He shrugs his shoulder a little and smiles, slightly overwhelmed.
“I’m an IT consultant.”
Ove and Parvaneh shake their heads with such coordination they could be synchronized swimmers. For a moment it makes Ove dislike her a little less, although he’s very reluctant to admit it to himself.
The Lanky One seems unaware of all this. Instead he looks with curiosity at the hammer-action drill, which Ove is holding in a firm grip, like a guerrilla fighter with an AK-47 in his hand.
Once the Lanky One has finished perusing it, he leans forward and peers into Ove’s house.
“What are you doing?”
Ove looks at him, as one does at a person who has just said “What are you doing?” to a man standing with a hammer-action drill in his hand.
“I’m drilling,” he replies scathingly.
Parvaneh looks at the Lanky One and rolls her eyes, and if it hadn’t been for her belly, which testified to a willingness on her part to contribute to the survival of the Lanky One’s genetic makeup, Ove might have found her almost sympathetic at this point.
“Oh,” says the Lanky One, with a nod.
Then he leans forward and peers in at the living room floor, neatly covered in the protective sheet of plastic.
He lights up and looks at Ove with a grin.
“Almost looks like you’re about to murder someone!”
Ove peruses him in silence. The Lanky One clears his throat, a little more reluctant. “I mean, it’s like an episode of Dexter,” he says with a much less confident grin. “It’s a TV series . . . about a guy who murders people.” He trails off, then starts poking the toe of his shoe into the gaps between the paving stones outside Ove’s front door.
Ove shakes his head. It’s unclear to whom the Lanky One was primarily aiming what he just said.
“I have some things to get on with,” he says curtly to Parvaneh and takes a firm grip on the door handle.
Parvaneh gives the Lanky One a purposeful jab in the side with her elbow. The Lanky One looks as if he’s trying to drum up some courage; he glances at Parvaneh, and looks at Ove with the expression of someone expecting the whole world to start firing rubber bands at him.
“Well, the thing is, we actually came because I could do with borrowing a few things . . .”
Ove raises his eyebrows.
“What ‘things’?”
The Lanky One clears his throat.
“A ladder. And an Eileen key.”
“You mean an Allen key?”
Parvaneh nods. The Lanky One looks puzzled.
“It’s an Eileen key, isn’t it?”
“Allen key,” Parvaneh and Ove correct at the same time.
Parvaneh nods eagerly at him and points triumphantly at Ove. “He said that’s what it’s called!”
The Lanky One mumbles something inaudible.
“And you’re just like ‘Whoa, it’s an Eileen key!’” Parvaneh jeers.
He looks slightly crestfallen.
“I never sounded like that.”
“You did so!”
“Did not!”
“Yes you DID!”
“I DIDN’T!”
Ove’s gaze travels from one to the other, like a large dog watching two mice interfering with its sleep.
“You did,” says one of them.
“That’s what you think,” the other one says.
“Everyone says it!”
“The majority is not always right!”
“Shall we Google it or what?”
“Sure! Google it! Wikipedia it!
“Give me your phone.”
“Use your own!”
“Duh! I haven’t got it with me, dipshit!”
“Sorry to hear that!”
Ove looks at them as their pathetic argument drones on. They remind him of two malfunctioning radiators, making high-pitched whines at each other.
“Good God,” he mutters.
Parvaneh starts imitating what Ove assumes must be some kind of flying insect. She makes tiny whirring sounds with her lips to irritate her husband. It works quite effectively. Both on the Lanky One and on Ove. Ove gives up.
He goes into the hall, hangs up his suit jacket, puts down the hammer-action drill, puts on his clogs, and walks past them both towards the shed. He’s pretty sure neither of them even notices him. He hears them still bickering as he starts backing out with the ladder.
“Go on, help him then, Patrick,” Parvaneh bursts out when she catches sight of him.
The Lanky One takes a few steps towards him, with fumbling movements. Ove keeps his eyes on him, as if watching a blind man at the wheel of a crowded city bus. And only after that does Ove realize that, in his absence, his property has been invaded by yet another person.
Rune’s wife, Anita, from farther down the street, is standing next to Parvaneh, blithely watching the spectacle. Ove decides the only rational response must be to pretend that she’s doing no such thing. He feels anything else would only encourage her. He hands the Lanky One a cylindrical case with a set of neatly sorted Allen keys.
“Oh, look how many there are,” says the imbecile thoughtfully, gazing into the case.
“What size are you after?” asks Ove.
The Lanky One looks at him as people do when they lack the self-possession to say what they are thinking.
“The . . . usual size?”
Ove looks at him for a long, long time.
“What are you using these things for?” he says at last.
“To fix an IKEA wardrobe we took apart when we moved. And then I forgot where I put the Eileen key,” he explains, apparently without a trace of shame.
Ove looks at the ladder.
“And this wardrobe’s on the roof, is it?”
The Lanky One sniggers and shakes his head. “Oh, right, see what you mean! No, I need the ladder because the upstairs window is jammed. Won’t open.” He adds the last part as if Ove would not otherwise be able to understand the implications of that word, “jammed.”
“So now you’re going to try to open it from the outside?” Ove wonders.
The Lanky One nods and clumsily takes the ladder from him. Ove looks as if he’s about to say something else, but he seems to change his mind. He turns to Parvaneh.
“And why exactly are you here?”
“Moral support,” she twitters.
Ove doesn’t look entirely convinced. Nor does the Lanky One.
Ove’s gaze wanders reluctantly back to Rune’s wife. She’s still there. It seems like years since he last saw her. Or at least since he really looked at her. She’s gone ancient. People all seem to get ancient behind Ove’s back these days.
“Yes?” says Ove.
Rune’s wife smiles mildly and clasps her hands across her hips.
“Ove, you know I don’t want to disturb you, but it’s about the radiators in our house. We can’t get any heat into them,” she says carefully and smiles in turn at Ove, the Lanky One, and Parvaneh. Parvaneh and the Lanky One smile back. Ove looks at his dented wristwatch.
“Does no one on this street have a job to go to anymore?” he wonders.
“I’m retired,” says Rune’s wife, almost apologetically.
“I’m on maternity leave,” says Parvaneh, patting her stomach proudly.
“I’m an IT consultant!” says the Lanky One, also proudly.
Ove and Parvaneh again indulge in a bit of synchronized head-shaking.
Rune’s wife makes another attempt.
“I think it could be the radiators.”
“Have you bled them?” says Ove.
She shakes her head and looks curious.
“You think it could be because of that?”
Ove rolls his eyes.
“Ove!” Parvaneh roars at him at once, as if she’s a reprimanding schoolmistress. Ove glares at her. She glares back. “Stop being rude,” she orders.
“I told you, I’m not rude!”
Her eyes are unwavering. He makes a little grunt, then goes back to standing in the doorway. He thinks it could sort of be enough now. All he wants is to die. Why can’t these lunatics respect that?
Parvaneh puts her hand encouragingly on Rune’s wife’s arm.
“I’m sure Ove can help you with the radiators.”