Chapter 10
The sight of the naked youngsters rolling around in the snow makes ?ke Carlsson scowl.
He is standing in the kitchen, staring at the spectacle that is playing out before his eyes. There is only about twenty yards between the two properties, yet they are behaving as if they were completely alone—running in and out, yelling and shrieking with no thought for anyone else.
And none of them have the sense to cover themselves up, like decent people do.
Badly brought up brats.
It is only five thirty, barely evening, yet judging by their behavior, their sense has diminished in direct proportion to the amount of alcohol they have consumed.
He feared the worst this morning when the big cab dropped them off, talking at the tops of their voices. He didn’t bother going out to say hello, even though he recognized the son of the family who are his next-door neighbors.
The less he has to do with the Lowengrens the better.
?ke finishes off his drink and reaches for the gin. Irritation fizzes through his veins, and he slams the bottle down so hard on the granite countertop that a shard of glass breaks off.
He didn’t move to ?re on his retirement in order to watch drunken kids.
He and Karin came here because they wanted peace and quiet; they wanted to enjoy the fresh air and the magnificent scenery.
After many years working in Linkoping for the organization that supplies materials and services to the Swedish military, he wanted to get away from the city.
When the opportunity arose thanks to government cutbacks and a generous redundancy package, he jumped at the chance.
At that time, just over fifteen years ago, few of the plots in Sadeln were occupied.
He and Karin had plenty of choice among those that were for sale.
They soon found somewhere in a quiet location with a fantastic view.
Then one plot after another was sold, and before long there were new houses everywhere.
Only the neighboring plot remained empty, presumably because it was unusually large and expensive.
?ke actually tried to buy it on more than one occasion, mainly because he wanted to avoid having a neighbor who would block the wonderful view of the mountain known as ?reskutan, but things never quite worked out.
The owner was a greedy Norwegian. He had bought on spec, and as the market improved, he raised the price every time ?ke was ready to swallow his annoyance and make an offer.
Then suddenly he had sold to some guy from Stockholm who was rolling in money, and whose architect, judging by the result, must have been blind.
?ke pours himself a generous measure of gin, then adds tonic before taking a gulp. How he has regretted not buying the plot all those years ago, even though it was overpriced at the time.
But who could have predicted the exceptional increase in the value of land in ?re? These days the price of property is approaching Stockholm levels. The pandemic made people desperate to buy a second home in the mountains.
Through the window he sees a young woman hurl herself into the snow, yelling and screaming. Her bare breasts are bouncing, admittedly it is dark outside by now, but the external lighting is bright enough for him to see her naked flesh.
There is no denying that she has a fine body, but ?ke can’t help feeling irritated. How can she behave so shamelessly?
Their eldest son, Peter, is visiting for a few days with the grandchildren, who are only three and five years old. ?ke doesn’t want them to witness this kind of drunken exhibitionism.
The girl isn’t even wearing panties!
She sends the snow whirling as she rolls around on the ground. When she has finished waving her arms about, she shrieks again, then runs back inside. The boys soon follow, and silence reigns once more.
?ke snorts as he often does when he contemplates his neighbor’s house. It is the ugliest in Sadeln—no competition. It has gotten on his nerves ever since the first sod was turned over.
Or to be more accurate, since the moment he saw the architect’s drawings that were sent over so that he could make any comments, if he wished to do so.
“There is actually a design program that sets out the guidelines for the area,” he mutters to himself. The houses are supposed to adhere to a certain style. ?ke was on the board of the joint housing association during the early years, and made a point of ensuring compliance.
But what the Lowengren family built goes against every recommendation.
The color alone sends ?ke’s blood pressure soaring. Unlike the rest of the local buildings, which are in muted colors or treated with iron vitriol to preserve the wood, this house is . . . pink.
Who the hell comes up with the idea of building a pink house in the mountains?
It also diverges from the prevalent architectural style in a way that defies belief. It bears a strong resemblance to a giant cuckoo clock, something that might possibly belong in the Swiss Alps, but absolutely not in ?re.
And the cherry on top: The house is completely out of proportion, since they have made maximum use of the surface area while ignoring the appearance of the plot as a whole.
?ke can’t understand how they got planning permission for this eyesore.
The planning officer must have suffered brain cramp when he approved the drawings—or maybe the Lowengrens have influence on the council.
With the right contacts you can push anything through—?ke has been around long enough to have seen most things.
Construction began three years ago, and that was the end of his uninterrupted view of ?reskutan.
And the end of his peace of mind.
In addition, the neighboring property is so close to the boundary that they can see straight into his kitchen and living room. And vice versa.
Now the Lowengrens’ son has brought his insufferable friends up here to party and carry on.
The next week is going to be unbearable.