Page 56 of The Happiness Blueprint
“The apartment in Lund? I know you were going in today, but Maja has landed herself in hospital with a broken arm. She is having surgery this afternoon and will need to stay there to be monitored. Feel free to go in and work in the meantime.”
“I’m so sorry to hear this. I hope she is staying positive.”
“She was practicing twirling and doing some sort of dance move that involved a jump that finishes off into a break-dance move. Don’t ask.”
“That’s exactly what I would have imagined. It sounds very Maja.”
Her mum smiles, I can hear it.
“We will continue the work while she is away,” I promise. “It will be a nice surprise for her to come home to, and at least it means she won’t be there the day water is switched off.”
The next day I’m back at Maja’s to inspect the work. It feels empty without her there. I’ve brought Hanna with me. I figure the company won’t hurt even if Alex is convinced she is ready to spend the day working alone on her own projects. Gunnar and Hanna have done a good job. The bathroom looks perfect, I snap some shots of the skirtings and send them to my dad for approval. The cleanup is nicely done as well, not a speck of dust left, but just as I’m about to close the door, it hits me how bare it is. This girl has paid a substantial sum to have her bathroom decorated, and like any company worth its reputation we should add some extras. You wouldn’t want a hotel room without the free soaps and the bed made, would you? Or an espresso at a nice restaurant without the small chocolate or biscuit on the side?
I call Hanna over.
“Can you pop out and get some flowers, bathroom soap and towels? The big supermarket should have some. It doesn’t have to be too fancy. If you find some bath salt or a candle, throw that in as well.”
Half an hour later we are finished and inspect our makeover. From bare to homey.
“It’s gorgeous,” Hanna says. “Makes such a difference, doesn’t it?” A soft white towel set is hung over the towel rail, soap and toiletries sit on the shelf above the sink, and lavender salt and a bath bomb decorate the white tub. We have placed toilet rolls on the holder and finished the current one off with those fancy folded ends you get in nice hotels. Hanna even found a bath towel with Maja’s favorite artist on it, to match the posters in her bedroom. Job well done.
“I think you should make this a regular thing, the Bygg-Nilsson touch,” Hanna suggests. It’s not a bad idea. My mind starts to buzz with ideas, with excitement.
“I could get special toiletries with our logo. I could find a list of suppliers or even check if Lush are able to do a discount for us and we add our own stickers.”
If I wasn’t convinced there and then, Maja’s evening call did the trick.
“What a nice surprise! It looks wonderful, and I just love the thought of new towels for a new bathroom. I never would have gotten around to buying them myself. The Billie Eilish towels are just amazing. I’m putting it all on my Instagram. I took about a hundred pictures of me in the bathroom, and Mum is helping me with the captions. Can I tag you?” I smile to myself, happy to have done something positive finally.
“Sure, why not? I will message you the company’s handle.” My colleague made an Instagram for us, but so far it has only about twenty posts and ninety followers, one of which slid into our DMs asking if he could request our female tiler from the staff group shot for a wet-room job,a very wet room, he clarified.
Maja goes on. “I’m really popular. I post my acting and dancing and about following your dream and not letting a silly extra little chromosome stop you. My followers are so excited about my new apartment. They will love my new space.” She does what sounds like jumping that I’m not sure her doctor would approve of. Then she adds, “There are 200,000 of them. Followers, I mean!”
The buzzing underneath my pillow wakes me up. I laugh when people talk about radiation and not having their phones on when they sleep. Bluetooth saves my life daily. I’m glad to see it’s Nonstop Notifications rather than a diabetic emergency.
Mum: I’m proud of you.
I assume it’s for Saga until I read the messages that follow it.
Saga: Have you checked Instagram and Facebook?
Saga: The number is going up by the minute. It’s amazing.
Saga: I’m thinking about contacting some interior magazines or the local paper, get that photogenic carpenter in the shots with you and your creations as backdrop.
Saga: Ok, on to the media now. Sent out a couple of emails, wrote an essay on you. Think it may really hit home with the family company, helping Dad and a woman in construction.
Saga: Well done, K! xxxxx
Saga is giving me praise, actual praise, not with a hidden message of some sort but no-strings-attached praise.
I log on to social media and see what she means. Bygg-Nilsson’s following has grown from three to three thousand overnight. We have four messages asking for a quote, and none of them mentionfemaleorwet.
I call Alex.
“Boss Lady,” he says. I grin like a silly person.
“I never expected this. Boss Ladies have perfect nail polish, hair and their shit together all the time.”
