The Quarry

43

‘That was just the pits,’ said Max. ‘It was absolutely terrible.’

‘Don’t think about it,’ said Vendela.

After she had settled Max in an armchair and poured him a whisky, she began to massage his neck and shoulders. She leaned forward and said quietly, ‘Max, there are those who are worse off than you.’

He took a slug of his whisky, closed his eyes and sighed. ‘Yes, but there was the same level of incompetence wherever I went... Wrong directions, hotel rooms with hairs in the bath — and then the local radio station that had forgotten they’d booked me for an interview. They’d forgotten!’ He shook his head. ‘And every time I walked on to a new stage, there was a bloody spotlight shining straight into my eyes. I couldn’t even see the audience!’

‘Were there any good—’ Vendela began, but Max interrupted her; he hadn’t finished yet.

‘And nothing but a dried-up sandwich before I was due on stage, even though my contract states that they’re supposed to provide dinner. I didn’t even get a glass of wine... Bread and water, that’s what they expected me to get through an entire lecture on!’

‘But what about the audiences?’ Vendela asked. ‘Lots of people turned up, didn’t they?’

‘About three hundred each night,’ Max said quietly. ‘I’d been hoping for five hundred... none of the venues was full.’

‘But that’s still a good number,’ said Vendela, ‘and it’ll be even better when the book comes out.’

Max emptied his glass and stood up. ‘Any post?’

‘Just a few letters,’ replied Vendela, following him into the kitchen.

She looked around for Aloysius, but the dog had hardly shown himself since his master came home. Ally could tell when Max was in a bad mood.

Max picked up the pile of post and started to flick through it. ‘So what else has been happening here?’

‘Not much,’ said Vendela. ‘I planted a bit more ivy at the front, and carried on with the lilac hedge. And I’ve planted three robinias at the back.’

‘Good, they’ll provide a good screen in time.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

Max picked up a note from the worktop. ‘What’s this?’

Vendela saw that he was holding up the note from Per Mörner.

‘Thanks a lot for the stone!... Per.’ Max read out. ‘What stone? And who’s Per?’

She stared back, not knowing what to say.

‘It’s from our neighbour,’ she said eventually. ‘You know, Per Mörner. His daughter had lost her lucky stone. I helped them to find it.’

‘Oh? So where was it, then?’

‘Outside their cottage,’ said Vendela, unable to look Max in the eye.

It was a lie, but she couldn’t tell him the truth; she couldn’t tell him she had asked the elves for help.

‘So you’ve been meeting our neighbour,’ said Max. ‘Is that why you haven’t been answering the phone?’

Vendela blinked and didn’t answer. What could she say?

‘So what did you and Per do when you met up?’

‘Nothing... not much,’ Vendela said quickly. ‘But he likes exercise, so we went out for a bit of a run. Up the coast.’

‘I see,’ Max said calmly and slowly. ‘So you’ve been exercising together.’

‘That’s right.’

She clamped her teeth together to stop herself from laughing nervously.