well aware that Sandén’s wife was a gentle, peaceful soul who would never harm a hair on his head. ‘We’ll have to call the men’s crisis centre. They can save a place for you at a shelter.’
‘No, damn it! Call the women’s crisis centre, I’d rather stay at a women’s shelter. Cheers.’
He stopped his drumming and brought the glass up to his mouth. Sjöberg pulled off his jacket with a broad smile, hung it on a hook under the table and sat down. Sandén pushed the untouched glass towards him and Sjöberg took a generous gulp.
‘What happened really?’ he asked, more serious now.
‘Oh, it’s that damn Pontus,’ Sandén sighed. ‘Jenny’s boyfriend.’
Jenny was the older of Sandén’s two daughters. She was twenty-four and had slight learning difficulties. Right now she was not working or going to school; Sjöberg was also keeping his eyes and ears open for available jobs simple enough to suit Jenny. Quite recently she had moved in with a guy Sjöberg had never met, but who was, according to Sandén, an unpleasant character who was exploiting her. Jenny was an incredibly nice person and gullible besides. Sandén had hinted that she probably went along with almost anything this Pontus asked her to do.
‘Did he beat you up?’ said Sjöberg.
Sandén answered by pulling air into his mouth to a toneless ‘yes’.
‘What? You got beat up by some little punk?’
‘Well, he’s not that little …’
‘You have to report him,’ said Sjöberg excitedly. ‘Tell me now, what happened?’
‘I probably thrashed him first,’ said Sandén, lowering his eyes.
‘Seriously? The guy is an idiot, but you didn’t really resort to violence, did you?’
‘He assaulted Jenny. She had ugly bruises on her arms and her whole back was scraped up on some old trunk they have in the apartment.’
Sjöberg felt completely cold inside. Jenny had never had it easy with her handicap; it was too mild for others to really notice, but too serious for her to manage a normal job. During the past year she had been happily in love, something her parents had welcomed but also worried about.
‘Why, I don’t know; she wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ Sandén continued, taking a gulp from his glass. ‘But when I found out I went crazy and hit him. That little piece of shit hit back, so Sonja had to intervene. But his black eye is probably worse than mine,’ he added with a cheerless laugh.
Sjöberg shook his head. ‘That was childish, Jens. The kid can report you to the police, you know that. Is it worth it? Will anything be better for Jenny, if you’re done for assault?’
‘Listen, that’s exactly what he intended to do. Then I pointed out to him that if he did, I’d report him for assaulting Jenny. He answered that he didn’t have any problem with that. He thought life in jail would be harder for me than for him. Being a cop. How do you respond to that? He’s right.’
‘Yes, how did you respond to that?’
‘I offered him ten thousand kronor to forget the whole thing, move out of the apartment and break off contact with Jenny.’
‘Did he take the bait?’
‘He’s going to think about it.’
‘Jenny will be heartbroken,’ said Sjöberg.
‘Yes, but we’re here for her. He’s an idiot if he doesn’t take up an offer like that. Ten thousand is a lot of money.’
There was nothing to add. Sjöberg absentmindedly fingered his glass and sat with his eyes fixed on the Scottish plaid wallpaper.
After a while Sandén broke the silence. ‘Is that supposed to look “genuine British”? Who the hell ever saw plaid wallpaper in a real pub? They’re too funny, those Scotsmen …’
Sjöberg, who had just emptied the last contents of hisglass, started laughing, and beer sprayed out of his nose and mouth. Sandén started laughing so hard that people turned around, and the oppressive mood quickly lifted. Sandén never let sorrows and grief put a damper on his good time.
After another two beers they moved