The reporter hadn’t yet introduced himself, but judging by the label on the microphone, he was from the local radio station. He was peering at Christian with an urgent expression on his face.

Christian felt his mind go blank. ‘The newspaper placards?’ he said.

‘Yes, you’re on GT’s placard. Haven’t you seen it?’ The reporter didn’t wait for Christian to reply but just repeated the question he’d asked initially. ‘Are you worried about the threats? Have the police provided special protection for you today?’

The reporter glanced around the shop, but then turned back to Christian, who was holding his pen above the book he’d been just about to sign.

‘I don’t know how -’ he stammered.

‘But it’s true, isn’t it? You’ve received threats while you were writing the book, and you passed out on Wednesday when another letter was delivered to you at the book launch.’

‘Er, yes, well…’ Christian could feel himself gasping for air.

‘Do you know who sent the threats? Do the police know?’ The microphone was again only about an inch from Christian’s mouth, and he had to restrain himself from shoving it away. He didn’t want to answer these questions. He had no idea how the press had found out about any of this. He thought about the letter in his jacket pocket. The letter that had come yesterday and that he’d managed to retrieve from the stack of post before Sanna discovered it.

Panic-stricken, he looked for some way to escape. He caught Gunnel’s eye, and she seemed to realize at once that something was wrong.

She came over to them and asked, ‘What’s going on here?’

‘I’m doing an interview,’ said the reporter.

‘Have you asked Christian whether he wants to be interviewed?’ She glanced at Christian, who shook his head.

‘He’s not interested.’ She fixed her eyes on the reporter, who had lowered the microphone. ‘And besides, Christian is busy. He’s signing books for our shop. So I’m going to ask you to leave him alone.’

‘Yes, but…’ the radio reporter began. Then he stopped. He pressed one of the buttons on his recording equipment. ‘We were unable to do a short interview because…’

‘Get lost,’ said Gunnel, and Christian couldn’t help grinning.

‘Thanks,’ he said after the reporter had left.

‘What was that all about? He seemed really determined.’

Christian’s feeling of relief that the reporter was gone quickly faded, and he swallowed hard before saying:

‘He claimed that my name was on the GT placard. I’ve received a few threatening letters, and apparently the press found out about it.’

‘Oh my.’ Gunnel looked first upset and then worried. ‘Would you like me to go out and buy you a copy of the newspaper so you can see what they wrote?’

‘Would you do that?’ he said, his heart pounding.

‘Sure, I’ll be right back.’ She gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder and left.

Christian sat motionless for a moment, staring into space. Then he picked up his pen and began writing his signature in the books as Gunnel had requested. After a while he realized he needed to go to the toilet. Since there were still no customers heading for his table, he didn’t think a brief absence would be noticed.

He hurried through the employees’ break room at the back of the bookshop. A few minutes later he was already on his way back to his post. He sat down at the table. Gunnel hadn’t yet returned with the newspaper, but he was steeling himself for what was to come.

Christian reached for his pen, but then looked with surprise at the books he was supposed to sign. Had he really left them lying on the table like that? They didn’t look the same as when he’d dashed off to the toilet, and he thought that maybe someone had taken the opportunity to swipe a copy while he was gone. Yet the stack didn’t look any smaller, so he decided he was just imagining things. He picked up the top copy and opened it to write a greeting to the reader.

The page was no longer blank. And the handwriting was all too familiar. She had been here.

Gunnel was coming towards him with the newspaper, and he saw a big picture of himself on the front page. He knew what the article would say. The past was about to catch up with him. She would never give up.

‘Good Lord, do you realize how much money you went through the last time you were in Göteborg?’ Erik was holding the credit-card bill in his hand, staring at the figures.

‘I think it must have been about ten thousand kronor,’ said Louise as she calmly continued to paint her nails.

‘Ten thousand! How is it possible to spend ten thousand on a single shopping trip?’ Erik waved the bill in the air and then tossed it on the kitchen table in front of him.

‘If I’d bought the purse I was thinking of getting, it would have been closer to thirty thousand,’ she said, studying with satisfaction the pink colour of her nails.

‘You’re out of your fucking mind!’ He picked up the bill again and stared at it, as if sheer force of will might be able to change the total amount due.

‘You mean we can’t afford it?’ asked his wife, looking at him with a sly smile on her lips.

‘It’s not a question of whether we can afford it or not. It has to do with the fact that I work around the clock making money, which you then squander on… idiotic purchases.’

‘Oh, right. I do nothing at all at home during the day,’ said Louise, getting to her feet as she fluttered her hands to make the nail polish dry faster. ‘I just sit here, eating sweets and watching soap operas all day long. And you’ve been raising the girls all on your own without any help from me, right? You’ve changed their nappies, fed them, bathed them, driven them wherever they needed to go, and kept the whole house neat and clean. Is that what you mean?’ She swept out of the room without giving him another glance.

This was a conversation that they’d had hundreds of times before. And no doubt they’d have it hundreds of time again, if nothing drastic happened. They were like two well-rehearsed dancers who knew all the steps and were able to carry themselves with consummate elegance.

‘This is one of the finds that I made in Göteborg. Nice, isn’t it?’ She was back, holding a leather jacket that she’d taken from a hanger in the front hall. ‘It was on sale, reduced to only four thousand.’ She held it up, then hung it back in the hall and went upstairs.

Presumably neither of them was going to win the argument this time either. They were equal adversaries, and every single row they’d had over the years had ended in a tie. Ironically enough, it might have actually been better if one of them had been weaker than the other. Then their unhappy marriage could have come to an end.

‘Next time I’m going to cut up your credit card!’ he yelled after her. The girls were at a friend’s house, so there was no reason to keep his voice down.

‘As long as you continue to spend money on your mistresses, you’re not going to do a damn thing with my card. Do you think you’re the only one who pays attention to the details on credit-card bills?’

Erik swore. He knew that he should have changed his mailing address so that the bills were sent to his office instead. He couldn’t deny that he was a generous man when it came to anyone who happened to have the joy and the honour of sleeping with him. He swore again and stuck his feet in his shoes. He realized that, in spite of everything, Louise had won this round. And she knew it.

‘I’m going out to buy the evening paper,’ he shouted, and then slammed the door after him.

Gravel flew in all directions as he roared off in his BMW, and his pulse didn’t slow until he had almost reached the village. If only he’d been smart enough to demand a prenuptial agreement. Then Louise would be nothing more than a bad memory by this time. But back then, they had been poor students, and when he brought up the subject a few years ago, she had merely laughed in his face. Now he refused to let her get away with half of everything that he’d built up, what he’d fought and slaved for. Never! He pounded his fist on the steering wheel but calmed down as he turned into the car park of the Konsum supermarket.