Five First Dates: Wallander

Against his better judgement, Wallander tries another blind date. After all, what else could go wrong?

Disclaimer: I do not own Wallander, or any of his colleagues or family, I've just borrowed them from Henning Mankell.

Four

In which Wallander has a lucky escape… again.

Why did he keep doing this? Wallander pondered the question as he sat tensely at a table in Istvan's Pizzeria, his favourite restaurant waiting for yet another complete stranger to turn up. If he thought about it, Linda's constant badgering probably had a great deal to do with it. It was almost like being married again, he thought. When Mona used to go on one of her jags she would pester him like this. Now, he loved Linda, and was glad that they now had a better relationship than before, but sometimes she reminded him a little too much of her mother. He sighed and drank another glass of water hoping that, whoever turned up, it wasn't a drug dealer, a convicted serial fraudster or his boss. He shivered slightly at that thought.

A woman entered the restaurant, caught his gaze and wandered over to his table.

"Kurt?" she asked, tentatively.

"Yes, that's me. How do you do?" He cursed himself for being so formal, but better that than overly-familiar, he thought.

"Marit Svedman." She shook his hand eagerly and sat down opposite. She was quite a pretty young woman, he thought, definitely younger than the others, especially… no, he would try not to think of that again.

"So you're a policeman? I'd better behave myself tonight!" she giggled. This time, Wallander had thought it best to come clean about his job before they met, just to give any criminals the chance to avoid him. He smiled at her and confirmed that yes, she needed to behave, or they might be in for a little trip down to the station.

"That's all right though, I'd love to see where you work!" she giggled again. Wallander hoped that the next comment out of her mouth was not going to be about handcuffs; it could get a little awkward and besides, he had never understood the appeal of handcuffs to certain people. Fortunately the subject was never raised, although he was quietly amazed at how flirty Marit was. She was very open and candid, and within five minutes of introducing herself had told him about her job, her favourite holiday destination and the kind of men she liked. Apparently Wallander fell into this category. He supposed he should be honoured, even though he felt that, based on their relative ages, he should probably be dating Marit's mother.

They ordered their meals, after much approving comment from Marit over the menu.

"I'm so glad you invited me here!" she enthused. "I love pizza!"

"Well, good. This is one of my favourite little places in Ystad. I hoped you would enjoy it."

At this point Istvan arrived with their starters. Marit dug in with great relish; Wallander had never seen anyone enjoy a salad so much. If only all the women in his life had been this easy to please, he thought. Those years married to Mona could have turned out to be so much more pleasant.

The thing that bothered him now, however, was that Marit was enjoying her food so much that she kept insisting he try it, even trying feed him a forkful of her salad. He could feel himself becoming flustered and self-conscious. What would the other customers in the restaurant think? Eventually he persuaded her to eat the salad herself, to which she shrugged and proceeded to finish her plate, with obvious enjoyment. He found her enthusiasm quite charming, really, even if she was making a spectacle of them both.

In spite of little embarrassments, it was an enjoyable, if exhausting evening. Marit was lively company, and gratified him by laughing at his jokes, even telling a few of her own in return. She asked him if he wanted to go dancing, which surprised him a little. It had been a long time since anyone had wanted to go dancing with him. He regretfully declined, as he had to be at the station early the next day. He was conducting a press conference, which would only be made worse by turning up tired and aching. Marit looked disappointed, but took it in her stride.

"Maybe next time, then?" she suggested.

Wallander was about to agree that this would be a very agreeable plan for their next evening together, when a tall, hefty-looking man burst into the restaurant. He saw Marit and stormed over to her.

"I knew I'd find you here!" he shouted. "Did you think I wouldn't find out what you were up to, you stupid cow? Shared email account, remember?"

"Oh, frick…" Marit said in a small voice.

"Marit?" said Wallander, incredulously. This was going to get ugly, he thought.

"You get the hell away from my wife!" bellowed the man, with a great deal of menace in his narrowed dark eyes.

"Your wife?" replied Wallander. "She said nothing to me about being married. Nothing at all."

"No, she wouldn't," the man snarled.

"Ingvar, please!" interjected Marit. "The way you behave is it any wonder I have to get out for the evening sometimes?"

At this moment, Istvan hurried over to their table.

"Please!" he implored. "You're upsetting my other customers. Please do not fight in my restaurant!"

"Fight? I haven't started yet!" Ingvar growled, tensing his fists.

Wallander had no idea where his sudden sense of calmness came from, but in his position there was only one thing to be done.

"Istvan, please call the police. You know the number for the station." The Hungarian obediently trotted to the phone and made a call, still shooting nervous glances back over at them. Ingvar glared at Wallander. Wallander stared back. Situations like this made him nervous, but better to call for help than try to handle this angry man himself and end up with a broken jaw for his pains.

"I think I'm entitled to confront my wife when I find her carrying on with another man," said Ingvar in an unpleasant voice.

"You're not entitled to make threats," Wallander countered. "And especially not to police officers."

"Police officer? Right, that's it!" Ingvar snapped. "I hate the lot of you, crooked pigs!" He loomed intimidatingly over Wallander. "It was your lot that sent my brother down for something he didn't do. Let's take this outside." He grabbed Wallander's collar, but before he could do anything Svartman and Stefan rushed into the restaurant and pulled him away.

"All right, that's enough!" Stefan shouted. "I might have known it was you, Svedman. Not very bright are you? Come on, let's go."

Stefan and Svartman handcuffed Ingvar and hauled him into Stefan's car, where he sat glaring out at them. Stefan wandered back to where Wallander was leaning against the wall. He suddenly felt very weary.

"Thank you, Stefan," he said weakly. His colleague nodded.

"I keep having to get you out of these situations, don't I?"

Wallander gave him a feeble smile. Stefan knew exactly what had been happening there that night. He wouldn't say anything about it, short of some mild ribbing the next day, but the fact that he knew made Wallander uncomfortable. This really was getting embarrassing.

"Actually, you've done us a favour," Stefan said. "We've been looking for him in relation to something else. He's a complete nutter. Stupid too. Well, see you tomorrow, okay?"

Stefan got back in his car and drove away. Vaguely aware of Marit's presence beside him, Wallander turned to her.

"Look," he said. "We shouldn't see each other again. For obvious reasons, I don't think it would be a good idea."

Then he turned and walked off home. He had already decided, Linda was going to get a flea in her ear for this.