Page 7 of The Sleepwalker
‘I really wanted to talk to you yesterday, but you fell asleep,’ she says quietly, picking up her knife and fork.
‘I may sleep from time to time, but I’m never tired,’ he replies, taking a seat opposite her. ‘Venus, our mistress, turns nights of bitterness against me, and Amor never fails to be found wanting.’
‘Very passionate,’ she says with a sigh as she starts to eat.
‘I’d give my right leg to have written that,’ he says, knocking back her champagne.
‘You’re a brilliant writer.’
‘I can be.’
Agneta dabs her mouth with a napkin and checks her emailson her phone as Bernard gets up to serve their next course: steak tartare with capers and Dijon mustard.
‘Bernard, honestly, this is all very nice,’ she says, trying to meet his eye. ‘I love steak tartare, but I don’t want fancy food. I want you to talk to Hugo like you said you would.’
‘Yesterday was a mistake,’ he says, pouring two small glasses of Czech beer.
‘Yesterday, the day before yesterday, every day .?.?.’
‘Yes,’ he whispers.
‘What would you tell yourself if you had your advice column hat on?’ she asks.
‘“Grab a shotgun and open your mouth.”’
‘I’m serious.’
He sighs and sits down.
‘“Bernard, making Agneta a lavish breakfast won’t cut it,”’ he says.
‘And?’
‘“I don’t think she expects you to change overnight, but she needs to see you take a first step in the right direction before you start buying roses and champagne.”’
‘Because that’s your way of running away from things,’ she adds. ‘Even though Agneta does like being given flowers, et cetera, et cetera.’
‘“She needs to see that your words about love are backed up by genuine emotion, that you’re loyal and take her side when your son acts up .?.?. in order for her to feel like an equal member of the family.”’
Agneta puts in her earrings and thinks back to their dinner last night. She had taken ten milligrams of Propranolol to calm her nerves. Bernard knows that she occasionally uses beta blockers ahead of important meetings, but not that she has started resorting to them whenever Hugo eats at home.
The teenager was hunched over his plate, holding back hismessy hair with his left hand as he shovelled food into his mouth.
‘I applied for that job atKULTmagazine, by the way,’ Hugo said with his mouth full. ‘I’m going to Uppsala to see the editor tomorrow lunchtime.’
‘Bravo! This will open doors for you, I’m sure of it,’ said Bernard.
‘I dunno. It feels a bit .?.?. self-absorbed to sit there, spewing a bunch of clichés .?.?.’
‘Just be yourself,’ Agneta told him. ‘You can do this. You love reading, so show them that. That’s all they need to see.’
‘It’s not like I’ll get it anyway,’ he sighed, turning his attention to his phone.
‘You can only do your best,’ said Bernard.
‘It doesn’t even pay much, either .?.?. I dunno if I can be bothered,’ Hugo muttered.
‘I’m sure you’ll be fine as long as you don’t stay up too late tonight,’ said Agneta.
