Soon, she was the one driving and he was sitting on the pillow up front showing her which way to go. When he pointed to the left after the centre of town and a large, dovetailed, Swedish red two-story building appeared, she understood that they were there. She made a soft brake in front of the community centre.
“That went well” Andreas chuckled while jumping off the cargo platform. “Soon you’ll be a real islander and get your own utility moped.”
“Perhaps,” Emelie said.
She was just about to ask where to find Christer when the door opened and a skinny, balding man came flying out. He looked prepared to give them a proper scolding when he saw Andreas.
“Oh, it’s just you, I thought it was some bloody kids that were here driving recklessly with their mopeds. I hate mopeds!”
Andreas introduced Emilie to Christer who had already heard about the girl from Växjö moving into Astrid’s house. And all her children. The way he said it, it sounded like she was running an orphanage and she pointed out that there were actually just three of them. He began to warm up when Andreas asked Christer if he wanted to show them around the community centre and tell them about the story of the place. Christer happily agreed and invited them in. In the grand hall, there was an old aerial photo of the island accompanied by a sign that saidLilla Carlsten.
“What, Lilla Carlsten?” Emelie asked.
“Yes, that was the name of the Island before it became Sardinön. It got its name from a prisoner who was released from Carlsten Fortress on Marstrand and who was the first to settle down here, but that’s a long story, we’ll have to save that for another day,” Christer said.
They wrapped up the tour with a glass of Christer’s homemade elderflower cordial in the lilac arbor in the back garden.
“So, Christer, as you already know, Emelie has inherited Astrid’s house. You have visited Astrid many times, so you know what it looks like over there,” Andreas said.
Christer nodded slowly, already becoming more reserved. As if he was suspecting what Andreas was getting to.
“Emelie has done an incredible job and collected all of Astrid’s decorations without damaging a single piece.”
Emelie tilted her head, held up two fingers in the air while making an apologetic face.
“Okay”, Andreas laughed, “two Santas have suffered some injuries, but everything else is safely packed away in the cellar. And today Birgitta stopped by and told her about the Christmas market that we used to have back in the day, and that’s why we came here; to talk to you about reviving it.”
Christer quickly got on his feet, knocking his glass over. The cordial spilled all over the table
“Over my dead body! I hate Christmas markets!”
He rushed into the house and Andreas looked at Emilie.
“That went well” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Right. I think it’s settled then,” she answered in an ironic tone.
Christer soon returned with a dishcloth and frenetically started wiping down the table while muttering.
“I hate Christmas markets, I HATE Christmas markets.”
Emilie leaned over and stopped his inefficient wiping by taking the cloth from him, squeezing out the excess-liquid and slowly started to wipe the table. He dropped back into the lawn chair. His arms were hanging feebly along his sides while he was staring at the spill on the table. Emelie kept wiping as she spoke to him in a soft voice.
“Christer, I have heard that you are the number one project leader on this island. You know everything there is to know about the community centre and everyone worth knowing. You have arranged Christmas markets that were popular and famous. I would love to honour Astrid’s memory with a Christmas market, and I know that I need your help in order to succeed. Will you not at least think about it?”
She squeezed the last of the cordial out of the washcloth and handed it to him. He stared at it for a long time.
“No, I don’t think that’s possible. For instance, who would do the baking now that Astrid isn’t with us anymore?”
“No, you are right, no one can bake quite like Astrid” Andreas said in a sad voice.
Emelie interrupted their nostalgic thoughts.
“My daughter is a trained baker, so that won’t be a problem.”
“But it won’t be like Astrid’s cookies”, Andreas said. “By the way…”
He quickly turned towards Emelie.
