“Freshening up is a start,” Henrik said. “But what’s really needed is a total renovation.”
Nora inhaled sharply. “It’s perfectly fine as is. Everything is good quality.”
Henrik looked around again. “It’s hard to even tell what color the walls once were. Have they always been a dirty yellow? And the curtains—I can understand it if they haven’t been washed for a while, because they’d probably fall apart.”
Nora’s eyes narrowed. “This renovation fever you Stockholmers suffer from isn’t really my thing. Ripping out stuff that works—it’s just ignorant.”
“The colors will be brighter and better on TV,” Elnaz said quickly. “And Henrik is only talking about small updates like repainting, in the same color scheme of course ...”
“New curtains, repaint the ceiling, replace the furniture, fix the floors,” Henrik said. “Get rid of those shabby glass shelves and the wooden shelves where the coffee cups are.”
Nora scowled at him. “There’s nothing wrong with the floor in here. Why does everything have to be shiny and new? When things work perfectly well?”
“Because . . . ,” Henrik began.
“It looks better on TV.” Nora finished the sentence for him. She shook her head. “I don’t want you to touch a thing.”
Elnaz exchanged a glance with Henrik, then looked at Nora. “The viewers love the part when we redo the café. And you’ll get it all done for free.”
Nora chewed her salad, looking far from convinced.
“Then you can put up the Christmas decorations,” Elnaz continued.
“Christmas decorations? It’s only November!”
Henrik closed his eyes, wanting to take several deep breaths. Preferably into a paper bag. And bang his head against a wall, because he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Was it really possible for someone to object to every single thing?
“We have to put up Christmas decorations,” he said wearily. “It’s a Christmas special. The viewers have to believe it’s Christmas. The production team will help you—we have a good event planning company that we hire for this kind of thing. They’ll make Nymans look super festive in no time.”
“An event planning company?” Nora’s expression was skeptical. Then she shook her head again. “No—I always do the Christmas decorations myself.”
Ted looked from one to the other. “Why aren’t we filming this?” He beckoned to one of the camera operators, then turned to Henrik and Nora. “Could you please do that again?”
Nora had had enough. She got to her feet, picked up her plate, and disappeared into the bakery.
“I don’t think she wants to,” Henrik said.
12
1945
Nils cycled through the village, past the rows of wooden houses, across the red wooden bridge, then continued along the river, its fast-flowing waters sparkling in the afternoon sun. The air was chilly, but the sun was warm on his back. He had been so happy when Tuula came into the café today, and he had enjoyed talking to her and meeting her children.
He was disheartened about the people who had treated them so poorly. Of course he knew what the village gossips said about the Finns, he knew they weren’t popular, but to treat them as if they were of a lower status was an entirely different matter. Personally, he had always thought that Finland’s cause was Sweden’s cause, that it was a given for Sweden to help Finland, and therefore the Finns were welcome here. It was vital to support those who came. They were Sweden’s brothers and sisters who were suffering the trials of war, and yet the Swedes, whose homeland was cowardly enough to remain neutral throughout, had the gall to think they were superior. It was ridiculous. He was appalled that Tuula had been exposed to the hostility of his countrymen. However, he knew that people in the village listened to him, so he would speak well of them whenever he got the chance, and would do his best to make sure that Tuula and her family were treated with respect.
He could see the tiled roof of his parents’ home. He loved the yellow house with the white eaves where he had spent most of his childhood.He opened the white gate, parked his bike, and walked past the apple trees that were perfect for climbing to the front door. Nils had loved growing up here. He could hear birdsong from the tops of the trees that shaded the veranda in the lush garden.
He usually felt a sense of calm when he visited his parents, but today his stomach was churning. His father had had a successful meeting with the local council the previous week, and as a result he had invited Folke Berglund, the chair of the council, over to celebrate, along with his wife and daughter. Nils’s mother loved entertaining, and she had no doubt put their housekeeper to work to produce a magnificent dinner.
He opened the door and called out. His mother hurried into the hallway. “How lovely to see you, Nils.”
He kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“Stig and Marianne will be here soon—they managed to get a babysitter.”
A second later his father appeared, smiling proudly when he saw Nils, which always made Nils stand a little taller.
Nils and his father had always worked well together. Father had started the business with the café, then added the bakery. Nils had expanded the business by working out agreements with local retailers, enabling the family to develop their large-scale production. It had all been very successful, and it was understood that Nils would one day take over.
