Fredrik Backman - Britt-Marie Was Here

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ALSO BY FREDRIK BACKMAN

A Man Called Ove

My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You Shes Sorry

An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2014 by Fredrik Backman

Originally published in 2014 in Swedish as Britt-Marie var hr by Partners in Stories, Stockholm, Sweden

Published in the English language by arrangement with Hodder & Stoughton Ltd.

Translation copyright 2015 by Henning Koch

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Atria Books hardcover edition May 2016

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Interior design by Paul Dippolito

Jacket Art and Design by Alan Dingman

Jacket Photographs by Shutterstock

Author Photograph by Henric Lindsten

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Backman, Fredrik, 1981 author.

Title: Britt-Marie was here : a novel / Fredrik Backman.

Other titles: Britt-Marie var hr. English

Description: New York: Atria Books, 2016.

Identifiers: LCCN 2015047026 (print) | LCCN 2016004098 (ebook)

Classification: LCC PT9877.12.A32 B7613 2016 (print) | LCC PT9877.12.A32

(ebook) | DDC 839.73/8dc23

LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015047026

ISBN 978-1-5011-4253-6

ISBN 978-1-5011-4255-0 (ebook)

To my mother, who always made sure there was food in my stomach and books on my shelf.

Borg is an imaginary place, and any apparent resemblance to real places is coincidental.

F orks. Knives. Spoons.

In that order.

Britt-Marie is certainly not the kind of person who judges other people. Far from it.

But surely no civilized person would even think of arranging a cutlery drawer in a different way from how cutlery drawers are supposed to be arranged?

Were not animals, are we?

Its a Monday in January. Shes sitting at a desk in the unemployment office. Admittedly theres no cutlery in sight, but its on her mind because it sums up everything thats gone wrong recently. Cutlery should be arranged as it always has been, because life should go on unchanged. Normal life is presentable. In normal life you clean up the kitchen and keep your balcony tidy and take care of your children. Its hard workharder than one might think. In normal life you certainly dont find yourself sitting in the unemployment office.

The girl who works here has staggeringly short hair, Britt-Marie thinks, like a mans. Not that theres anything wrong with that, of courseits modern, no doubt. The girl points at a piece of paper and smiles, evidently in a hurry.

Just fill in your name, social security number, and address here, please.

Britt-Marie has to be registered. As if she were a criminal. As if she has come to steal a job rather than find one.

Milk and sugar? the girl asks, pouring some coffee into a plastic mug.

Britt-Marie doesnt judge anyone. Far from it. But who would behave like that? A plastic mug! Are we at war? Shed like to say just that to the girl, but because Kent is always urging Britt-Marie to be more socially aware she just smiles as diplomatically as she can and waits to be offered a coaster.

Kent is Britt-Maries husband. Hes an entrepreneur. Incredibly, incredibly successful. Has business dealings with Germany and is extremely, extremely socially aware.

The girl offers her two tiny disposable cartons of the sort of milk that doesnt have to be kept in the fridge. Then she holds out a plastic mug with plastic teaspoons protruding from it. Britt-Marie could not have looked more startled if shed been offered roadkill.

She shakes her head and brushes her hand over the table as if it was covered in invisible crumbs. There are papers everywhere, in any old order. The girl clearly doesnt have time to tidy them up, Britt-Marie realizesshes probably far too busy with her career.

Okay, says the girl pleasantly, turning back to the form, just write your address here.

Britt-Marie fixes her gaze on her lap. She misses being at home with her cutlery drawer. She misses Kent, because Kent is the one who fills in all the forms.

When the girl looks like shes about to open her mouth again, Britt-Marie interrupts her.

You forgot to give me a coaster, says Britt-Marie, smiling, with all the social awareness she can muster. I dont want to make marks on your table. Could I trouble you to give me something to put my... coffee cup on?

She uses that distinctive tone, which Britt-Marie relies on whenever she has to summon all her inner goodness, to refer to it as a cup even though it is a plastic mug.

Oh, dont worry, just put it anywhere.

As if life was as simple as that. As if using a coaster or organizing the cutlery drawer in the right order didnt matter. The girlwho clearly doesnt appreciate the value of coasters, or proper cups, or even mirrors, judging by her hairstyletaps her pen against the paper, by the address box.

But surely we cant just put our cups on the table? That leaves marks on a table, surely you see that.

The girl glances at the surface of the desk, which looks as if toddlers have been trying to eat potatoes off it. With pitchforks. In the dark.

It really doesnt matter; its so old and scratched up already! she says with a smile.

Britt-Marie is screaming inside.

I dont suppose youve considered that its because you dont use coasters, she mutters, not at all in a passive-aggressive way, which is how Kents children once described her when they thought she wasnt listening. Britt-Marie is not actually passive-aggressive. Shes considerate. After she heard Kents children saying she was passive-aggressive she was extra considerate for several weeks.

The unemployment office girl looks a little strained. Okay... what did you say your name was? Britt, right?

Britt-Marie. Only my sister calls me Britt.

Okay, Britt-Marie, if you could just fill in the form. Please.