“I heard that Henrik Eklund was in town.” She lowered her voice. “Is it true what everyone’s saying? That you’re going to be onLet’s Get Baking?” She looked expectantly at Nora. The rumors had certainly spread fast.
“It’s true,” Nora said without further comment. Had she already broken some kind of confidentiality agreement? Was she allowed to say anything at all? Oh well—she hadn’t signed anything yet. Let them sue her.
“Wow, maybe I can be on TV too? I mean, you’ll have customers in the café when they’re filming, won’t you?”
“I expect that’ll be okay,” Nora said, though she had no idea. “I’m not sure how it works.”
Maggan beamed, as if the fact that a TV crew was coming to their little town put her on the path to a life of unending glamour.
“This is amazing! Aren’t you looking forward to it? It’s not just good for the patisserie, I think it’ll be great for the whole town. To think you were chosen out of all the applicants!” Nora knew she was right—this was an incredible opportunity.
She returned Maggan’s smile. “Absolutely. It’s unbelievable. So cool.” She almost meant it.
Nora lived in the apartment above the patisserie that had once belonged to her grandmother. She had made some minor renovations, while keeping the turn-of-the-century details. The leaded windows were now double glazed, and the depressing kitchen tiles had been replaced by gleaming white subway tiles. The thick natural stone counter had cost a fortune, but it also served as a baking table when she was trying out new recipes. The dark cabinets were back in fashion. She had sanded and polished the beautiful wooden floors, and repainted all the walls pale gray.
Some of her grandmother’s furniture, like the half-moon-shaped hall table and the teak TV unit, was still here. She had also moved a few pieces from her childhood home, including the not particularly attractive pine dining table around which the family had gathered each evening. No matter how tired she was, she still sat there for a little while every evening with a cup of tea.
When she got home, she changed into yoga pants and a sweatshirt, then arranged her cheese plate, along with a spoonful of the jelly she had made from currants in Bea’s garden, and broke off some shards of the crispbread she had baked earlier that day.
As she opened the cabinet to pull out a wineglass, it occurred to her that she’d forgotten to buy any wine. She scanned her shelves and breathed a sigh of relief when she spied a bottle at the back. Nora had intended to save it for a special occasion, but her friend Tess always said you should drink good wine on an ordinary rainy Tuesday.
And today was a rainy Tuesday. Nora reached for the bottle and poured herself a glass. She carried her meal into the living room and was about to turn on the TV to watch the party leaders’ debate when she got a text from Ahmat, Bea’s husband.
I’m working tonight so I’ll miss the debate—do you want to save it until tomorrow and come here to watch it?
She smiled and replied:Sure—it’s been a long time since I argued with anyone, and I really need an outlet for my aggression.
In addition to their love for Bea, she and Ahmat shared a keen interest in politics, and they always had lively discussions.
OK—I’ll clear away anything breakable. And I’ll use plenty of bubble wrap on the display cabinet.
Ha ha. For the thousandth time, it fell off the table.
During a leaders’ debate a couple of years ago, Nora had waved her arms during a heated argument with Ahmat, and one of Bea’s china cats had ended up on the floor. He had never let her forget it.
Admit it—you were grateful!she added.
Eternally grateful. That cat was terrible.
She took a sip of her wine and switched on the television.Oh wow,she thought as the wine hit her palate—strawberries, raspberries, black pepper, something herbal, and ... cedar wood? She sank deeper intothe cushions and scrolled through the channels looking for the baking competition. Instead she landed onLet’s Get Baking. It was probably a good idea to take a look. She ought to be prepared if she was going to be on the show. She took another big sip of wine.
It started off pretty well, with a sob story about a widower running a bakery in Österlen. He and his wife had had the business for fifteen years, but when she fell ill, the bakery had suffered.
Soon Henrik took over. A montage showed him baking on the big stone slab in the bakery. The camera did a close-up of his biceps as he kneaded the dough, then moved up over his broad shoulders and fixed on his face, which was furrowed with concentration. Henrik Eklund was hot, she had to admit that. Bearded, dark, tall, and well built.
As she had expected, he treated the widower like a child as he explained how the finances in a bakery work. Then the camera followed him as he walked around, inspecting the layout and the big ovens. He somehow got the idea that there might be a stone oven buried behind the walls of the picturesque Skåne long house. The widower dug out old drawings and photographs, after which Henrik visited the town’s archive department and found even older drawings and plans. And what do you know, there was indeed a real treasure hidden away.
The next day a team of builders arrived, knocked down a wall, and found the oven. Henrik explained to the widower that he could create something unique, selling stone-baked bread and nurturing the tradition that his bakery and the town had inherited. As if Henrik, a Stockholmer through and through, would know more about Österlen’s food culture than a local resident ...
But Henrik was popular with the viewers. The only thing that made him human was his highly publicized breakup with TV sommelier Bente Hammar. They had been something of a power couple, but then she had apparently cheated on him. This had made Henrik even more popular—out of sympathy, presumably.
Nora grabbed her phone and popped on to Tinder, mostly out of habit. She already knew everything that was on offer in Västervik, butthen a pretty cute guy popped up. Age thirty, about ten miles away. She swiped right. A match. She assumed he was studying at the college outside town. She had once met up with a student there, then wondered what the hell she was doing with her life when she woke up in his dorm room to discover him sitting on a dilapidated sofa with his friends, strumming away on a guitar and discussing utilitarianism and the nature of goodness.
In the summer it was simpler, because people were only passing through. There was a wider choice, and none of them wanted anything long term, which suited her perfectly.
The guy she had matched with hadn’t messaged her yet, and she didn’t message him either. She pressed “Play.” The episode ended with Henrik being hailed as the messiah, and the hint of optimism she had felt earlier died away. Was this what was going to happen to her? She knew her business better than anyone, and she certainly didn’t want to play dumb on TV. Was it too late to pull out? She hadn’t signed anything yet. It was perfectly possible to ditch the whole thing; recording wasn’t due to start until next week. She thought about what Elnaz had said, that she would come across well on TV. She had taken it as a compliment, but maybe it was an insult? Did she mean that Nora was the perfect target for Henrik’s cruel humor?
She lay down on the sofa and gazed out into the November darkness. The rain hammered against the windowpane. The fruity red wine had made both her body and mind feel deliciously soft. The street outside was deserted, and the patisserie sign in the window below cast a red fluorescent glow on the facade of the building opposite. That sign was a part of the fabric of the town. It appeared on many postcards, along with the pretzel that hung above the door.
