Humlin tried to shake off all these unpleasant thoughts and went to get a cup of coffee from the kitchen. He sat down in the study and looked at the two texts that the girls had given him last night. He had been meaning to read them on the way home but had been too tired.
He reread Leyla’s short text, then reached for Tanya’s packet and opened it. Inside was a photograph wrapped in a piece of cloth. It was a picture of a girl. The name ‘Irina’ was written on the back. A picture of Irina as a child, he thought. Or Tanya or Inez, whatever her name really is. He thought he could recognise her face even though the girl in the picture was hardly more than three. He lay down the photograph and leaned back in his chair. She presents her life as a puzzle, he thought. She carefully gives me one piece at a time, never turning her back to me, never taking the chance that I may betray her. She shows me pine cones and pieces of crystal, she lets me know she is a skilled pickpocket, that she is not afraid, that she is alone. And now she shows me a picture of herself as a child.
During the next few hours Humlin sat in front of his computer and entered in everything he could remember about his first encounters with Tea-Bag. Although he was simply making notes for himself, he felt that he could already feel a book starting to take shape. The various stories dovetailed into each other. When he finally turned off the computer he felt satisfied for the first time in a long while. There is something here, he thought. So far I have only been allowed to browse through their stories, but if I keep going out to Gothenburg I will one day have something to write about. I don’t have to concern myself with their dreams for the future. I doubt any one of them has the necessary talent to become a writer. If they can make it in TV I have no idea. But I won’t leave this project empty-handed.
When he was done he called his doctor. He had begged his way to a weekly phone appointment with her.
‘Beckman.’
‘This is Jesper Humlin. I don’t feel well.’
‘You never do. What is it this time?’
Anna Beckman, who had been his doctor for ten years, had a somewhat brusque manner that he had never completely been able to get used to.
‘I think it may be something with my heart.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with your heart.’
‘I’ve had palpitations.’
‘I do too sometimes.’
‘Who are we talking about here? Me or you? I am telling you I’m concerned about my heart.’
‘I’m concerned about wasting my lunch hour. You are of course welcome to come in on a drop-in appointment.’
‘Yes, is that possible?’
‘As luck would have it I have a cancellation. Two o’clock.’
She hung up before she had received his reply. Immediately the phone rang. It was Andrea.
‘Is she gone?’ she asked.
‘She’s not here. What did my mother have to say?’
‘She’s worried about you. She thinks you should re-evaluate your life.’
‘What did she mean by that?’
‘You’ll just get angry if I tell you.’
‘I’ll be angry if you don’t tell me what she said.’
‘She thinks your last book stank.’
Even though Humlin had decided a long time ago not to care what his mother thought of his work, he still felt a pain in his stomach at these words. But he said nothing about it to Andrea.
‘That’s enough. I don’t need to hear any more.’
‘I knew it would make you angry.’
‘I thought she wanted to know how nurses can kill people.’
‘That was just an excuse. She wanted to talk about you.’
‘I don’t want you two to talk about me.’
‘But
‘I’ll be here.’
‘That’s all I wanted to know.’
Humlin put the phone down, his head empty. Then he walked out to the mirror in the hall and looked at the remains of his rapidly fading tan. Luckily he had an appointment at the tanning salon tomorrow.
He ate lunch at a small restaurant around the corner, read the paper and then caught a taxi to the doctor’s office. His driver was from a small town on the island of Gotland and still wasn’t sure of his way around town.
Dr Anna Beckman was almost six foot tall, very thin and with short spiky hair. She also had an earring in one eyebrow. Humlin had heard that she had broken off a promising research career because she had become tired of the intrigues that went on behind the scenes in the constant battle for research funds. She pulled open her door and stared at him. The waiting area was full of people.
‘There is absolutely nothing the matter with your heart,’ she shouted as she pushed him into the examination room.
‘I would be grateful if you announced your diagnosis in a quieter voice so not all of your patients hear it.’
She listened to his heart and checked his pulse.
‘I can’t understand why you insist on bothering me with these things.’
‘Bother you? You’re my doctor.’
She looked at him critically.
‘Are you aware of the fact that you’re putting on weight? And I’m sorry to say your tan is pathetic.’
‘No one could call me fat.’
