The Shadow Girls Read Online Free PDF Page A

thoughts as Leander. He hastily tried to find a counter-blow.
    ‘I’ve been thinking of writing for TV myself.’
    Now it was Leander’s turn to choke on his wine. When they last met, a few days before Humlin was leaving on his trip, they had spent most of the dinner talking disdainfully about the quality of programming on TV. Humlin had not had any thoughts then of writing plays or series. When he was younger he had tried, of course. But after two rejections, one from the City Theatre and one from the Royal Dramatic Theatre, he had decided not to keep writing dramas. But television was the only thing he could think of to counter Leander’s idea of a crime novel.
    ‘And what are you writing about?’
    ‘Reality.’
    ‘How interesting. Which reality is this?’
    ‘The unbearable
tristesse
of everyday life.’
    Humlin sat up. He sensed that Leander had taken a blow.
    ‘There will also be an element of crime.’
    ‘You’re going to write a crime series for television?’
    ‘Not at all. The crime will remain in the background. I think viewers are tired of the conventional police drama. I’m envisioning something completely different.’
    ‘Such as?’
    ‘I haven’t decided yet. There are various possibilities.’
    Humlin raised his glass. A certain equilibrium had been restored.
    ‘Reality and the
tristesse
of everyday life, he said. ‘An underexamined subject in our time.’
    ‘What in the world is there to say on the matter except that it is boring?’
    ‘Quite a lot, actually.’
    ‘I can’t wait to hear it.’
    ‘It’s too early for me to tell you any of this in greater detail. If I say too much now I might lose all inspiration.’
    They ordered dessert and dove into a neutral topic as if by silent agreement. Both of them enjoyed this part of the evening – gossip.
    ‘What’s happened since I left?’
    ‘Not much.’
    ‘Something always happens.’
    ‘An editor at one of the major publishing houses hanged himself.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Carlman.’
    Jesper Humlin nodded thoughtfully. Carlman had once almost refused to publish one of his earliest books of poetry.
    ‘Anything else?’
    ‘The stock market is wavering.’
    Humlin poured them both more wine.
    ‘I hope you haven’t been silly enough to put any money in the new tech companies.’
    ‘I have always had a soft spot for the two pillars of the Swedish economy: timber and iron. But everything is tumbling.’
    ‘I know. That’s why I switched to bonds some time ago. Boring, but safe.’
    The economic competition between them was also ongoing. Both of them had checked the other’s figures in the public tax records and confirmed that the other was not expecting a significant inheritance.
    *
    After precisely three hours, when all gossip had been divulged and discussed, they split the bill and left the restaurant. They walked as far as the Munkbro bridge.
    ‘Good luck with your thriller.’
    ‘Crime novel, not thriller. It’s not the same thing.’
    Viktor Leander’s voice took on a stern note. Jesper Humlin was left with the feeling that he still had the upper hand.
    ‘It’s been a pleasure, as always. See you next month.’
    ‘Until then.’
    They hailed taxis and left in different directions. Humlin gave the driver an address in Östermalm, the upper-class part of town, then leaned back and closed his eyes. He was happy with the evening since he felt that he had succeeded in giving Leander a real jab. This infused him with energy, despite the task that awaited him.
    Three evenings a week Humlin visited his elderly mother. At eighty-seven, she was still full of vitality but was also stubborn and suspicious. He could never predict what turn their conversations would take, although he always planned out a couple of harmless topics beforehand. Whenever they had an argument he always left hoping she would die soon. But when they occasionally spent a pleasant time together he would get sentimental and wonder if he should write a book of