Anxious People(40)

ESTELLE: I was there with my husband, Knut. Well, he wasn’t there at the time. He was still parking the car. We were going to look at the apartment for our daughter.

JIM: Did you notice anything particular about the other people there before the bank robber appeared?

ESTELLE: Oh, no. Before then I only really had time to talk to those nice women from… you know… from Stockholm.

JIM: Which ones were they?

ESTELLE: Oh, you know. “From Stockholm.”

JIM: You’re winking as though I ought to know what that means.

ESTELLE: Ro and Jules. They’re having a baby together. Even though they’re both from, you know, “Stockholm.”

JIM: You mean that they’re homosexual?

ESTELLE: There’s nothing wrong with that.

JIM: I didn’t say there was, did I?

ESTELLE: That’s absolutely fine these days.

JIM: Of course it is. I haven’t suggested otherwise.

ESTELLE: I think it’s wonderful, I really do, that people are free to love whoever they like nowadays.

JIM: I’d like to make it absolutely clear that I share that view.

ESTELLE: In my day it would have been regarded as quite remarkable, you know, getting married and having a baby when you’re both, well, you know.

JIM: From Stockholm?

ESTELLE: Yes. But I’ve actually always rather liked Stockholm, you know. You have to let people live their lives however they want. I mean, that’s not to say I’ve been to Stockholm myself, I haven’t, of course not. I’m not, that’s to say I’ve never… I’m happily married. To Knut. And I’m very happy with the usual, you know.

JIM: I have no idea what we’re talking about anymore.





32


When the first police siren was heard from the street, the bank robber ran out onto the balcony and peered over the railing. That was how the first blurry mobile phone pictures of “the masked gunman” appeared on the Internet. Then even more police officers appeared.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” the bank robber repeated quietly, then ran back inside the apartment, where everyone except for Julia was still lying on the floor.

“I can’t lie down any longer because I need to go to the toilet! Or do you want me to do it all over the floor?” Julia snapped defensively even though the bank robber showed no sign of saying anything.

“Not that it would make much difference,” Zara said, lifting her face from the parquet floor in disgust.

Ro, who seemed to have a lot of experience in being yelled at despite not actually having said anything, sat up and patted the bank robber’s leg consolingly.

“Don’t take the fact that Julia’s shouting at you personally. She’s just a bit sensitive, because the baby’s having a disco in her stomach, you know?”

“Personal information, Ro!” Julia roared.

They have a definition for what counts as personal, Julia and Ro, even though Julia is the only one who knows what that definition is.

“I was actually talking to our bank robber. You only told me not to talk to the other prospective buyers,” Ro said defensively.

“But I’m not really a bank—,” the bank robber began, but was drowned out by Julia.

“Doesn’t make any difference, Ro, stop making friends! I know how this ends, they tell you their life story and then you feel bad when we have to outbid them for the apartment!”

“That happened once,” Ro called after her.

“Three times!” Julia said, reaching for the bathroom door.

Ro gestured apologetically to the bank robber: “Julia says I’m the sort of person who refuses to eat fish sticks after seeing the dolphins at the sea life center.”

The bank robber nodded understandingly. “My daughters are like that.”

Ro smiled. “You’ve got daughters? How old are they?”

The numbers seemed to catch in the bank robber’s throat: “Six and eight.”

Zara cleared her throat and asked: “Are they going to inherit the family business, then?”

Wounded, the bank robber blinked and looked down at the pistol. “I’ve never… done this before. I’m… I’m not a criminal.”

“I certainly hope not, because you really are shockingly bad at it,” Zara declared.

“Why do you have to be so critical?” Ro snapped at her.

“I’m not critical, I’m giving feedback,” Zara said, by way of offering feedback.

“I can’t imagine you’d be that good at robbing people,” Ro said.

“I don’t rob people, I rob banks,” the bank robber interjected.

“And how good are you at that, on a scale of one to ten?” Zara asked.

The bank robber looked at her sheepishly. “A two, maybe.”

“Have you even got a plan for how you’re going to get out of here?” Zara asked.

“Stop being so demanding! Criticism doesn’t help anyone improve!” Ro said critically.

Zara studied her intently. “Is this what your personality is like? Are you happy with it?”

“Says you,” Ro began, then the bank robber tried to calm things down.

“Can you just… please? I haven’t got a plan. I need to think. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.”