‘No need. It’s just that I’ve decided not to answer any questions about the new book. I’ve only just started working on it and it’s easy to lose one’s sense of concentration. It’s a bit like letting unwelcome guests into one’s home.’
‘That sounds complicated. But surely you have something to say. Why would your publisher be releasing this information otherwise?’
‘That I have no idea about. But I will say that I should be ready to talk about the book in about a month.’
‘Can you at least tell me what it’s about?’
Humlin thought hard.
‘I suppose I can say it will play out in the minefields of cultural difference.’
‘Look here, Mr Humlin, I can’t write that. No one will understand a word of it.’
‘People from different cultures who meet and do not understand each other. Conflicts. Is that better?’ Humlin asked.
‘So the murderer targets immigrants?’
‘I’m not going to say anything else. But you’re on the wrong track.’
‘You mean immigrants are killing Swedes?’
‘There are no murders of any kind in this book.’
‘How can it be a crime novel?’
‘I will say more in due course.’
‘When will that be?’
‘In about a month.’
‘Can you say anything else?’
‘No, nothing more at this time.’
Humlin hung up. The reporter had sounded grumpy by the end. Humlin himself was furious and drenched in sweat. He wanted to call Lundin immediately, but knew that nothing would really come of it. The damage was already done. The crime novel he was thought to be writing was already the new literary sensation.
Andrea stopped by unexpectedly that evening. Humlin had fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted by his conversation with the reporter. When he heard Andrea at the door he jumped up as if caught in the act of doing something unlawful. But when he heard that she didn’t slam the door he breathed easy. That meant she was not immediately going to attack him. If she closed the door gently that usually meant she was in a good mood.
She lay down beside him on the sofa and shut her eyes.
‘I’m starting to get bitchy,’ she said. ‘I’m turning into an old woman.’
‘It’s me. I often give you reason to worry,’ Humlin said. ‘But I’m trying to change all that.’
Andrea opened her eyes.
‘Oh, I doubt that very much,’ she said. ‘But maybe one day I’ll get used to it.’
They cooked dinner together and drank some wine even though it was the middle of the week. Humlin listened patiently while she ranted about the increasing chaos of the Swedish medical system. At the same time he was thinking about the best way to tell her that he was going to meet with Leyla. But foremost in his mind was what his mother had told him the night before, that she and Andrea discussed intimate details of their private life.
She seemed to have read his thoughts.
‘How was your visit with Märta?’
‘Oh, the way it usually is. But she had bought oysters. And then she told me something I didn’t like.’
‘That she’s going to write you out of her will?’
Humlin frowned.
‘She said that?’
‘No.’
‘Then why would you say that?’
‘For God’s sake, what’s the big deal?’
Humlin realised it probably wasn’t the right time to talk about it. Both he and Andrea had drunk too much wine. That could lead to an explosion. But he couldn’t stop himself.
‘She said you two talk about our sex life. According to my mother you said we aren’t sleeping with each other very often.’
‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Andrea said.
‘Do you have to tell her about it?’
‘Why not? She’s your mother.’
‘She has nothing to do with us.’
‘But we talk about everything. I like your mother.’
‘That’s not what you used to say.’
‘I’ve changed my mind. And she is very frank with me. I know things about her that you could never imagine.’
‘Like what?’ Humlin asked.
Andrea topped up their wine glasses and smiled enigmatically. Humlin didn’t like the look in her eye.
‘Like what?’ Humlin repeated. ‘What is it I don’t know about my mother?’
‘Things you don’t want to know.’
‘How can I know if I want to know them or not before I know what they are?’
‘She has a job.’
Humlin stared at her.
‘What kind of a job?’
‘That’s what you don’t want to know.’
‘My mother has never worked a day in her life. She’s jumped from one ridiculous artistic endeavour to another. But she’s never held down a real job.’
‘Well, she is now.’
‘What does she do?’
‘She’s a phone sex operator.’
Humlin slowly put his wine glass down.
‘I don’t want you saying things like that about her. It’s not funny.’
‘It’s true.’
‘What’s true?’
‘She’s a phone sex operator,’ Andrea repeated.
‘She’s eighty-seven years old.’
‘I’ve heard her myself. And why can’t an eighty-seven year old woman be a phone sex operator?’
Humlin was starting to get the gnawing feeling that there was something to what Andrea was saying. He was just having trouble putting it all together.
‘What exactly does this work involve?’
