ll be busy with the process for many years,” says Ove to the cat.
Maybe he’s also saying it to Sonja. And maybe to himself. He doesn’t know.
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