‘After the first phone call yesterday, I switched off my mobile. I’m not planning to give them any more fuel for the fire.’

‘So what about…’ Erica hesitated. ‘Have you received any more threats? I know that you have no reason to trust me after all this, but believe me when I say that I’ve learned my lesson.’

Christian seemed to shut down. He looked out of the window, as if deciding what to say. When he did answer, his voice sounded weak and exhausted.

‘I don’t want to dwell on that. It’s been blown way out of proportion.’

There was a crash upstairs, and a child started crying, loud and shrill. Christian made no move to get up, but Erica heard Sanna dashing upstairs.

‘Do the children get along?’ Erica asked, motioning towards the room overhead.

‘Not really. My older son doesn’t like competition. I suppose that’s a good way to describe the problem.’ Christian smiled.

‘Most people have a tendency to focus a little too much on the first child right after the birth,’ replied Erica.

‘You’re probably right,’ said Christian, his smile disappearing. He had a strange look on his face, and Erica couldn’t really decipher what it might mean. Upstairs, both boys were now crying, joined by Sanna’s angry scolding.

‘You need to talk to the police,’ said Erica. ‘I’m sure you realize that I mentioned the matter to Patrik, and I don’t regret doing so. He thinks you should definitely take this whole thing seriously, and the first step is to report it to the police. You could start by just going to see him – unofficially, if you like.’ She could hear that she sounded like she was pleading with him, but the letters had really upset her, and she had the feeling that Christian felt the same way.

‘I don’t want to talk about this any more,’ he said, getting up. ‘I know you didn’t mean for things to turn out the way they did after you talked to Gaby. But you need to respect the fact that I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.’

The screams overhead had now gone up several decibels, and Christian headed for the stairs.

‘You’ll have to excuse me, but I need to go and help Sanna before the boys kill each other. You can find your way out, can’t you?’ Then he rushed off without saying goodbye, and Erica had the distinct impression that he was glad to escape.

Weren’t they ever going back home? The caravan seemed to get smaller with every day that passed, and he’d already explored every corner of the camping area. Maybe once they were home they’d start to like him again. Here it felt as if he didn’t exist at all.

Father sat around solving crossword puzzles, and Mother was ill. At least, that was the explanation he’d received when he tried to go in and see her. She spent the days inside the caravan’s cramped sleeping area. And she hadn’t gone swimming with him again. Even though he couldn’t forget the terror or the feeling of something wriggling past his feet, he would have preferred that to being constantly banished from the caravan.

‘Mother is ill. Go out and play.’

So he would take off, filling the hours of the day on his own. At first the other children at the campground tried to play with him, but he wasn’t interested. If he wasn’t allowed to be with his mother, then he didn’t want to be with anybody.

When she didn’t get better, he started to worry more and more. Sometimes he’d hear her throwing up. And she looked so pale. What if it was something serious? What if she too was going to die and leave him behind? Just like his mamma did.

The mere thought made him want to crawl into a corner and hide. Shut his eyes tight, so tight that the darkness couldn’t grab hold of him. He refused to think about that. His beautiful mother could not die. Not her too.

He’d found a special place for himself. Up on the slope, with a view of the campground and the water. If he craned his neck, he could even see the roof of their caravan. That’s where he now spent his days, in the one place where he was left in peace. Up there he could make the hours fly by.

Father wanted to go home too. He’d heard him say that. But Mother refused. ‘I’m not going to give the Old Bitch that satisfaction,’ Mother said as she lay on the bunk, looking pale and thinner than usual. She wanted the Old Bitch to know that they’d been here all summer, as usual, though they hadn’t visited her even once. No, they weren’t going home. She’d rather die than leave early.

There was no further discussion. Once Mother had decided something, that was how it had to be. Each day he went out to his special place and sat there with his arms wrapped around his knees as all sorts of thoughts and fantasies raced through his mind.

If only they could go back home, then everything would be the way it used to be. He was sure of it.

‘Don’t run off too far, Rocky!’ Göte Persson shouted, but the dog wasn’t listening, as usual. Göte just managed to catch a glimpse of the golden retriever’s tail before Rocky turned left and disappeared behind a boulder. Göte tried to pick up the pace, but his right leg made that impossible. Since his stroke, his leg had a hard time keeping up with the rest of his body, and yet he still considered himself lucky. The doctors had given him very little hope of ever being able to move much on his own again because his entire right side had been affected. But they hadn’t counted on how stubborn a man he was. Thanks to his God-given tenacity and his physiotherapist, who had pushed him as if he were training for the Olympics, he’d gained greater mobility for every week that passed. Occasionally he’d suffered setbacks, and he had to admit that several times he’d been close to giving up. But he had soldiered on, continually making progress that brought him closer to his goal.

By now he was taking daily one-hour walks with Rocky. He walked slowly, and with a noticeable limp, but he kept on going. They went out no matter what the weather, and each yard forward was a victory.

The dog had come back into view. He was on the beach now, sniffing about near the Sälvik swimming area and glancing up once in a while to make sure his master hadn’t got lost. Göte took the opportunity to pause and catch his breath. For the hundredth time he put his hand in his pocket to touch the mobile phone he’d brought along. Yes, it was still there. Just to make sure, he took it out and checked to see that it was switched on and that he hadn’t accidentally turned off the ringer. He didn’t want to miss a call, but no one had tried to phone him. Impatiently he stuffed the mobile back in his pocket.

He knew it was ridiculous to check the phone every five minutes. They’d promised to ring when they left for the hospital. His first grandchild. His daughter Ina was almost two weeks past her due date, and Göte couldn’t understand how she and her husband could stay so calm. To be honest, he’d heard a trace of annoyance in his daughter’s voice when he’d called for the tenth time that day to ask if anything was happening yet. But he seemed to be considerably more concerned than they were. He’d spent the better part of the last few nights wide awake, staring alternately at the alarm clock and his mobile phone. These kinds of things tended to happen in the middle of the night. And what if he was sleeping too soundly to hear when they called?

He yawned. The night-time vigils had started to take their toll on him. So many emotions had been stirred up inside him when Ina and Jesper announced that they were expecting a child. They’d told him a couple of days after he collapsed and was rushed by ambulance to the hospital in Uddevalla. They had actually planned on waiting to tell him, since it was so early in Ina’s pregnancy, and they’d only just found out themselves. But no one had thought that Göte would survive. They weren’t even sure that he could hear them as he lay in the hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of tubes and machines.