In a way he was relieved not to have news to face, but then his phone vibrated again.
Lovisa.The name flashed on the screen.
He didn’t dare open the message.
What if she really had changed her mind about being married? Or maybe the message was about something practical, a reminder to take out the trash. He exhaled and clicked.
And there it was. No room for doubt.
Four words that smashed everything within him to pieces.
I want a divorce.
3
The acclaim had come so quickly ten years ago. One day she was periodically giving tips about wine on the morning show, and the next, she had a show of her own. Bente had been unprepared for what came next.
The attention had been unexpected; she was even more surprised by the hatred that came her way as her fame grew. It started with the odd dig here and there, nasty comments on her YouTube videos, which gained an avalanche of new subscribers after she began to appear on TV. These were followed by a few unpleasant headlines in magazines and gossip columns concerning how she came across on-screen, and some poisonous remarks on the TV station’s Facebook page.I think the other wine expert is betterwas a common thread. Needless to say, any expert these people preferred was always a man. However, Bente took this all in stride; the world of wine was a male-dominated industry, and she had grown a thick skin over the years.
Once she and the celebrity baker Henrik Eklund became a couple, the tone of the comments and articles softened, as if having a boyfriend made her more or less okay. But the relationship ended, Bente was blamed for allegedly cheating on Henrik, and everything came crashing down following the “dine and dash” incident—a misunderstanding that ultimately ended Bente’s TV career.
She had visited a restaurant with some friends—influencers and TV personalities who occasionally got together. Fame had brought her thesenew acquaintances—a group of women who met up for dinner or lunch, hung out in bars. After their outings, everyone always posted fantastic pictures on social media, accompanied by breathlessly enthusiastic captions.Dinner with Bente Hammar, such an energy boost!
It had been a long evening. They ate and drank, ordered more food, more bottles of wine. High-quality wines, and the final check had added up to considerably more than the monthly food budget for a family with three children. (A sensationalist gossip site had later drawn the comparison.)
They had been celebrating the premiere of a new television show on which one of the other girls cooked and Bente offered advice about wine to accompany the dishes. After the restaurant, they moved on to a bar, then to a club where someone in the group was on the VIP list.
It wasn’t until the following morning, when they were chatting in their WhatsApp group and trying to work out who had paid for what and who owed money to someone else, that they realized they had left the restaurant without paying. It had been a chaotic departure, with a couple of the girls chatting to a news anchor, Bente visiting the bathroom, and the other girl trying to find a cab.
Bente had immediately tried to call the restaurant, but they didn’t open until the afternoon. She went to their Facebook page to try to resolve the matter straightaway, knowing from her own experience within the industry that an unpaid check that big could easily lead to the involvement of the police. Above all, she was ashamed and embarrassed. This situation was absolutely not okay, and she clicked on the page, feeling sure that the matter could be quickly resolved. Unfortunately, the restaurant had already posted about the incident.
Thanks to the four girls who did a runner without paying the check yesterday evening. Our staff worked hard serving you three courses, wine, and Champagne, and you didn’t even leave a tip for the waitress. Unfortunately the table wasn’t booked inadvance, so we don’t have your names—but if this is you, please get in touch.
Shit.With a lump in her stomach, Bente clicked on the post with the intention of commenting, but then realized that it would be better to send a DM rather than expose her name and picture. That was when she noticed the number of reactions below the post.
A thousand.Jesus.And then the comments. Hundreds. And just as many shares.
She knew that certain posts could go viral on social media, like those of cute kittens or babies laughing, but she had never heard of a “dine and dash” going viral before. As she tried to take it all in, the numbers kept on going up, with the original post getting shared over and over again.
She broke out in a sweat.
She quickly typed a message to the restaurant, saying that it was her party that had forgotten to pay. She couldn’t help going back to the comments to see what people were saying. It wasn’t long before she saw that someone had identified her.
I was sitting at the next table! They were so noisy, ordering lots of food and giving the staff a hard time. I recognized one of them, it was Bente Hammar, that woman who talks about wine on TV.
Bente thought back to their behavior. She always made a point of being pleasant to the staff, and she had taken up the battle over tips in the past. She thought the Swedes were very poor in that department, and she had said so publicly on more than one occasion. Admittedly her party had done the wrong thing in forgetting to pay, but surely they hadn’t also been rude to the waiters and waitresses? Bente had always caught their eye and thanked them properly, wanting them to know that they were seen and appreciated. She knew that her companionscould be a little casual toward the staff, but she didn’t think anyone had been impolite.
Someone named Lizette Jansson had replied to the comment that identified Bente.What a leech, when restaurant owners are already barely scraping by. She probably thought she could eat there for free! Stuck-up bitch! And she cheated on Henrik Eklund. He deserves someone better.
The first stone had been cast.
Next was someone by the name of Peter:Can’t stand her on TV, smug bitch, not surprised that she ran out without paying.
Bente watched in real time as a tsunami of hatred poured down on her. All she could do was sit there, utterly powerless.
The thread was completely out of control now, the number of comments spiraling. If this were medieval times, there wouldn’t have been much left of her stoned body. As Bente was scrolling, the comments were switched off. Presumably someone at the restaurant didn’t like their Facebook page being used as a platform for a lynch mob.
They hadn’t replied to her message, so as soon as the restaurant opened she called and explained as apologetically as she could that they had simply forgotten about the bill. The person on the other end of the line said curtly that it would be fine for her to come in and pay.
