“Don’t sneeze, don’t sneeze,” he implores anxiously.
“I need to borrow your computer, because I think George could be at home and I can’t surf on my cell phone because the display is screwed because Granny had a Fanta-and-toaster-related incident with it. . . .”
The hood over The Monster’s head moves slowly from side to side.
“No computer.”
“Just let me borrow it so I can check the address!” Elsa whines, waving Granny’s letter in the air.
The Monster shakes his head again.
“Fine, just give me your Wi-Fi password, then, so I can connect my iPad!” she manages to say, rolling her eyes until it feels as if her pupils are out of position when she stops. “I don’t have 3G on the iPad, because Dad bought the iPad and Mum got pissed because she didn’t want me to have such expensive stuff, and she doesn’t like Apple, so it was a compromise! It’s complicated, okay? I only need to borrow your Wi-Fi, that’s all! Good God!”
“No computer,” repeats The Monster.
“No . . . computer?” Elsa repeats with extreme disbelief.
The Monster shakes his head.
“You don’t have a computer?”
The hood moves from side to side. Elsa peers at him as if he’s having her on, is clinically insane, or both.
“How can you not have a COMPUTER?”
The Monster produces a small sealed plastic bag from one of his jacket pockets, and inside it is a small bottle of alcogel. Carefully he squeezes out some of its contents and starts rubbing it into his palms and skin.
“Don’t need computer,” he growls.
Elsa takes a deep, irritated breath and takes a look around the stairs. George may still be at home so she can’t go inside, because then he’ll ask why she’s not at school. And she can’t go to Maud and Lennart, because they’re too kind to lie, so if Mum asks if they’ve seen Elsa they’ll tell her the truth. The boy with a syndrome and his mum aren’t here in the daytime. And forget Britt-Marie.
Which doesn’t exactly leave a wealth of possibilities. Elsa collects herself and tries to think about how a knight of Miamas is never afraid of a treasure hunt, even if it’s difficult. And then she goes up the stairs.
Alf opens the door after the seventh ring. His flat smells of wood shavings. He’s wearing a sorry excuse for a dressing gown, and the remaining hairs on his head look like the last tottering bits of buildings after a hurricane. He’s holding a large white cup on which it says “Juventus” and there’s a smell of coffee, strong like Granny always drank it. “After Alf has made coffee, you have to drive standing up all morning,” she used to say, and Elsa didn’t quite know what she meant, although she understood what she was saying.
“Yes?” he grunts.
“You know where this is?” says Elsa, and holds out the envelope with Granny’s handwriting on it.
“Are you waking me up to ask about a bloody address?” answers Alf in every way inhospitably before taking a big gulp of coffee.
“Were you still sleeping?”
Alf takes another mouthful and nods at his wristwatch.
“I drive the late shift. This is nighttime for me. Do I come to your flat in the middle of the night to ask you random questions?”
Elsa looks at the cup. Looks at Alf.
“If you’re asleep, why are you drinking coffee?”
Alf looks at the cup. Looks at Elsa. Looks totally puzzled. Elsa shrugs.
“Do you know where this is or not?” she asks and points at the envelope.
Alf looks a little as if he’s repeating her question to himself inside his head, in a very exaggerated and contemptuous tone. Has another sip of coffee.
“I’ve been a taxi driver for more than thirty years.”
“And?” wonders Elsa.
“And so of course I bloody know where that is. It’s by the old waterworks,” he says, then drains his cup.
“What?”
Alf looks resigned.