Page 66 of The Happiness Blueprint
“To get to that point, I’d like to know what makes you wonder about yourself.” Her expression is the same. When talking to Dr. Svensson, it’s very clear when it’s my turn to speak, the opposite from social interactions where I hesitate not knowing when to cut in and when its someone else’s turn to talk and I should just earring-dangle. Here the questions prelude my monologues and are always marked by a long pause and an attentive and focused expression.
“First there was my nephew. Then I did an online quiz, and it got me thinking. I’m different in a lot of ways, although in many I’m totally regular. I dress like everyone else and am really quite ordinary. But the way I think and feel seems to clash with other people’s views often. Other people don’t see fonts and sneakers instead of faces, they don’t care about odd and even, and they somehow know how often to smile without cues. I’ve put it down to just being, you know,strange.My mum always says men are from Mars and women from Venus but what if there is another planet where some of us are from? Where I wouldbelongif only I could find it.”
“Thank you for sharing this, Klara. An assessment is a process, but I’d be happy to start it. It involves interviews with family members, conversations with you and IQ testing. Think about what you would like to get out of an assessment. For some people, it brings answers to events in their life, for some it can help find strategies to manage their life more appropriately so that they’re on top of things and don’t burn out. Others have no problems and don’t see the benefit of going through the diagnostic process. I suggest you read some more online and think about whether it’s something you’d like to do. Once you’re sure, we will refer you to the right psychologist. Diagnosis can be a very positive thing.”
I feel like talking to her has relaxed me. Even though her font is small and her voice soft, I feel like all the words she used are easy to understand. I repeat what she has said in my head on the way home and conclude that I very much want a diagnosis. And somewhere to belong.
“You could have told me.”
I have just come clean to Dad about how much Bygg-Nilsson has struggled. My guilt was eased by the fact that the company is now fully booked until September. We have a four-month waiting time.
“I would have dismissed fancy soaps and towels as silly and unnecessary, to be fair. It’s for the best you didn’t consult me beforehand. Sometimes we need a fresh set of eyes.”
“Is that you admitting giving up control was a good thing?” I tease him. “Be ready at 3:00 p.m. Saga is shooting new pictures for the website, and they can’t happen without you.”
Dad sighs but knows modeling for the website is nonnegotiable.
“Have you booked your flight back yet?” he asks. It comes as a jolt. Despite my moaning to anyone and everyone that will listen and initial resistance, the thought of returning home fills me with dread, a sort of deflating feeling. The idea of going back, picking up the job search and generally being back in my old life in the basement apartment of 243A Munster Road seems impossible. I want to shout this out loud.Objection! The crowd has an objection, I want to say. Klara returning would be an utter mistake. But Dad is calmly spreading butter on a piece of bread, in no rush, in fact stopping to sip coffee in between, the knife resting against the plate until he is ready to continue. He does not seem to have any idea that going home now would be a very bad idea. It’s over,I think. No more of this job that I’ve come to enjoy, no more sense of being on top of the world after parallel parking, customer interaction or tile selection, no more coffee breaks with the team. No more Alex.
Good things about going home: my own bed, my own space and seeing Alice. But it also means that nothing will change. I feel shivery all of a sudden, quite aware that I must have lost my mind. Since when do I welcome change? In fact, I don’t just welcome it, I feel terrified at the prospect ofnothingchanging. Of being in transit forever to an unknown destination. I want to sayPerhaps we could hold off on those flight bookings. After all, there is no rush for me to return, is there?Then I remember that in addition to Dad’s casual suggestion of me returning home, the other day Alex used speech indicating my departure,when you’re back in London.All the study help. They want me to go. This is not my place. So I say, “I will get on that this evening. Thank you for reminding me, Dad.”
There is a Volvo parked outside the office when I leave Dad in the house and walk across the courtyard to do an afternoon of accounting (apparently Dad’s accountants mean to tell me thatsupply receiptsdoes not meanshove every receipt found in trouser pockets and cars into a large envelope and post it to them. That incurs an extra fee).
“Hello,” I say as the driver exits. I’m face-to-face with a man with a ginger beard, not much taller than me. He is wearing office attire, the stylish type that tells me he has a high-enough position to get away with it.
“Hi, there. I found you through recommendations. A neighbor used the company some time back. In July last year?” he says.
“Right. Wouldn’t have been me but my—um—another gentleman.” Trying not to sound unprofessional here, and I’ve learned that it’s better not to disclose that the owner is off ill, and his daughter is in charge. I’m assuming whatever made this guy stop by is some sort of job. And I still want jobs. Even though our viral moment has more than made up for Mateusz and Ram’s damage campaign, I want to hand back the company absolutely fully booked. If I can squeeze in one more job despite the waiting time, I’ll do it.
“Would you like to come with me to the office and we can have a chat?”
“My brother-in-law works in construction,” the man says as we walk side by side on the damp gravel to the home office. “I didn’t want to give him the job. To be honest, I thought it may be too much for him. The place holds sentimental value to both of us, if that makes sense. Wouldn’t want him tearing down walls and spending his whole day there.”
“I see. That’s very considerate.”
He continues even though he hardly got a prompt from me.
“He’s been doing much better, coming over less often. I just don’t want a situation where he is back there every day of the week because he has to be. I want us both to keep moving forward.”
I’m getting curious now, what is this place? I’m half expecting him to tell me it’s a family castle full of treasures and riches or some other significant property. When he gives me the details, I’m slightly disappointed to hear it’s a one-bedroom apartment in Malmö. I perk up when I hear that it’s in Turning Torso.They even organize tourist tours there!
“I would need to visit to prepare a quote. I could potentially do it tomorrow. We have a window. In case you wanted to move forward quickly.”
“Sounds good. I’ve got the keys on me. The place is empty at the moment, so you don’t need to notify anyone. I’ll text you the address.”
“Perfect. I will try to go in sometime in the next few days and then be in touch with a quote and action plan.”
“Thank you so much. I appreciate you squeezing me in. I didn’t catch your name?”
“Klara. Klara Nilsson. Nice to meet you.” I have started adding my surname. A month ago I didn’t, for fear that they would think it’s my company, that I own a construction company. But recently I do it for the exact same reason: I feel a sense of pride knowing they put it together and see me as the owner. The man puts his jacket on and stretches out his hand to me.
“Thank you, Klara. I’m Dan.”
ALEX
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