The pot on the stove had started to boil over, but Rita paid it no mind. Mellberg could feel the pressure in his chest starting to ease. And in its place there was now room for an entirely new sensation. A feeling of deep gratitude.

The sinking feeling was still there. She wondered if she’d ever be free from that insistent longing for what she knew she’d never be able to touch again. Nathalie shifted uneasily under the covers. It was early evening, too early to be in bed, but Sam was asleep, and she’d been trying to read for a while. After half an hour, though, she’d managed to turn the page only once, and she could hardly even remember what book she was holding in her hands.

Fredrik hadn’t liked the fact that she enjoyed reading. He considered it a waste of time, and whenever he found her with her nose in a book, he would yank it out of her grasp and throw it across the room. She knew what was behind his actions. He’d never read a book in his life, and he couldn’t stand the thought that she was better educated and knew more than he did, or that she had access to other worlds. He was the smart and worldly one; her role in the relationship was to be pretty and keep her mouth shut, asking no questions and voicing no opinions. At a dinner party they’d once hosted at their home, she’d made the mistake of getting involved in the men’s discussion of American foreign policy. The views she expressed made it clear that she knew what she was talking about, and that was more than Fredrik could bear. He’d kept his temper until the guests left. Then she’d paid a high price for speaking up. At the time she’d been in the third month of her pregnancy.

There was so much that he’d stolen from her. Slowly but surely he had taken over her thoughts, her body, her self-esteem. She couldn’t allow him to take Sam too. He was her life, and without him she was nothing.

She put the book down on the bed and turned over with her face to the wall. Almost at once it felt as if someone had sat down on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder. She smiled and closed her eyes. Somebody was humming a lullaby; the voice was lovely, but faint, hardly more than a whisper. She heard a child laugh. A boy was playing on the floor at his mother’s feet and listening to the song, just as Nathalie was. She wished that she could stay here for ever. Here they were safe – she and Sam. The hand on her shoulder was soft and consoling. The voice kept on singing, and she wanted to turn over to look at the child. Instead she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

The last thing she saw in the borderland between dream and reality was the blood on her hands.

‘You mean Erling let you go of his own free will?’ Anders kissed Vivianne on the cheek as she came in the door.

‘Crisis at his office,’ said Vivianne, gratefully accepting the glass of wine that her brother handed to her. ‘Besides, he knows that we have a lot to do before the opening.’

‘Right. Should we go through all of that first?’ said Anders. He sat down at the kitchen table, which was covered with papers.

‘Sometimes it all seems so meaningless,’ said Vivianne, sitting down across from him.

‘But you know why we’re doing this.’

‘Yes, I know,’ she said, looking at the wine in her glass.

Anders suddenly noticed the ring she was wearing.

‘What’s that?’

‘Erling proposed.’ Vivianne raised her glass and took a big gulp of the wine.

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ she said. What was she supposed to say?

‘Have we received all the RSVPs?’ Sensing it was time to change the subject, Anders pulled out several lists of names that had been clipped together.

‘Yes. Last Friday was the deadline.’

‘Good. Then at least that part is under control. What about the food?’

‘We’ve already bought everything. The cook seems good, and we have enough waiters on staff.’

‘Isn’t this a little absurd?’ said Anders suddenly, setting the guest lists back on the table.

‘What do you mean?’ said Vivianne. A smile tugged at her lips. ‘What’s wrong with having a bit of fun?’

‘Yes, but there’s an awful lot of work involved.’ Anders pointed at all the papers on the table.

‘Which will result in a fabulous evening. A grand finale.’ She raised her glass in a toast to her brother and downed the rest of her wine. Suddenly the taste and smell made her feel sick. The images in her mind were so clear and distinct, despite the fact they’d come so far since then.

‘Have you given any thought to what I said?’ asked Anders, giving her a searching look.

‘About what?’ She pretended not to understand.

‘About Olof.’

‘I told you: I don’t want to talk about him.’

‘We can’t go on like this.’ His voice was pleading, and she couldn’t understand why. What was it he wanted? This was the only thing they knew. To keep going on. That was how they’d lived ever since they were free of him – free from the stench of red wine, cigarette smoke, and the strange odours of the men. She and Anders had done everything together, and she couldn’t grasp what he meant when he said they couldn’t go on.

‘Did you hear the news today?’

‘Yes.’ Anders stood up and began setting the table for their dinner. He gathered all the papers into a neat stack, which he placed on one of the kitchen stairs.

‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t think anything,’ he said, putting two plates on the table.

‘I went over to your place late that Friday after Matte came to Badis. Erling was asleep, and I needed to talk to you. But you weren’t home.’ Now she’d said it, now she’d given voice to what had been nagging at her. She looked at Anders, praying for some reaction that might relieve her mind. But he didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t move, but carried on standing there with his eyes fixed on the table.

‘I don’t really remember what I was doing. Maybe I went for a late-night walk.’

‘It was after midnight. Who goes out for a walk at that hour?’

‘You were out.’

Vivianne felt tears pricking at her eyes. Anders had never had any secrets from her. They’d never had secrets from each other. Not until now. And that made her more afraid than she’d ever been before.

Patrik buried his face in her hair. For a few long minutes they simply stood like that in the front hall.

‘I heard,’ said Erica at last.

The phones had started ringing in Fjällbacka as soon as the news had leaked out, and by now everybody knew. Gunnar Sverin had gone down to the basement and shot himself.

‘Sweetheart.’ Erica could feel Patrik’s breaths coming in a strange, choppy fashion, and when he finally pulled away from her, she saw the tears in his eyes. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

She took his hand and led him into the kitchen. The children were asleep; the only sound was the muted voices from the TV in the living room. She gently pushed him on to a chair at the kitchen table and began fixing his favourite sandwich: crispbread with butter, cheese, and caviar, which he liked to dip in hot cocoa.

‘I’m not hungry,’ mumbled Patrik.

‘You have to eat,’ she said, using her best maternal voice as she continued making the food.

‘Fucking Mellberg. He was the one who started the whole thing,’ he said at last, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve.

‘I watched the news today. Was it Mellberg who …?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s really outdone himself this time.’ Erica stirred the O’boy cocoa into a saucepan of milk. Then she added an extra teaspoon of sugar.

‘As soon as we heard the shot from the basement, we knew what had happened. Both Gösta and I. Gunnar said he was going to the toilet, but we didn’t check to make sure. We should have thought …’ The words seemed to get stuck in his throat, and again he had to wipe his eyes on his sleeve.