All I can say is Jesus H. Christ.’
‘Something like that would kill me,’ said Patrik. He pictured his whirlwind of a daughter. The thought of her being taken from him was unbearable.
‘What on earth are you guys talking about? The atmosphere in here is positively funereal.’ Annika’s cheerful voice broke the dismal mood as she joined them at the table. The station’s youngest member, Martin Molin, came in right behind her, lured by all the voices coming from the kitchen and the smell of coffee. He was working only part-time now, since he was on paternity leave, and he seized every possible opportunity to hang out with his colleagues and take part in adult conversations.
‘We were discussing Magnus Kjellner,’ said Patrik, his tone of voice making it clear that the conversation was over. To make sure the others understood, he changed the subject.
‘How’s it going with the little girl?’
‘Oh, we got new pictures yesterday,’ said Annika, taking some photos out of the pocket of her tunic.
‘Look how big she’s getting.’ She put the pictures on the table, and Patrik and Gösta took turns looking at them. Martin had already been given a preview when he arrived that morning.
‘Ah, she’s so pretty,’ said Patrik.
Annika nodded in agreement. ‘She’s ten months old now.’
‘When do you two get to go there to collect her?’ Gösta asked with genuine interest. He was fully aware that he had played a part in convincing Annika and Lennart to seriously consider adoption. So he took a slightly proprietary interest in the little girl in the photographs.
‘Well, we’re getting some mixed messages,’ Annika told him. She gathered up the pictures and put them carefully back in her pocket. ‘But in a couple of months, I should think.’
‘It must seem like a long wait.’ Patrik got up and put his cup in the dishwasher.
‘Yes, it does. But at the same time … At least the process has been started. And we know that she’ll be ours.’
‘Yes, she certainly will,’ said Gösta. On impulse he put his hand on Annika’s and then snatched it away. ‘Right, back to work. Haven’t got time to sit around here chatting,’ he muttered in embarrassment, getting to his feet.
His three colleagues looked at him in amusement as he slouched out of the kitchen.
‘Christian!’ The publishing director, reeking of perfume, came over to give him a big hug.
Christian held his breath so he wouldn’t have to inhale the cloying scent. Gaby von Rosen was not known for subtlety. Everything was always excessive when it came to Gaby: too much hair, too much make-up, too much perfume, all combined with a fashion sense that, putting it politely, could best be described as startling. This evening, in honour of the occasion, she wore a shocking pink ensemble with a green cloth rose on the lapel, and teetered on dangerously high stilettos. But despite her slightly ridiculous appearance, as the head of Sweden’s hot new publishing house she was a force to be reckoned with. She had over thirty years’ experience in the field and an intellect as acute as her tongue was sharp. Those who underestimated her as a competitor never made the same mistake twice.
‘This is going to be such fun!’ Gaby held Christian at arm’s length as she beamed at him.
Christian, still struggling to breathe in the cloud of perfume, could only nod.
‘Lars-Erik and Ulla-Lena here at the hotel have been simply fantastic,’ she went on. ‘What delightful people! And the buffet looks wonderful. This feels like the perfect venue to launch your brilliant book. So how does it feel?’
Christian finally managed to extricate himself and took a step back.
‘Well, a little unreal, I have to admit. I’ve been working on this novel for so long, and now … well, now here it is.’ He glanced at the stacks of books on the table by the exit. He could read his own name on the spine of each copy, along with the title: The Mermaid. He felt his stomach flip. It was really happening.
‘So this is what we have in mind,’ Gaby said, tugging at his sleeve and pulling him along. Christian followed, offering no resistance. ‘We’ll start by meeting with the journalists who are here, so they can talk to you in peace and quiet. We’re very pleased with the media response. Journalists from Göteborgs Posten, Göteborgs Tidningen, Bohusläningen, and Strömstads Tidning – they’re all here. None from the national newspapers, but that’s all right, considering today’s rave review in Svenska Dagbladet.’
‘A review?’ said Christian as he was escorted to a small dais next to the stage where he would talk to the press.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Gaby, pushing him down on to a chair next to the wall.
He tried to regain some control of the situation, but he felt as if he’d been sucked into a tumble drier with no possibility of escape. The sight of Gaby already on her way out, leaving him behind, merely reinforced that feeling. Assistants were dashing about, setting the tables. Nobody paid any attention to him. He permitted himself to close his eyes for a moment. He thought about his book, The Mermaid, and all the hours he’d spent sitting at the computer. Hundreds, thousands of hours. He thought about her, about the Mermaid.
‘Christian Thydell?’
A voice roused him from his reverie and he looked up. The man standing before him was holding his hand out and seemed to be waiting for him to respond. So he stood up and shook hands.
‘Birger Jansson, Strömstads Tidning.’ The man set a big camera bag on the floor.
‘Oh, er, welcome. Please have a seat,’ said Christian, not sure how to act. He looked around for Gaby, but caught only a glimpse of her shocking pink outfit, fluttering about near the entrance.
‘They’re really putting a lot of PR behind your book,’ said Jansson, looking around.
‘Yes, it seems so,’ said Christian. Then both of them fell silent and fidgeted a bit.
‘Shall we get started? Or should we wait for the others?’
Christian gave the reporter a blank look. How should he know? He’d never done anything like this before. But Jansson seemed to take the whole situation in his stride as he placed a tape recorder on the table and switched it on.
‘So,’ he said, fixing Christian with a penetrating gaze. ‘This is your first novel, right?’
Christian wondered whether he was supposed to do more than confirm this statement. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said, clearing his throat.
‘I liked it a lot,’ said Jansson in a gruff tone of voice that belied the compliment.
‘Thank you,’ said Christian.
‘What did you intend to say with this novel?’ Jansson checked the tape recorder to make sure it was recording properly.
‘What did I intend to say? I don’t really know. It’s a novel, a story that I’ve had in the back of my mind and that needed to come out.’
‘It’s
