‘I went to see him, and I’m sure he’ll be fine to attend the book-signings. You don’t have to worry about that,’ said Erica, preparing to bring up the real topic she wanted to discuss. She took in as deep a breath as her highly constricted lung capacity would allow and said, ‘There’s something I wanted to talk to you about…’

‘Sure, fire away.’

‘Have you received anything at the publishing house that might concern Christian?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Er, well, I was just wondering if you’d received any letters or emails about Christian, or addressed to him. Anything that sounded threatening?’

‘Hate mail?’

Erica was starting to feel more and more like a child tattling on a classmate, but it was too late to back out now.

‘Yes. The thing is that Christian has been getting threatening letters for the past year and a half, pretty much ever since he started writing his book. And I can tell that he’s upset, even though he refuses to admit it. I thought that maybe something might have been sent to the publishing house too.’

‘I can’t believe what you’re telling me, but no, we haven’t seen anything like that. Is there a name on the letters? Does Christian know who they’re from?’ Gaby stumbled over her words, and the sound of her high heels clacking on the pavement was gone, so she must have stopped.

‘They’re all anonymous, and I don’t think Christian has any idea who sent them. But you know how he is. I’m not sure he’d tell anyone even if he did know. If it hadn’t been for Sanna, I wouldn’t have heard a word about it. Or about the fact that he collapsed at the party on Wednesday because the card attached to a bouquet of flowers delivered to him seemed to be from the same person who wrote the letters.’

‘That sounds totally insane! Does this have anything to do with his book?’

‘I asked Christian the same question. But he told me very firmly that no one would be able to able to recognize themselves in what he’s written.’

‘Well, this is certainly dreadful. You must let me know if you find out anything else, all right?’

‘Yes, I’ll try,’ said Erica. ‘And please don’t tell Christian that I said anything about all this.’

‘Of course not. It’s just between you and me. I’ll keep an eye on any correspondence we receive that’s addressed to Christian. We’ll probably be getting a few things now that the book is in the shops.’

‘Great reviews, by the way,’ said Erica, to change the subject.

‘Yes, it’s just wonderful!’ exclaimed Gaby with such enthusiasm that again Erica had to move the receiver away from her ear. ‘I’ve already heard Christian’s name mentioned in connection with the prestigious August Prize. Not to mention that we’ve printed ten thousand hardbacks that are on their way to the booksellers at this very minute.’

‘That’s incredible,’ said Erica, her heart leaping with pride. She of all people knew how hard Christian had worked on that manuscript, and she was tremendously pleased that his efforts seemed about to bear fruit.

‘It certainly is,’ chirped Gaby. ‘Dearie, I can’t talk any more right now. I’ve got to make a little phone call.’

There was something in Gaby’s last remark that made Erica uneasy. She should have stopped to consider the situation before phoning the publisher. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to get so worked up. As if to confirm her misgivings, one of the twins gave her a hard kick in the ribs.

It was such a strange sensation to be happy. Anna had gradually come to accept the feeling, and she was even starting to get used to it. But it had been a long time since she’d felt this way. If ever.

‘Give it back!’ Belinda came racing after Lisen, Dan’s youngest daughter, who hid behind Anna with a shriek. In her hand she was clutching her older sister’s hairbrush.

‘I didn’t say you could borrow it! Give it back!’

‘Anna…’ Lisen pleaded, but Anna pulled the child around to face her, keeping a light hold on her shoulder.

‘If you took Belinda’s brush without asking, you’ll have to give it back.’

‘See, I told you so!’ said Belinda.

Anna gave her a warning look.

‘As for you, Belinda – you don’t really need to go chasing your little sister through the whole house.’

Belinda shrugged. ‘It’s her own fault if she takes my things.’

‘Just wait until little brother is here,’ said Lisen. ‘He’ll break everything you own!’

‘I’m going to be moving out soon, so it’s your stuff he’s going to be wrecking!’ said Belinda, sticking out her tongue.

‘Hey, come on now. Are you eighteen or five?’ said Anna, but she couldn’t help laughing. ‘And why are the two of you so sure that it’s going to be a boy?’

‘Because Mamma says that if somebody has as big a rear end as you do, it’s bound to be a boy.’

‘Shhh,’ said Belinda, glaring at her sister, who couldn’t really understand what she’d said wrong. ‘Sorry,’ Belinda added.

‘That’s okay.’ Anna smiled, but she did feel slightly insulted. So Dan’s ex-wife thought she had a big rear end? But not even that sort of remark – and she had to admit there was some truth to it, after all – could put a damper on her good mood. She’d been to hell and back; that was no exaggeration. And her kids had too. Emma and Adrian, in spite of everything they’d been through, were now two very confident and happy children. Sometimes she could hardly believe it was true.

‘You’ll behave yourself when our guests arrive, won’t you?’ said his mother, giving him a solemn look.

He nodded. He would never dream of behaving badly and embarrassing his mother. He wanted nothing more than to please her so that she would keep on loving him.

The doorbell rang, and his mother stood up abruptly. ‘They’re here.’ He heard the anticipation in her voice, a tone that made him uneasy. Sometimes his mother changed into someone else after he heard the sound of that little bell vibrating between the walls in her bedroom. But that might not happen this time.

‘Can I take your coat?’ He heard his father’s voice downstairs in the front hall, along with the murmuring of their guests.

‘Go on ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.’ His mother motioned towards him with her hand, and he breathed in the scent of her perfume. She sat down at her dressing table to fix her hair and put the last touches on her make-up as she admired herself in the mirror. He stayed where he was, watching her with fascination. A furrow appeared between her brows as their eyes met in the mirror.

‘Didn’t I tell you to go downstairs?’ she said sharply, and he felt the darkness take hold of him for a moment.

Shamefaced, he bowed his head and headed for the murmur of voices in the front hall. He would behave himself. Mother wouldn’t have to be ashamed of him.

The cold air tore at his windpipe. He loved that feeling. Everybody thought he was crazy when he went out running in the middle of winter, but he preferred to put in his miles in the frosty weather rather than go out running in the oppressive heat of summer. And on weekends he made a point of running his route twice.

Kenneth cast an eye at his wristwatch. It held everything he needed to know to make the most of his run. It measured his pulse and counted the steps he took; it even kept track of the time from his last session.

His goal right now was to run in the Stockholm Marathon. He’d taken part twice before, and in the Copenhagen Marathon as well. He’d been running for twenty years, and if he had a choice, he’d prefer to die in the middle of a race, twenty or thirty years from now. Because the feeling he had when he ran, when his feet flew over the ground – rhythmically pounding at a steady pace that in the end seemed to merge with the beat of his heart – was like nothing else in the world. Even the fatigue, the numb sensation in his legs when the lactic acid built up, was something that he’d learned to appreciate more and more with each year that passed. He felt alive whenever he ran. That was the best way he could describe it.