‘I was only trying to say, “Sorry, sir, let me push you”,’ said Matt, turning towards them. ‘So I said: jag •• •• ••• på dig.” His messy hair and innocently twinkling eyes made him look like an angel-faced boxer in an apron. Vera’s laughing had now infected Lotten.
‘I know, I know! The poor guy looked completely terrified.’ Teary-eyed, Vera patted herself like she was looking for something in her pockets. ‘He went like this, looking for his nitroglycerin, so I had to get involved.’
Lotten’s pale skin was beetroot-red from laughing. ‘Wha… what did you do?’ she stuttered.
‘I said uh…’ Vera got her breathing under control and steadied her voice. ‘It’s okay! He just has a little trouble remembering which words to emphasize. He means skjuter • •.’ And I wheeled him to the other side of the street.’
Matt mumbled from the sink: ‘Skjuter • •, •• •• ••• på, skjuter • •.’ He looked up and shook his head glumly. ‘Swedish! How are you supposed to remember what means “I’m going to shoot you,” and what means “I’m going to push you???’”
Peter and Sandra came into the kitchen. She was carrying the latest Louis Vuitton bag in a tight grip.
‘Sounds like a party in here!’ Peter smiled inquisitively at the laughing, rosy-cheeked cooks. ‘I’m not sure if you’ve met before; this is Sandra,’ he continued. ‘Eh…’
‘Peter’s girlfriend,’ said Sandra and offered Vera her manicured hand.
‘Yeah… Hi, Sandra.’ Vera dried her hands on a kitchen towel and took her hand. ‘Yeah, we were on the same summer course.’
Sandra looked blank. A long, embarrassing silence.
‘And I recognize your voice, of course,’ continued Vera thoughtlessly. Realizing what she had said, Vera reddened and hoped that no-one would ask why.
Peter looked around enthusiastically. ‘Boy does it smell good in here! What’s for dinner?’
‘La Paella Suprema,’ said Matt, not without some pride.
‘La Paella Nueva Casa!’ smiled Lotten.
‘Is it okay if Sandra eats with us too?’ Peter looked around hopefully.
‘Yeah, there should be enough for her too,’ said Lotten. ‘Peter’s girls don’t usually eat much,’ she whispered to Vera. ‘But you know the rules,’ she said sternly to Peter.
‘No, what?’
‘No Great Escapes here!’ Lotten looked meaningfully at Peter. That was the name of Peter’s family’s company, and Vera wondered if Peter got it. She went over to where Matt was standing by the sink and pointed at the note over the Your mother doesn’t live here sign: ‘Do the dishes or DIE!’
‘I prefer not to do dishes,’ said Sandra and looked worriedly at her fake nails.
‘Okay, no problem; Toby and I can do it,’ said Peter. ‘He’s usually late too. Mmmm, it smells fantastic!’
7
Outside it was raining, but the atmosphere in the Department of Economics was celebratory. Peter refrained from sipping champagne out of his plastic glass during Professor Åke Sturesson’s long-winded speech. The greying 60-year-old with glasses and a goatee beard spoke before an audience of around 30 exuberant colleagues, who politely broke off their mingling to listen.
‘So we are going to be the core recipient of the Swedish Research Council’s new funding for Future Wealth and Welfare. Entirely in line with the Lisbon Strategy, the goal is to create a distinguished center of research…’
Peter suppressed a yawn, drew a deep breath and lost his concentration because of a small, blond woman. She was really pretty, that new graduate student, Jeanette with the upturned nose… And what great breasts! He had always been attracted to women with good posture and suitably deep décolletage; it radiated self-confidence and sent a look-at-me message that he knew he wasn’t alone in appreciating. He fired a small, playful smile her way. She smiled blushingly back at him.
He hadn’t exaggerated. If there was anyone who didn’t need to read about how to become a pick-up expert, it was Peter Stavenius. Peter was quite sure that he knew what the secret was. First, he simply liked people in general and beautiful women in particular. Second, he didn’t care that much. ‘If you don’t get one, there are a thousand others waiting,’ his grandmother used to say, and it was really true for him. Every flirt and new contact was an exciting exploration of possibilities. But there wasn’t really anything at stake; it didn’t really matter whether this girl liked him or not.
Matt, the exchange student who lived in the dorm, was impressed and claimed that Peter hypnotized most women within a radius of about 10 meters. Peter smiled, flattered at the memory of how thankful Matt had been just to borrow that book, The Game, that Kalle had given him. Matt had acted like he had been given a love bible directly from the hands of the Master.
The department secretary, Lilian Blom, was one of the countless women who appreciated young Peter, but when Sturesson’s speech was over she turned her attention to Cissi. ‘Many of the applicants had promising research strategies, but we think that…’
The end of the sentence disappeared in a buzz of excited voices. Cissi leaned toward the well-dressed 55-year-old with her hand cupped around her ear, ‘What?’
‘The rumor is that we won because of your idea, that students and people from disciplines other than economics should be invited to participate!’ Lilian strained to make herself heard.
Cissi smiled with pride. ‘Yes, I think it will be good. Welfare isn’t just about economics.’
‘Indeed!’ Lilian gave her a loaded paper plate. ‘Perhaps happiness is also a little bit about raspberry cake! Yes?’
Sturesson appeared behind Peter and eagerly put his arm over his shoulder. ‘I talked to your father about the good news. You’re a third-year student now, right?’ Peter barely had time to nod before the Professor continued, ‘Yes, I told Lennart; in the application we promised to include students in the project, and of course you are a given.’ He slapped Peter lightly on the shoulder before he let go.
It was obvious that Peter was expected to be grateful. He hesitated; in all honesty he wasn’t really sure what he was being offered. That was one problem with his masterly contact with women: it meant that he often failed to pay attention to other things. Now he risked looking like a complete idiot if he asked about something the Professor had just explained at length.
‘I’m not really sure…’ Peter searched his memory, frantically looking for an abbreviation he had heard somewhere in the speech. ‘Eh, yeah, I wonder what OMC really means?’ Peter quaked at the thought of the reaction he might get. The last thing he wanted was for Åke to call his dad and say that his son was completely uneducable. It seemed like Lennart was constantly getting information that supported that conclusion anyway.
Fortunately, Åke’s florid face showed no sign of surprise or disappointment. Peter now concentrated on what Sturesson had to say, despite the fact that Jeanette was standing at the door trying to catch his eye.
‘Yes, it refers to the open method of co-ordination. So the member states’ welfare systems will become more similar, because nobody wants to be the worst. You know, the Third Pillar!’ The man with the goatee smiled sunnily at his chosen rising star.
Peter’s smile was stiff and fake, ‘But how is it supposed to work in practice?’
Now the Professor’s face darkened, ‘That’s exactly what I just said!’
Damn! thought