mark-up I’d expected to make on that stock over Christmas. Now you’re saying you’re not going to pay that. Correct?’ The scent of lavender became sickly.
Down the line, Albin sighed. ‘I’ve taken advice, Hannah. I’m sure of my legal footing.’
Hannah could hardly hear him for her blood thundering in her ears. ‘Don’t think you have all the power. Do your parents want “The Lair” or “The Den” or whatever you “hunters” call the place you conduct your polyamorous activities associated with their name? Do the other traders in Köpmangatan know about the sleazy club you’re going to open in their midst?’
A pause. Then Albin’s voice sharpened. ‘Threats aren’t worthy of you.’
‘Then don’t go back on your offer,’ Hannah returned, pretty sure her words were a tacit admission of threat-making but red-hot fury making it impossible to care. ‘Stand by what we agreed: compensation for you taking my livelihood away.’
Abruptly, Albin’s control snapped. ‘I’ll pay a small, reasonable sum to get you out of my hair and because of what was once between us.’
‘You should pay because it’s what you agreed and what’s fair,’ Hannah hissed.
‘You’re so provincial,’ he shot back icily. ‘I’m glad you’re back in your unimportant little village. It’s where you belong.’
Hannah felt a swell of triumph that she’d made Albin climb down from his lofty perch of smooth control to indulge in wild sniping. ‘You’re right. I belong with genuine, honest people who have integrity.’ She put enough emphasis on the words ‘honest’ and ‘integrity’ to annoy him.
‘I’ve learned from this,’ Albin said slowly. ‘I won’t be led by my dick in future.’
It was an obvious attempt to diminish Hannah by suggesting lust had led him into a relationship not worthy of him, just as he’d hinted before that he found her a bit downmarket. ‘But isn’t your new venture all about that part of your anatomy?’ she drawled.
The call ended and it wasn’t Hannah who pressed the button.
Her heart hammered and her palms sweated. She’d threatened Albin and wasn’t sorry. In fact, she thought she’d discovered a hitherto unsuspected Achilles heel. In the past she’d heard his high-flying friends gleefully recounting cut-and-thrust business negotiations but had had no understanding of why they relished them. Now she knew. Putting him at a disadvantage had made her feel powerful.
Then she remembered that it hadn’t got her any actual money and the feeling of power drained away. This tawdry bickering was all that was left between them. It was a sad end to what had been an exciting affair.
She trailed downstairs and found Nan opening the door to Carola who’d brought angel-shaped shortbreads dipped in chocolate, beaming from beneath her blonde fringe as she waved away their thanks. ‘They’re to make your wrist heal quicker, Heather.’
Tears pricked Hannah’s eyes at the unsolicited kindness. It was a symbol of everything that was right about Middledip. Warmth. Kindness. Likeable people.
The spat with Albin woke Hannah from her post-relationship, post-repatriation daze. She spent Saturday, apart from helping Nan, mired in admin and bureaucracy at the little square dining table.
She began by emailing Albin with the suggestion of a compensatory twelve per cent mark-up on stock for being so abruptly tipped out of Hannah Anna Butik. It’s modest, to take account of being spared overheads, she told him.
As a business transaction it was unsatisfactory and informal but going to a solicitor would be expensive and tricky as a non-Swedish national no longer living in Sweden. She turned her attention to change of address notifications and giving notice on her Swedish phone contract.
The phone in the kitchen rang and soon afterwards Nan poked her head around the door. ‘Gabe’s going into Bettsbrough so I’m going along for the ride.’
Hannah glanced up. ‘You don’t need me? Have a lovely time.’ She helped Nan with her coat, scarf and mittens and waved her off in Gabe’s small truck.
Next task on her list: tax authorities. She informed HMRC she was back in the UK but then stalled at knowing whether she should register as employed or self-employed, as she was currently neither. She left it for another day, along with completing a self-assessment to see if she could grab back some of the tax she’d paid in Sweden this year.
The website of Skatteverket or the Swedish Tax Authority walked her through the deregistration for ‘F tax’ and ‘mervärdesskatt’, Sweden’s VAT. Bleurgh, was the politest of her thoughts on the process. One thing about the lease being in Albin’s name was that it made winding up the business