Page 7 of The Happiness Blueprint
“I’ve emailed twice now.” I pick at the crumbs of a biscuit, pressing down on them with my index finger to see how many stick to my skin when I lift it up.
“Just call, then. Do you have his number?” Dad persists.
“I’ll send him another email in the morning.” Dad shakes his head as if I’m a particularly difficult example of a human being. Which, to be fair, I may well be.
“You will need to get used to calling people. You can’t run a company by email.”
“Now, there’s a thought,” I say. “Maybe I’m onto something. My big idea, my big break. The email-only company.”
“People around here are old-school. They like a good chat,” Dad says, then changes the subject. “If I check in with you on Thursdays, is that good? I can’t give up control altogether. It should be the day I feel the best during treatment. We can sit in the office and go through schedules and any problems you have had during the week. Check that the guys’ mileage trackers add up and things like that.”
Oh, yes. All the vans had trackers installed about a year ago since it came to light that an employee had been using it to run a side food-delivery business, I remember now.
“Dad, Thursday is in just three days’ time.”
“So it’s perfect, then.” He gives me a nod as if he’s about to leave this conversation, and I realize it’s nonnegotiable.
I sigh but accept that I will have him watching over my shoulder every given opportunity.
“Sure. Quoting is probably the thing I need the most help with. I thought I could take a video of the space and we look at it together, and you tell me what the company needs to quote.” I notice that I use the third person for the company, I don’t say whatweneed. I don’t want either of us to get too used to the me being here. If Dad is nervous to hand the reins over, he isn’t showing it. He stretches out a long arm, like an elephant trunk, to take a biscuit; he must be on his fifth. It amazes me how much he can eat. When he is invited for dinner, he makes a stop at the service station to pick up a bag of crisps in case the portion sizes aren’t big enough.
“I did make one of those media accounts for the company some time ago, the log-in details will be in the Passwordsfolder.” Of course. As opposed to me who scribbles PIN codes on random receipts, Post-its or my wrist (hoping it won’t get chopped off by a knife-wielding street criminal), my Dad has a filing system worthy of an accountancy graduate.
“You meansocial media?”
“Yes. Strange name, isn’t it? Staring at a phone is the opposite ofsocial.”
I can’t agree with this one. I am feeling incredibly lonely since entering an involuntarily imposed social-media break. I mean, what would I post about? My sixty-one followers would start to wonder when the usual posts were replaced by me in gray builders’ pants, lifting a sack of even grayer joint mixture, in a gray and brown Sweden. I stop myself picking at the edges of my insulin pump’s adhesive: biting my nails is a better habit. My dad pushes a paper over the table to me.
“Here. PIN codes and passwords for pretty much everything. Company card, loyalty cards, desktop and loads more.” I look at them and pull my eyebrows together.
“It’s all Saga’s birth date.”
“Easy to remember.”
“When is my birthday?”
“June...3rd?”
“That’s Mum’s. Oh my God, Dad, how can you not know my birthday? Was my birth so trivial that my own dad hasn’t committed it to memory? I can accept that world fame never happened to me as my ten-year-old self thought it would, but to be anonymous in my own family?”
“Klara, that’s not how it is. I only remember Saga’s date off the top of my head because it’s my password. The first child gets the password perk, if that’s even a perk. Ask your friends’ families. I’d say firstborn digits dominate the world of passwords. There’s a hacker tip for you.”
I’m not convinced but let it pass.
“So let me go through this again. There is Gunnar and Ram who do the tiling. Then Mateusz, the carpenter. The plumbing and electric work you outsource, they send us the invoice, and then we add the cost onto the customer’s quote.”
“Correct. But Gunnar, Ram and Mateusz are all trained in different areas and can move around to where they are needed. Small teams have to be flexible.”Great.I am a small team of one, I think, and I am not flexible.
“How do they feel about me rocking up?” I ask. I preferrockingtoturning.Turningimplies that I will turn away, whereasrockingsounds more of a forward motion. The thought of three unknown men taking orders from me is scary. The question has been at the top of my mind for a while now, though not brave enough to roll off it, as if hovering over a cliff. Dad lifts his shoulders in a shrug.
“It’s the twenty-first century, and you’re my daughter and very capable. They will adore you.” He squeezes my hand. “And, Klara, I do know when your birthday is. It’s the twenty-sixth of June. Feel free to change the passwords. Maybe it’s time I get a new one.”
ALEX
Personal Calendar
•NEW EVENT:Jobcenter appointment
