balancing it in front of her as if it were a large laundry basket.
Ove looks up, slightly hazy in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, of course I am.”
“You want to come in and have some cake?” “No... no. I don’t like cake. I’ll just take a little walk with the cat.”
Parvaneh’s big brown eyes hold on to him in that piercing way, as they do more and more often these days, which always makes him very unsettled.
As if she’s filled with dark premonitions. “Okay,” she says at last, without any real conviction in her voice.
“Are we having a driving lesson tomorrow? I’ll ring your doorbell at eight,” she suggests after that.
Ove nods. The cat strolls into the hall with cake in its whiskers.
“Are you done now?” Ove snorts at it, and when the cat looks ready to confirm that it is,
Ove glances at Parvaneh, fidgets a little with his keys, and agrees in a low voice: “Right. Tomorrow morning at eight, then.”
The dense winter darkness has descended when Ove and the cat venture out into the little walkway between the houses.
The laughter and music of the birthday party well out like a big warm carpet between the walls. Sonja would have liked it, Ove thinks to himself.
She would have loved what was happening to the place with the arrival of this crazy, pregnant foreign woman and her utterly ungovernable family.
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