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Piles of sweaters were looked through, knocked over and then re-stacked, in what looked like a completely arbitrary search. Finally three pretty sweaters, which looked to be around Mette’s size, were laid out on top of the others.
‘What do you think, Aksel?’ Flora turned to him questioningly.
‘They’re all very nice.’ Aksel wasn’t prepared to commit himself any further than that and Flora frowned at him.
‘You’re no help.’
‘Everyone should stick to what they’re good at.’ And Flora was very good at shopping. She always seemed to pick out the nicest things, buying the best she could afford and yet not over-spending. That was why she always looked immaculate.
He watched as Flora encouraged Mette to run her hand across each of the sweaters to feel their softness and warmth. She picked one, and Flora unzipped her coat so that Aileen could hold it up against her and make sure it fitted properly. The general consensus of opinion seemed to be that this was the perfect sweater, and Aksel reached into his pocket for his wallet.
He was too slow. As Aileen wrapped the sweater carefully in pretty paper, sticky-taping the ends down, Flora had whipped a note from her purse and handed it over.
‘Thank you. I’ll get your change.’ Aileen plumped the package into a paper carrier bag and gave it to Mette.
‘Don’t worry about the change, Aileen. You don’t charge enough for these already, I still have the one I bought from you three years ago. You’d make a lot more money if you didn’t make them to last.’
Aileen flushed with pleasure. The sweaters were clearly more a labour of love than a money-making exercise.
Mette whirled around, eager to show Aksel her carrier bag, and Flora caught her before she lost her balance. He examined the bag, declared it wonderful, and Aileen bade them a cheery goodbye.
Then it was on to the other stalls. Flora was endlessly patient, letting Mette sniff each one of the home-made soaps on offer and choose the one she liked the best. The avuncular man at the fudge stall offered them some samples to taste, and Aksel was allowed to make the choice of which to buy. The indoor market was a whirl of colours, tastes, textures and smells, and Aksel found himself enjoying it as much as Mette obviously was.
‘Are you hungry yet?’ Flora clearly was or she wouldn’t have asked the question. ‘There’s a pub on the other side of the green that serves family lunches whenever the market’s open.’
A family lunch. That sounded good, and not just because Aksel was hungry too. He could really get used to this feeling of belonging, with both Mette and Flora.
‘Good idea. They won’t mind us taking Kari in?’ Despite her yellow service coat, Kari wasn’t working as Mette’s assistance dog just yet.
‘No, of course not. They’re used to people coming in with dogs from the canine therapy centre, and they welcome them.’
Flora managed to find a table close to one of the roaring fires, and while she stripped off Mette’s coat, Aksel went to the bar, ordering thick vegetable soup with crusty bread, and two glasses of Christmas punch. When he returned with the tray, Mette and Flora were investigating their purchases together. This seemed to be an integral part of the shopping experience, and Mette was copying Flora, inserting her finger into the corner of each package so that they could catch a glimpse of what was inside.
‘Why don’t you open them?’ Aksel began to clear a space on the table between them, and Flora shot him a horrified look.
‘Hush! We can’t open them until we get home.’
‘Ah. All right.’ Aksel found that the thought of Flora and Mette spreading out their purchases for a second and more thorough inspection was just as enticing as this was. This complex ritual was more than just going out and shopping for something that met your needs. It was about bonding and sharing, and the excitement of finding a sweater that was the right colour and design, and fitted perfectly.
He was learning that there were many things he could share with Mette, and wondered if this would ever be one of them. At the moment, it seemed an impossible set of rules and conventions, which were as complicated as any he’d seen on his travels. It occurred to him that Mette really needed a mother, and the thought wasn’t as difficult to come to terms with as it had been. He could be a good father, without having to do everything himself.
Flora and Mette were whispering together, and he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the swell of conversation around them. Then Flora turned to him, her eyes shining.
‘We’re giving you ten out of ten. Possibly ten and a half.’
That sounded great, but he wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve it. ‘What for?’
‘For being our ideal shopping companion.’ Flora didn’t seem disposed to break the score down, but Mette had no such reservations.
‘Because you carry the bags, Papa. And you don’t rush, and you buy soup. And fudge.’
Aksel hadn’t realised that this could cause him so much pride. And pleasure. ‘Thank you. I’m...honoured.’
Mette gave him a nod, which said that he was quite right to feel that way, having been given such an accolade. Flora smiled, and suddenly his whole world became warm and full of sparkle.
‘The Christmas tableau will be open by the time we’ve finished. And then I’d like to pop over to Mary’s stall if you don’t mind. I heard she has some nice little things for Christmas gifts.’
‘That sounds great. I’d like that.’ He wasn’t quite sure what a Christmas tableau was, but he’d go with the flow. Aksel leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out towards the fire. Making sense of the proceedings didn’t much matter, he’d been voted ten out of ten as a shopping companion, and that was a great deal more than good enough.
