The Invoice (15 page)

“Does this mean that I can carry on with my life more or less as before?” I said.

Pierre looked at me unhappily. Then he slowly nodded.

“If you could just…” he said, passing me a pen. “If you could just sign this. On each page. You understand, this must remain utterly confidential.”

I looked down at the first sheet of paper.

Down at the ice-cream kiosk that evening I caught sight of the girl with the necklaces again, the one I recognized from the reception desk and whose phone call I had overheard in the lift. She was walking quickly away from the bus. She looked harassed, frowning deeply as she passed by in a hurry. She didn't buy an ice cream. Maybe she was having to save money?

It was a magical evening, the air clear after the heavy rain. The sky, trees and people were all reflected in little puddles that were gradually drying in the mild evening sunlight. It was as if everything had been given a fresh start.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. Roger. I wondered if he'd sold his boat. He only let it ring once, then he hung up. He did this a couple of times, then a text arrived.

Call me!

I realized that it was urgent. This was the second time in a week that he had gone to the expense of sending a text. I'm not sure I'd ever received a text from Roger before that. Apart from the time he was taking a course in personal development and I suddenly received a message out of the blue, saying,
I find you attractive, exciting, and I think of you as a very good friend. Fondest wishes, Roger
. Roger's brother, Eric, had booked and paid in advance to attend the course himself, but at the last minute was unable to go. Food and lodging were included, which is why Roger agreed to go in his place. The tender message turned out to be the last part of an exercise in showing your appreciation of other people. It was some sort of group message sent free of charge from one of the course computers. “I had to adapt it slightly so it would work for everyone,” he said afterward when I asked what he had meant by “attractive.”

I called him and he answered on the first ring.

“Listen,” he said, “I've gotten one of those forms now.”

“What forms?” I said.

“From W.R.D.,” he said. “Obviously I appealed against the amount. And now I've finally gotten them to agree to look at my case again. And I've gotten one of their forms to fill in any ‘gaps' or ‘blank periods,' or whatever the hell they call them. Presumably they've got things missing from their records that you have to give them information about…”

“Okay,” I said.

“You have to tell them who you saw on certain days, and so on. Then I suppose they double-check against the records of the people you mention.”

I pulled on my jacket. Not because it was cold, but because I wanted to look a bit smarter. Among the receipts and old sweets in the pocket I found a new scrap of paper. I pulled it out and saw that it contained a phone number and a name.
Maud
, it said. I looked at the number and saw that it was different from the one I had called before. A cell phone number.

“Well,” Roger said, “I thought I'd give them your name.”

I ran my thumb over the numbers on the piece of paper. She had written them very neatly. Her handwriting leaned forward slightly, and looked rather ornate and old-fashioned.

“What did you say?” I said.

“I just thought it was simpler that way. And you don't have to come up with anything. You just have to say yes if they ask you.”

I folded the piece of paper with Maud's number on it and tucked it into my inside pocket instead. A ball came rolling toward me, and a small boy ran after it. I stopped the ball with my foot and the boy picked it up without looking at me.

“Hang on,” I said. “What did you say?”

“Look, I'm not so stupid that I didn't realize they give you loads of points the more people you mention, and the more fun you say you've had. So I thought that…Well, I thought I'd give your name, for everything.”

I didn't reply at first.

“Hello?
Hello?
Are you still there?” Roger shouted into the phone.

“Look…” I said hesitantly. “I don't think…No.”

He was panting the way he usually did, and I wondered if he was on his way somewhere.

“There's nothing funny about it,” he said. “If they call and ask, you just have to say: Yes, I was with Roger. That's all.”

“No,” I said. “I don't think that's such a good idea.”

“What? Why not?” He let out a sigh. “Look, it's not like you'd have to lie. You'd just have to…confirm what I say.”

“No,” I said.

“God, you're really touchy all of a sudden. I mean, we
have
met, haven't we? And I can't list everyone else I've…Hang on, are you ashamed of me or something?”

“Of course I'm not,” I said. “I just think…How can I put it? This business of us spending time together…well, it might increase your score.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. I could hear him breathing through his nose.

“What do you mean by that?” he eventually said.

“Oh, I just think…Look, can't you try to remember what really happened instead?”

He snorted.

“Are you worried about your own score going up? Because you've spent time with me? But it's true, though, isn't it? We do know each other. Don't we? Or are you denying that?”

“No,” I said. “Of course I'm not. I just mean…”

“Ah!” Roger said, as if he'd suddenly worked out what I was thinking. “You think you're going to end up with a much higher score if they find out you've been spending a lot of time with me. That's what it is, isn't it?”

“No, that's not what I think…”

“It is! Admit it!”

“Please, Roger, just…”

“What?” he said impatiently.

“Just don't do it!” I said.

He said nothing for a while, as if he was thinking. He sighed.

“I'm going to,” he said. “I can't keep making allowances for you the whole damn time. I'm sorry.”

“But surely you could…Maybe you could say we mostly speak on the phone?” I said.

“What's wrong with you?” Roger yelled. “Christ, you could at least try to help me out once in a while.”

The ball came back again, followed by the boy, but this time it was too far away for me to be able to stop it. It came to a halt with a splash in one of the puddles.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Do as you like.”

We hung up without me finding out what had happened to his boat.

I took out the piece of paper with Maud's number. I ran my fingers over the numbers again before putting it back in the pocket I had first found it in. I tried to work out if I dare ask her round to my apartment. Was that allowed? Would she dare to take the risk? How would that affect her career? But she herself had said that only things that had happened up to now counted. And the men in the meeting had indicated that I could carry on with my life as though nothing had happened.

I wandered slowly and aimlessly through the city, looking at the people around me. Young people, middle-aged people. A little girl rode past me on a big, red woman's bicycle. Somewhere a radio was playing “Clouds” by Frank Sinatra. A flock of birds was wheeling through the air like a single entity. Did they do that, I wondered, to pretend that they're bigger than they are to predators, or so that a predator wouldn't be able to target a particular individual?

I looked at all the familiar things in my life. The buildings, streets, trees. The ice-cream kiosk and shops. The lunchtime crowds in restaurants. The posters on the walls and the newspaper flysheets. My fingers toyed with the note in my pocket. Of all the people around me, only I knew that I was probably the happiest person in the country. And at absolutely no cost. I took a deep breath of the mild summer air. It occurred to me that I could have some ice cream. Mint chocolate and raspberry, my two favorites.

J
ONAS
K
ARLSSON
writes plays and short fiction. One of Sweden's most prominent actors, Karlsson has performed on Sweden's premier stage and in several acclaimed feature films and television series. In 2005, Karlsson made his debut as a playwright, earning rave reviews from audiences
and critics alike. Spurred by the joy of writing for the stage, Karlsson began writing fiction. His debut novel,
The Room
, was an international bestseller.