She looks at Titus snoozing against the window with the safety belt as a cushion. His black suit is grey with soil, cement dust and old, dried-up vomit. His face has lines of dirt. He stinks.
This isn’t good enough, Astra thinks. We must tidy him up. Put him under a shower. She looks at the road signs to check if there is a hotel anywhere near. Where are we? Lake Vättern is down there on the right somewhere. She is lucky. The Golden Otter, two kilometres. She remembers that motel, her family used to stay there when she was little and they were on their way home from a motoring holiday down in Europe. They would eat salmon with dill in white sauce, buy a stick of peppermint rock and remember that it was nice to go abroad on holiday, but it was even better to be back in Sweden. They’d sit on the terrace and look out across the long narrow lake, talk about the mythical island – Visingsö – where her father believed that kings had lived in bygone ages. Run to the car to fetch warm sweaters. Brrrr. It is cool today, but it will probably be warmer tomorrow. Sweden, home sweet home.
When she parks the car and the sound of the engine stops, Titus wakes up. He looks around, then leans his head against the neck rest and closes his eyes again.
‘I’ll get a room so that Titus can have a wash,’ she explains to the company in the back seat.
‘Okay, we’ll go in and get a cup of coffee and a Danish pastry. It’s on me!’ Doctor Rolf rumbles.
Astra goes round to the other side of the car and opens Titus’ door.
‘Titus, you need a shower. Come along!’
She helps Titus out of the car. He totters out and stretches his arms over his head, yawns widely and smiles.
Next to Astra’s car on the parking area stands a car with an open bonnet and a man leaning over the engine. Something is evidently broken and his irritation can be felt in the air. He throws an oily rag onto the ground and mutters.
‘Accursed vehicle!’
Titus recognises that voice. He bends down under the bonnet and looks.
‘Christer!’
It is Christer Hermansson standing there swearing at his car. The zealous librarian from Stockholm City Library. Titus’ fellow author, who writes laboured books about men on the verge of reality.
Christer Hermansson looks up at Titus.
‘Titus!’
His eyes wander over Titus from top to toe.
‘What have you been through?’
‘It’s a long story. This is Astra Larsson, my publisher.’
Christer looks at Astra. He wipes his hands on his trousers and pulls his ponytail tighter before holding out his hand.
‘Christer Hermansson. How do you do?’
‘Has your car broken down?’ asks Astra.
‘Ich bin ein bibliothekar!’ exclaims Christer. ‘Not a car mechanic…’
‘I see. And are you on the way to the book fair too?’ wonders Astra.
‘Yes. But now I’m stranded here. I don’t understand engines, and they don’t understand me. We are not friends, I fear. A negative prognosis suggests this is a matter of lifelong enmity. I fear the worst.’
Titus smiles when he recognises Christer’s austere tone. It is always hard to tell whether he is serious or is joking. An academic dryness with a humorous glint is always present.
‘You can come with us!’ says Titus, and turns to Astra. ‘He can do that, can’t he?’
‘Of course!’
‘Really? Most gracious of you!’
‘Yes, but absolutely,’ says Astra. ‘Pack your things in the back. Incidentally, you don’t have some extra clothes you can lend to Titus? And shaving gear?’
Christer Hermansson looks at Titus again. He nods understandingly.
‘Indeed, I do have new clothes for the emperor. He can borrow one of my book-fair suits!’
The mood in the car couldn’t be better when they set off on the final stretch. They have all eaten and been to the loo. Titus has stood under running water for half an hour and shaved his head and face. He has regained quite a lot of his former colour, and if you didn’t know better you might think he had just returned from a holiday in the sun.
Malin huddles on Lenny’s lap under the safety belt. They are purring like cats that have just had their favourite dinner. Christer Hermansson has found a space in the middle of the back seat. He looks small beside the large and jovial Doctor Rolf. Since he doesn’t have any idea what has happened to this strange party in the car, he just sees the journey as divine intervention. He has escaped his wreck of a car and can chat with lots of amusing people who are also going to the book fair. Thanks to Astra and Titus, he will get there in time. He is as merry as a lark and starts up a sing-song.
‘We’re havin’ fun sittin’ in the back seat, kissin’ and a’huggin with Fred.’
‘Dee doody doom doom, dee doody doom doom, dee doody doom doom, DOOM,’ answer Ralf, Lenny, Malin, Titus and Astra in a loud chorus.
They laugh as Christer guides them through some old popular classics. It is liberating to let something else take over, something from outside. There is still a world out there. They are on the way back now. They’re having fun.
Then Astra’s telephone rings.
Unknown number.
Astra hushes them with her finger on her lips. It could be news from the book fair. Has Eddie X disappeared? Has Evita got hold of the police? They might want to talk to Titus.
She presses the green button and answers in a proper tone:
‘Yes, this is Astra Larsson.’
‘Hello, Astra! This is Fabian Nadersson. Have you got a moment?’
Oh no! Not that dreadful telephone hawker again! He rings on the most unsuitable occasions. What a hopeless type. But Astra refuses to abandon her good mood. She switches to the loudspeaker and holds up the phone so that everybody can hear, turns the volume to maximum and shouts:
‘Fabian, we are in the middle of a little conference here! Is it okay with you to sell to several people at the same time? We are me, Titus, Ralf, Christer, Malin and Lenny. Everybody – say hello to Fabian!’
‘HELLO FABIAN!’ The back-seat chorus shouts. Astra sets the tone by whirling the telephone in the air and whispering words to prompt the chorus.
‘Hello everybody!’ says Fabian. ‘Great, several birds with one stone, we like that, haha. Well, the thing is, you understand, Astra and all the rest of you, that I am ringing on behalf of Seraphim Insurance. We offer a free meeting with one of our insurance experts.’
‘THANK – YOU – SO – VERY – MUCH – FABIAN! The chorus yells in line with Astra’s direction.
‘It’ll take an hour and during that hour he or she will go through your financial situation. Then you’ll be given a proposal for a pension plan designed especially for you which will realise your old-age dreams. Does that sound good?’
‘NO – IT – DOES – NOT!’
‘I see. Perhaps your pension savings have been arranged some other way?’
‘NO – THEY – HAVE – NOT!’
‘Do you have any plans to think over your insurance policies in the near future?’
‘NO – WE – DO – NOT!’
‘I propose a meeting either on Tuesday, 10 October, at 11 a.m., or 1 November at 2 p.m. Which of those times would suit you best?’
‘NEITHER – DON’T – YOU – LISTEN?’
‘I see, well then, could you suggest another time when one of our experts can come to your office for a personal meeting?’
‘NO – ABSOLUTELY – NOT!’
‘Would you rather I phoned back another time?’
‘NO – PREF – ER – AB – LY – NOT!’
‘But you are interested in our services?’