“And that’s what Kent wants, the bastard. He’s always wanted to move out of here.”
That is why she’s having all these nightmares, she realizes. Because if the creatures from the Land-of-Almost-Awake turn up in the house now, then maybe the house will start to become a part of the Land-of-Almost-Awake, and if they all want to sell their flats, then . . .
“Then we won’t be escaping Miamas. We’ll be leaving of our own free will,” says Elsa out loud to herself.
“What?”
“Nothing,” mumbles Elsa.
The door slamming at the bottom of the house echoes through the stairwell. Then discreet footsteps, heading up. It’s the accountant.
Britt-Marie drowns out Kent’s voice in the kitchen. She doesn’t get any response from Kent insofar as the shirt change goes, so she compensates with a lot of indignation about other things. There is a rich supply of such topics. It’s difficult for her to decide which is most upsetting, of course, but she has time to run through several matters, including her threat to call the police if Elsa’s mum doesn’t immediately move Granny’s car from Britt-Marie’s space in the garage, and also that Britt-Marie will make the police break the lock of the stroller that’s still chained up by the entrance, and that she won’t hesitate to put pressure on the landlord to put up cameras on the stairs, so they can stop the vile malpractice of people coming and going as they please and putting up notices without first informing the head of information. She’s interrupted by the very short man with the very friendly face now standing in the doorway, knocking tentatively against the doorframe.
“I’m the accountant,” he says amicably.
And when he catches sight of Elsa, he winks at her. As if they share a secret. Or at least Elsa thinks that’s what he means.
Kent steps authoritatively out of the kitchen with his hands on his hips over his overcoat and looks the accountant up and down.
“Well, well? What about these leaseholds, then?” he demands at once. “What price per square foot are you offering?”
Britt-Marie storms out of the kitchen from behind and points at the accountant accusingly.
“How did you get in?”
“The door was open,” says the accountant amicably.
Kent breaks in impatiently. “So about the leaseholds: what’s your price?”
The accountant points amicably at his briefcase and makes an amicable gesture towards the kitchen.
“Should we sit down, perhaps?”
“There’s coffee,” Lennart says expansively.
“And cookies,” Maud says with a nod.
“And eggs!” George hollers from the kitchen.
“Please excuse the mess, they’re all so preoccupied with their careers in this family,” says Britt-Marie well-meaningly. Mum does her absolute best to pretend she didn’t hear that. As they all head into the kitchen, Britt-Marie stops, turns to Elsa, and clasps her hands together.
“You do understand, dear, I would obviously never ever think you and your grandmother’s friends had anything to do with junkies. Obviously I’m not to know if the gentleman who was looking for you yesterday took drugs or not. That’s not at all what I mean to say.”
Elsa gawks at her, puzzled.
“What? What friends? Who was asking for me yesterday?”