“I KNOW, OVE! Okay! I KNOW! If you say it one more time I swear to God I’ll set fire to your bloody sign!”
she shouted at him. Which Ove felt was a little overly dramatic, to say the least.
The snow creaks under his shoes. The windows are lit up. The cat sits outside the door, waiting.
There are drawings spread across the table in the kitchen.
“The girls drew them for you,” says Parvaneh and puts his spare keys in the basket next to the telephone.
When she sees Ove’s eyes reading the letters in the bottom corner of one of the drawings, she looks slightly embarrassed.
“They... sorry, Ove, don’t worry about what they’ve written! You know how children are.”
“My father died in Iran. They’ve never had a... you know...”
Ove takes no notice of her, just takes the drawings in his hand and goes to the kitchen drawers.
“They can call me whatever they like. No need for you to stick your bloody nose in.”
And then he puts up the drawings one by one on the fridge.
The one that says “To Granddad” gets the top spot. She tries not to smile. Doesn’t succeed very convincingly.
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