He heard the smile in the word, though he didn’t dare look back at her again.
‘I’ll need to ask you to fill this in.’ He reached under the counter and pulled out one of the forms. He got a commission for every new loyalty account he bagged, but it wasn’t percentages on his mind right now. ‘You need to put your name and address there, and your telephone number there.’
Her eyes met his. ‘Right here? Where it says name, address and number?’
He looked down again. She was teasing him. ‘Ah, you’re cute,’ she said quietly, like it was a secret, writing her details in clear handwriting, the pink tip of her tongue peeking out through her teeth as she wrote.
She handed it back. ‘There. Can you read it okay? It’s important you can see my details clearly.’
‘Thanks, they’re clear.’ He scarcely had to look at it to commit it to memory. ‘That’s two hundred and forty-nine kroner, seventy. Do you need a box?’
Her smile grew as she handed over the money. ‘Just a little one, please.’
He found one that the gum had been packed in.
‘Thank you.’
He could feel her staring at him. ‘Do you want a token?’ he asked, handing back her change and managing to avoid eye contact.
There was a slight hesitation, then she leaned in towards him, her hands pressed flat on the conveyor belt. ‘I think I want you to call me,’ she whispered.
‘Why?’
She laughed and as his eyes flickered up to hers, just for a moment, he felt the electric shock again. ‘You know why.’
He watched her pick up her shopping and walk towards the door. ‘Thank you, please come again . . .’ he croaked, checking the form in his hands. ‘Hanna.’
Chapter Nine
‘There! How’s that?’ Bell asked, placing the floral crown lightly upon her head.
‘My queen!’ Kris crooned, clapping delightedly as she got up and gave a twirl. ‘Sensational. You should wear your hair down more often.’
She shrugged. ‘Not practical with three kids to keep an eye on. It’d be permanently dipping in paint or ketchup.’
‘Eww.’
‘Ta-da!’ Tove cried, finishing off her crown, which she had made more ‘fabulous’ by fashioning and embellishing picture wire strips that met and dipped in a central point, like a jubilee crown and intertwining them with ivy.
‘Nice!’ Kris grinned.
‘Nice? She gets called a queen and I get nice?’ She planted her hands on her narrow hips in mock indignation.
They were all sitting on the deck, post-lunch – Kris’s superlative herrings and potatoes, followed by strawberry cream cake, completely demolished. They had polished off two of the three cases of beer, and all around them the island was humming to the sounds of Midsommar celebrations. Cheers and singing could be heard from distant houses, children running down the gangplanks in national dress costumes, flags flying from poles. Midsommar wasn’t officially the Swedes’ national day, but to many, it was as important – if not more so – than Christmas itself. After the long, dark Scandinavian winters, the unsetting midsummer sun was a national celebration of light and levity, their reward for enduring the hard seasons.
‘Shall we go, then?’ Marc asked, coming through and drying his hands on a tea towel. ‘We don’t want to miss it.’
‘But I don’t think I can move,’ Kris protested, patting his hands around his six-pack.
‘You can dance it off with me,’ Marc said, kissing him with a wink.
‘Well, before we go . . .’ Tove reached behind her and grabbed the bottle of schnapps from the ice bucket. She poured it into shot glasses. ‘Happy Midsommar!’
They cheered and drank, knocking it back with vim.
Like everyone else, they left the house unlocked as they ran merrily down the gangplanks, beer bottles in hand, joining the throngs all streaming towards the same grassy patch where the maypole was erected. It was set in a large grassy parcel of land surrounded by houses, on the opposite side of town, and hundreds were gathered there. The sheer number of people was always amazing to Bell. It was a tiny island, with a year-round population of less than a hundred – where did everybody go to after this?
They stood for a moment taking in the scene, looking for friends’ faces and deciding where to stand. A fiddlers’ group was playing, smorgasbords were set out on tables around the edges, young and old were talking and laughing. The maypole – decorated with greenery and flowers – had already been hoisted into position, and everyone was preparing for the next dance. Bell scanned