No one likes feeling like an idiot.
So Elsa says nothing about how maybe Britt-Marie could try to stop being such a bloody busybody all the time, if she wants people to talk to her a bit more. She doesn’t even mention that this is not actually a leaseholders’ association. She just swallows all the pride she’s feasting on and mumbles:
“Mum and George want to invite you and Kent for Christmas dinner tomorrow. Everyone in the house is going to be there.”
Britt-Marie’s gaze wavers for just an instant. Elsa briefly recalls the look she gave earlier today, the human look, but then she seems to snap out of it.
“Well, well, I can’t respond to invitations just like that, because Kent is actually at the office right now, and certain people in this house have jobs to take care of. You can give your mother that message. Not all people have time off all Christmas. And Kent’s children are coming tomorrow and they actually don’t like running about, going to other people’s parties, they like being home with me and Kent. And we’re eating some ordinary Christmas food, like a civilized family. We are. You can give your mother that message!”
Britt-Marie storms off; Elsa stays where she is, shaking her head and mumbling, “Muppet, muppet, muppet.” She looks at the crossword above the stroller; she doesn’t know who put it there, but now she wishes she’d thought of it herself, because it’s obviously driving Britt-Marie barmy.
Elsa goes back up the stairs and knocks on the door of the woman with the black skirt.
“We’re having Christmas dinner at our house tomorrow. You’re welcome, if you like,” says Elsa, and adds: “It could actually be quite nice, because Britt-Marie and Kent aren’t coming!”
The woman freezes.
“I . . . I’m not so good at meeting people.”
“I know. But you don’t seem so good at being on your own either.”
The woman looks at her for a long time, drags her hand slowly through her hair. Elsa stares back determinedly.
“I . . . maybe I can come. A . . . short while.”
“We can buy pizza! If you don’t, you know, like Christmas food,” says Elsa hopefully.
The woman smiles. Elsa smiles back.
Alf comes out of Granny’s flat just as Elsa’s climbing the stairs. The boy with a syndrome is circling him happily, doing a little dance, and Alf has an enormous toolbox in one hand, which he tries to hide when he catches sight of Elsa.
“What are you doing?” asks Elsa.
“Nothing,” Alf says evasively.
The boy jumps into Mum and George’s flat and heads towards a large bowl of chocolate Santas. Alf tries to get past Elsa on the stairs but Elsa stands in his way.
“What’s that?” she asks, pointing at the toolbox.
“Nothing!” Alf repeats and tries to hide it behind his back.
He smells strongly of wood shavings, Elsa notices.
“Sure it’s nothing!” she says grumpily.