‘You’re sure?’ she whispered. ‘All this is three or four trips to the movies for us.’

Anton laughed. The evening had begun just as he had wanted it to. Júlía was almost shy of the smart, formal atmosphere and had undoubtedly never seen such expensive food before in her life. She wore a dress Anton hadn’t seen before, which shimmered blue-green. He wore a shirt, with a tie that his father had knotted for him and a jacket that he had taken off and hung on the back of his chair, because he was hot and didn’t want to be embarrassingly red in the face. The low-key sound of a piano tinkled in the background, there were real flowers on the table and candles flickering inside little lanterns. His father had chosen the perfect place for them.

The waiter returned and asked if they were ready to order. He was young, which Anton found a little disconcerting as it was obvious that he saw them as a pair of kids; Anton was concerned they wouldn’t get the same level of service as the other guests. He would have preferred an older man or woman with a less casual manner; someone who showed more respect.

‘Is there any pork in the paté?’ Júlía asked, pointing to an item on the five-course menu, the reindeer paté.

‘I’m not sure,’ the waiter said. ‘I’ll check with the chef. Do you have an allergy?’

‘No,’ Júlía said apologetically. ‘I just don’t want to eat pork.’

The waiter left and was soon back at their table.

‘There’s no pork in the paté, just a little lard.’

Júlía looked at Anton questioningly.

‘Lard is pork fat,’ he said.

‘There’s no taste to it,’ the waiter explained. ‘There’s just the taste of reindeer, and the lard is used because reindeer meat is so lean…’ he continued, apparently ready with a lecture on making paté, but Anton felt a surge of irritation and lifted a finger to stop him.

‘She’s a Muslim and doesn’t eat anything containing pork,’ he said. Then realised that he had maybe said that a little too bluntly, as Júlía sank down in her chair. She always felt uncomfortable under such circumstances, and of all nights, this was not the one for her to have to listen to any kind of crap.

‘We’d like to order from the five-course menu, and would appreciate it if the chef can provide something to replace the paté,’ he said. ‘Something that doesn’t contain pork.’

99

Ingimar spent a long time under the shower, the hot water softening his skin before he shaved. His bristles were so tough that it made a difference if he allowed himself the time to have a good soak first. Normally, if he was at home in the evening, he would put on comfortable trousers and a T-shirt, but today he took his best suit from the wardrobe and selected a good shirt to go with it. He decided against a tie, leaving the shirt open at the neck, and then splashed himself liberally with aftershave. It stung, but the sting was refreshing. He brushed his teeth and patted down his hair as he inspected himself in the mirror.