He got up and pushed the pillow farther behind the cupboard. No one knew that he was staying here. He had been sleeping on the sofa for two weeks, ever since Lovisa told him she’d met someone else. The house had felt too big and lonely, like a mockery of all his shattered dreams.
He had finally called his brother the night before. Talking to him had been a huge relief, but Didrik had asked him to keep quiet for the time being. He couldn’t face a conversation with his mother, who would simply add it to the list of Didrik’s failures, of which she no doubt kept a meticulous record.
Victor had encouraged him to try tofeelfor a while, to be present in his emotions rather than suppressing them. Doing this had helped, and Didrik had begun to summon up the strength to deal with the situation. The first step was to see if he could find a rental apartment. They’d gotten an appraisal done on the house; neither of them wanted to live there, so it was time to sell.
He sat down and took a sip of his coffee, which was going cold. The breakfast roll he had bought from the 7-Eleven lay untouched beside it.
He stood up again. He needed to focus. Every thought stung his brain like a swarm of mosquitoes, and when an idea landed, all it did was hurt. Everything hurt right now. Maybe he could drink something strong in order to dull his feelings? Like they did in the movies when something was too difficult—knock back a glass of whiskey. He had a bottle leftover from when he and a university colleague had had a research study published in a well-established and respected journal. Actually, when he thought about it, a huge tub of cookie dough ice cream was much more appealing. But would it have the same numbing effect?
He sat down again. Went through his messages, found a reminder about an unanswered email—asking about that wine and history show. It had simply disappeared in the fog of messages and work-related tasks he had been incapable of facing up to. Elnaz from the production company had tried to get ahold of him a couple of times. She was wondering about the new antiques show they had discussed in the bar, but there was also the wine show, which was still at the idea stage. Didrik didn’t know much more than that, he hadn’t bothered to read the whole message. That wasn’t like him at all—he always read and replied to emails right away. He was reliable, someone who set great store by turning up to meetings on time and dealing with tasks immediately. This meant that people liked working with him, or so he’d heard. Didrik didn’t know if that was true. And in any case, these days, he no longer knew who he was.
Wine and history ... It definitely sounded interesting, but would he be up for the kind of commitment an entirely new production and filming schedule would entail? Just the thought of it made him slump in his chair. On the other hand, maybe that was exactly what he needed?
He was incapable of making a decision, so he didn’t answer the email now either. He had no idea whether he wanted to do the show. At this point, he could only think a day or two in the future.
Should he open the whiskey? If it dulled the pain for just a second, then ... why not? He took the bottle out of its box, drew out the cork with a satisfying pop. Took a picture and sent it to Victor:
Do you think this is a good time to open this?
The answer came straight back:
Absolutely!
Didrik smiled, picked up the glass on his desk, and filled it half full. He had expected Victor to be upset when he told him about the breakup, but his brother had remained surprisingly calm. Now that he thought about it, Victor and Lovisa had never been especially close, even though they had a great deal in common, just like Didrik and Lovisa.
University had brought them together. They had met at a friend’s thesis defense dinner in Uppsala. The minute Didrik had been asked to act as historian on a Christmas show, Lovisa had opposed the idea, but Didrik had loved it from the get-go. Making history accessible, trying to reach people, was his passion. Teaching while working on his doctorate had been his most enjoyable period at the university. Understanding history meant understanding the contemporary world, and to a certain extent the future and its challenges. The TV show had focused on historical Christmas traditions, and he had gladly accepted the challenge of making history easier to understand. The viewers had loved his contribution, and more TV work came his way. After he was given a history show of his own, success was assured. He took a break from the university, and he’d spent the last four years solely working as a TV historian.
Lovisa hadn’t said much in the beginning, but once he agreed to a permanent role on a show, she made her opinions clear. Things only got worse when he became one of the stars onThe Experts. He had thoughtshe would come around to his point of view eventually; it was just his career, after all, not something that would impact their marriage.
Maybe he’d been wrong about that.
He took two big gulps of the whiskey. And another. It burned his mouth, and he let out a snort, spraying the liquid everywhere. Jesus. Knocking back whiskey was really quite unpleasant.
He was interrupted by a knock on the door.
He coughed. That stabbing pain in his head, the machine-gun salvo of thoughts, was still there; it hadn’t disappeared. In fact, it was more painful, as if the fiery whiskey had gone straight up into his skull. His nose was hurting too.
Another knock on the door.
“Just a minute!”
He shoved the glass, the bottle, and its box in the cupboard. Glanced behind him to make sure the pillow hadn’t slipped out, then opened the door.
He saw a pair of startling green eyes. He blinked and looked the woman up and down. Then up again. It was that TV sommelier, Bente Hammar, whom he’d met in the bar with Elnaz.
“Hi.” She nodded a greeting, and her wavy auburn hair fell over one shoulder. She looked kind of ... self-assured, in wide-legged pants and a white cotton shirt beneath a trench coat. Or was it the whiskey that made him think that way?
In the bar he had thought she looked vaguely familiar, but hadn’t managed to place her until Elnaz introduced her. She’d been a big name on TV a few years ago, but then everything had gone wrong. He had appreciated her contributions to TV24’s morning show, and had learned quite a bit about wine. He had impressed Lovisa with this knowledge over several dinners, and had even managed to impress his mother when they invited his parents for a meal.
“Hi?”
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Bente gave him a searching look. “Can you spare a few minutes?”
“Of course, of course. Come in.” He felt stupid, leaving her standing there, and stepped aside.
She still seemed unsure. He probably looked like a complete wreck.
She held out her hand. “Bente Hammar.”
