you doing these days?’ she asked. Then, realising that if he’d fallen on hard times he might not want to answer such a direct question, hastily interrupted herself. ‘Do you have plans? I’ll be putting out new stock this evening so I’m closing now to grab a burger first. Why don’t you join me so we can catch up?’ She bustled past to switch the sign on the door from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ – öppet to stängt. He smelled of soil and vegetation and she recoiled, not from him but from the horrible thought that he might be sleeping rough. That would be awful in this sleet. She shivered. This would be her third Swedish winter and in Albin’s apartment on the desirable thoroughfare of Nybrogatan she’d accumulated a closet full of coats, hats, scarves, walking boots, snow boots and a stack of thermal base layers.
What were Nico’s winter resources?
Feeling as if her smile was becoming forced, she strode back behind the counter. ‘I can tell you how Rob’s getting on and … stuff.’ She tailed off. If Nico was struggling to get by in Stockholm it might not be tactful to tell him how super-happily Rob was living in Cambridgeshire with gorgeous fiancée Leesa. Still, getting a meal inside him felt important and a fast-food eat-and-run between old friends would be more natural than taking him to the swanky apartment in Östermalm owned by Albin’s mother’s company as a tax efficiency.
‘I’m not exactly tidy,’ he pointed out, frowning down at denim that was ripped and not in a trendy way. He refastened his coat as if becoming freshly conscious of his appearance.
Hannah hated to think of him vanishing hungry and hollow-faced into the glacial early evening darkness. ‘Aw, c’mon.’ She dimmed the lights to closed-for-business levels then tucked her arm through his. ‘I hate eating alone. All I do is check Instagram or answer emails. It’ll be lovely to chat.’
After a moment when she thought he’d refuse, he muttered, ‘All right,’ and let her pull him out of the shop to hunch into his coat, hands jammed in pockets, while she locked up.
The sleet stung Hannah’s face, though she knew the late October chill was nothing compared to the snow and ice the coming winter would bring. She pulled up her hood as she set off along Köpmangatan before Nico could change his mind, chattering as they crossed Stortorget, the cobbled square where the Christmas market would soon set up. The tall, ornate buildings painted sage, apricot and ochre reminded her of the pictures on the old Quality Street tin her grandmother kept in her kitchen. Or maybe a row of pepperpots with their swooping, curling rooflines.
She said, ‘I’m building up business at this shop. My assistant Julia’s off this weekend but she speaks German as well as Swedish and English so we have much of the tourist market covered. She was a find.’ Albin had told her that – probably because he’d been the one to find her. Julia, pronounced Yule-ee-ah with emphasis on the Yule, was a beautiful, serene Swede, more patient than Albin when it came to correcting errors in Hannah’s Swedish.
They made their way downhill through cobbled streets between tall, narrow buildings, illuminated shop windows displaying glowing amber jewellery, burnished copper, souvenir elks or ‘tomte’, the pointy-hatted gnomes reputed to live beneath Swedish houses. Hannah talking and Nico listening, they passed gracious cafés and restaurants with blackboards offering ‘fika’ – afternoon tea – and tempting meals, all places Hannah dismissed in view of Nico’s expressed discomfort about his appearance.
A frosty breeze snapped at them as they turned onto Gamla Stan’s main street, Västerlånggatan, still busy with shoppers and tourists bundled up in coats. When they reached Burger Town’s red frontage. Hannah undid her coat as they stepped into its brightly lit interior of chattering people enjoying a fast-food fix. ‘I’m having halloumi bites with fries, coffee and a brownie. What about you?’
Nico shuffled awkwardly and glanced at the illuminated menu above the counter. ‘Just coffee.’
He looked so uneasy that Hannah’s neck prickled. ‘No food?’ She added encouragingly, ‘It’s my treat.’
He looked at her as if she were speaking Martian. ‘No food,’ he agreed. Then, tautly, ‘Thank you.’
‘Right, OK.’ She felt her cheeks heat. She was doing this all wrong. Nico obviously suspected that she was trying to do him a favour and his pride had kicked in. Damn. She wanted to help, not hurt. ‘Why don’t you grab a table while I queue?’