A Man Called Ove

by Fredrik Backman

Immediately it starts making a shrieking noise. Ove looks round angrily. ‘What the bloody hell are you … why are you making that noise?’ he hisses at the instrument panel and gives the steering wheel a whack. ‘Stop it, I said!’

‘And what is it now?’ he asks the door before he’s even opened it, as if it had the answer.

‘It’s probably full of disgusting diseases and rabies and all sorts of things!’ Ove looks at the cat. Looks at the Weed. Nods. ‘And so are you, most likely. But we don’t throw stones at you because of it.’

Rune and Anita’s lad grew up and cleared out of home as soon as he got the chance. And Rune went and bought a sporty BMW, one of those cars that only has space for two people and a handbag. Because now it was only him and Anita, as he told Sonja when they met in the parking area. ‘And one can’t drive a Volvo all of one’s life,’ he said with an attempt at a half-hearted smile. She could hear that he was trying to swallow his tears.