Shadow by Karin Alvtegen Page A

their friendship. Jesper was a teetotaller for ideological reasons, which made their interaction easier. Since Kristoffer had stopped drinking he needed to avoid certain situations. Enjoying a whole evening in a pub was like being a diabetic at a cake party. He could still get thirsty, and sometimes he really had to steel himself not to take that first drink; the one that would produce that numbing sense of relaxation, the peaceful sensation that everything became smoothed out and tolerable, the feeling he used to spend so many nights trying to recapture, even though it passed so quickly.
    Jesper was the only person he could call a friend. His lonely work sitting at the computer and his abstinence from pub life had not gained him a big circle of acquaintances since he’d broken off with the old ones.
    But even to Jesper he hadn’t revealed his secret. It was so fraught with shame that the very words refused to come out. Thirty-one years had passed, and he had not told anyone.
    The fact that at the age of four he had been found on the stairs at Skansen amusement park.
    That he had been rejected.
    He went back to the table.
    ‘How’s it going, anyway?’
    Kristoffer sat down at the table and began to sip his double espresso. Jesper didn’t say a word. Gloomy, Kristoffer thought again.
    ‘I don’t know, I suppose I should be happy. But I’m not.’
    ‘What is it?’
    Kristoffer drank some more coffee. Jesper leaned back and stretched as if he wanted to shake off something unpleasant. And then he said the words that made the room turn inside out.
    ‘They want to publish my book.’
    Kristoffer froze, his hand in mid-air, and was shocked at his own reaction. He ought to be happy, ecstatic, jump up from his chair and buy a cake. The way a good person would react. His best friend, after all his struggles, had reached the goal of his dreams. But instead of rejoicing on his behalf Kristoffer sat as if paralysed, invaded by a huge, black envy.
    ‘Well, that’s fantastic,’ he managed to say. And the blackness grew bigger.
    ‘Is it?’
    Jesper didn’t look the least bit happy. Kristoffer gratefully welcomed the confusion that began to compete for space.
    ‘Of course it is. Isn’t it? Isn’t that why you wrote the book?’
    There was a moment’s silence. Jesper wasn’t one to say something unless he had first deliberated carefully. A trait that Kristoffer admired. The world would be a better place if there were more people who chose their words carefully.
    ‘Mostly I think it feels empty somehow, almost as if I’ve been robbed.’
    ‘What do you mean, robbed? Now you can start eating something besides noodles for a change.’
    He could hear it in his own voice. That the words concealed what he actually felt.
    ‘I don’t mean the money, you know that. I mean, I don’t know how to say it, my life has sort of been robbed. Whatthe hell am I going to do now? I’ve been writing that fucking novel for so long that I don’t know what I’ll do when I can’t work on it anymore.’
    ‘Then you’ll have to write another one.’
    The idea did not seem appealing, and another silence settled in.
    ‘But what if I can’t?’
    ‘Stop it. You can at least give it a try before you give up. Besides, you’ll have to go out and promote the book, travel around and do interviews, go on TV chat shows and give readings.’
    He could feel the envy growing. The dream of success. To be in demand and finally have your worth confirmed.
    ‘But that’s just it. How the hell do you think I could manage to go on a talk show? Can you see me sitting there? Can you? Or doing interviews? What would I say? Read the book, you fucking idiot! Everything I wanted to say is in there. How do you think that would come across?’
    Kristoffer didn’t answer. He had seen Jesper get tongue-tied just trying to order coffee and realised that to some extent he was right. And yet he couldn’t help being irritated at his whining.
    ‘And anyway, I’m too