Anyone who knows anything knows that. Ove positions himself in the middle of the room and sizes it up.
Then, like a surgeon gazing down on his instruments, his eyes move searchingly over his drill bits.
He selects one, slots it into the drill, and tests the trigger a little so that the drill makes a growling sound.
Shakes his head, decides that it doesn’t feel at all right, and changes the drill bit.
He repeats this four times before he’s satisfied, then walks through the living room, swinging the drill from his hand like a big revolver.
He stands in the middle of the floor staring up at the ceiling. He has to measure this before he gets started, he realizes.
So that the hole is centered. The worst thing Ove knows is when someone just drills a hole in the ceiling, hit-or-miss.
He goes to fetch a tape measure. He measures from each of the four corners—twice, to be on the safe side—and marks the center of the ceiling with a cross.
Ove steps down from the stool. Walks around to make sure the protective plastic is in position as it should be.
Unlocks the door so they won’t have to break it down when they come to get him.
It’s a good door. It’ll last many more years. He puts on his suit jacket and checks that the envelope is in his inside pocket.
Finally he turns the photo of his wife in the window, so that it looks out towards the shed.
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