an income it felt unfeasible. When the time came, she was glad to shove her laptop aside and put on a red sweater dress and flat black boots. The streets were freezing as she trekked from the broad residential thoroughfares of Östermalm, through chrome-and-glass shopping areas and the galaxy of Christmas lights that had just gone up until she could cross Vasabron to the colourful old buildings of Gamla Stan.
Nico awaited her at a table at the bistro Hörnan in a navy sweatshirt that made his eyes bluer. He smiled in greeting but neither of them initiated a hug. They ordered briskly and Hannah realised, with a dreary, sinking feeling that the Nico who’d turned up this evening was the same cool, remote one of Burger Town a few weeks ago. The man who’d gazed at her hungrily as they danced at her brother’s wedding had vanished. Nico had evidently learned to thoroughly edit his feelings.
The conversation was light and impersonal. Nico asked if she’d had a pleasant flight home. She didn’t ask him why he’d gone off with Amanda Louise. She felt as if her chest walls were made of stone and it took all her energy to inflate her lungs enough to make small talk, especially as a part of her wanted to climb into his lap and seek comfort.
Nico pushed his food around his plate more than he ate it and the several bites he took looked an effort.
Presently, feeling the need to take the conversation somewhere other than the superficial, she asked, ‘Did Maria go back to Loren OK?’
Nico didn’t quite meet her eyes. ‘Loren and I … are working on things.’
The words rippled through her as she absorbed them. His gentle emphasis on the final few words, the way he’d answered a different question to the one she’d asked, made it sound as if they were trying again. That was what Loren wanted, Nico had said before. Any notion she’d harboured of spilling her anxious outrage about Albin and having one week to find herself a home and way of supporting herself vanished into the bistro’s herb-scented air.
‘Fantastic,’ she said hollowly. The following silence didn’t invite further enquiry. From her bag, her phone buzzed.
‘Feel free to answer.’ With a polite smile he abandoned the remains of his fast-cooling meal and headed towards the men’s room.
Hannah read Mum on the screen and opened the message: Can we FaceTime?
With a wriggle of alarm at both the brevity and lack of kisses she replied, I’m in a restaurant. Can it wait an hour? Or should I find somewhere to call from? xx
Mo came straight back. Wait till you get home so we can talk properly. I’m in all evening. xx
Nico returned and when she told him about the texts he called instantly for the bill, which he paid without looking at her or it.
‘But I asked you to dinner for your help in setting Hannah Anna Butik on the right track,’ she protested.
He shrugged.
Angry that he was so keen to brush her off, Hannah nevertheless thanked him politely, retrieved her coat from the rack and tamped down rising disappointment as he stood back politely to allow her before him up the stairs. At street level, the cold evening air pinched her ears.
They tramped together to Vasabron, passing through the massive arch of the graceful stone parliament buildings. Crossing the bridge, they huddled into their coats as the lights of the city danced on the icy black water below. He paused. ‘I’m heading to Central Station. I hope everything’s OK with your mum.’
‘Thanks. And thanks for dinner.’ She barely broke stride as she swung right onto her favourite route to Östermalm through Kungsträdgården without slowing to watch the ice skaters on the public rink and barely noticing the green illuminated NK sign revolving above the posh department store of the same name. The wind was icy and she felt as if she could taste snow on it as she trudged through the brightly lit, busy streets.
Albin’s words echoed in her head, feeling truer by the stride. There’s nothing left for you in Stockholm.
He was home when she got there, eating salad and watching the international news on the kitchen TV. He looked irritated to see her. She felt annoyed to see him. She went to the spare room without hanging up her coat. In moments she’d connected a FaceTime call to her mum and was looking at her round face, currently uncharacteristically crumpled and fed up. ‘Is everything OK?’
Mo