‘How is Rob’s stupid sister?’ The voice was deep with the slightest Swedish accent.
Hannah, who’d been gazing at towering boxes of new stock, swung around to see a tall, angular man standing in the middle of her shop, Hannah Anna Butik. His black coat was speckled white from the sleety afternoon that was Stockholm in wintry October, hood tossed back, dark blond hair messy and his eyes denim blue.
She stared. ‘Nico?’ Then he smiled and doubt fled. ‘Nico Pettersson!’ Their teen years in Cambridgeshire might be nearly two decades ago but that lopsided smile and his amusement at her and Rob referring to each other affectionately as ‘bonkers brother’ and ‘stupid sister’ hadn’t changed. Unsure whether to offer him a handshake or a hug, she settled for a beaming smile. ‘Wow, this is a nice surprise. Fancy you walking in!’
Safe from the steely chill outdoors, Nico unbuttoned his coat and pulled off his scarf. ‘You’re the only girl I’ve known called Hannah Anna. What’s the English term for those words?’
‘Palindrome.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Wacky Mum – and Dad indulging her. I was used as an example in English lessons but at least it’s cute and memorable. Hannah Anna Goodbody. Who can forget it?’
He grinned. ‘I remember your family well. They were great to me.’
‘You were Rob’s best mate,’ she said. How exotic the boy from Sweden had been, hanging out with her older brother and the Middledip village kids. Educated at an international school, Nico’s English had been good even when he’d arrived at fourteen. His dad, Lars Pettersson, had come to coach the Peterborough Pirates ice hockey team and for four years Nico had been the shining light of the Peterborough Plunderers, the junior team of which Rob was already a member. Then an athletic scholarship at Minnesota State University had called Nico to America. Hannah, who skated well enough to help out with children’s lessons, had missed seeing him fly around the rink, skates shaving the ice into glistening plumes as he checked, whirled and turned with unconscious grace. Four years his junior, she’d been old enough to wonder whether she was developing a crush on him just when he’d vanished from her life. She’d known he’d later left the US a year early and returned to Sweden to complete his degree. Then he and Rob had lost touch.
Now his gaze roved around the shelves and racks packed with colourful scarves, glossy belts and chic leather bags for the quality gift market. ‘Get you, rocking a luxury accessories shop in the Old Town. I’m impressed.’
‘Personal luxury goods go down well here so I’m doing OK,’ she answered. It was barely OK, but with Christmas trading around the corner she was optimistic. Her boyfriend Albin, a fund manager, was doing much more than OK so it was his name on the lease. It had saved messing around with guarantors, especially as she wasn’t a Swedish national, but lately she’d wondered if she should have found another way. Their relationship was so weird now. It was as if someone had switched the fun and affection off. Alarmed and confused, she kept trying to talk but Albin pleaded work hassles and put her off. Though she was thirty and he was only thirty-two he’d developed a habit of talking down to her about his job being ‘high octane’ and stressful. It made her reluctant to pursue the issue but the worry bee buzzed constantly in her bonnet.
Nico’s blue eyes smiled. ‘Strange you should end up in my homeland. Så du talar svenska nu?’
She laughed and answered his question as to whether she spoke Swedish, ‘Ja, jag klarar mig.’ Yes, I manage. ‘I came to work for IKEA originally but I’d had a shop in England and I soon went back to wanting my own name above the door.’ But though her words were light, she was absorbing an unpleasant fact.
Nico was not the golden boy she remembered.
He was so gaunt his cheekbones almost broke through his skin and stubble carpeted a fleshless jaw. His battered sweatshirt bore a stain like a map of a country and his jeans were grubby. The workman’s boots on his feet could have been dragged from a skip, his fingernails were black and his hair long grown out from any style.
What had happened to the shining teen who’d drawn everyone to his exotic light? Boys had wanted to be him and females had followed his tall, lean athlete’s body as if attached by rope.