Jimmy looks at him as if trying to evaluate whether it’s worth the exertion of following him.
“But she has done! She’s been writing letters and things for two years!”
Ove doesn’t stop when he hears that. But he slows down. He hears Jimmy’s heavy steps bearing down on him in the snow.
“Two years?” he asks without turning around. “More or less,” says Jimmy.
Ove looks like he’s counting the months in his head. “That’s a lie. Then Sonja would have known about it,” he says dismissively.
“I wasn’t allowed to say anything to Sonja. Anita didn’t want me to. You know...”
Jimmy goes silent. Looks down at the snow. Ove turns around. Raises his eyebrows.
“I know what?” Jimmy takes a deep breath. “She... thought you had enough troubles of your own,” he says in a low voice.
The silence that follows is so thick you could split it with an ax. Jimmy does not look up. And Ove doesn’t say anything.
He goes inside the trash room. Comes out. Goes into the bicycle shed. Comes out.
The penny seems to have dropped. Jimmy’s last words hang like a veil over his movements
and an unfathomable anger builds up inside Ove, picking up speed like a tornado inside his chest.
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