Charlotte was surprised at how young Jeanette looked. Twenty- five, Niclas had said when she pressed him. She didn't know why she wanted to know such details. It was like a primitive need, an urge to know as much as possible. Maybe it was because she hoped somehow to understand what he was looking for that she couldn't seem to give him. And maybe that was precisely why she'd been inexorably drawn here. She had never before confronted the women from any of his affairs. She had wanted to see them but never dared. But after Sara's death everything changed. It was as though she were invulnerable. All terrors had vanished. She had already been struck by the worst possible thing that could happen to a person. So much of what had previously paralysed and terrified her now seemed like insignificant obstacles. Not that it was easy to come here, she wouldn't say that. But she had done it. Sara was dead, so she had done it.

'What do you want?' Jeanette looked at her warily.

Charlotte felt big in comparison with this other woman who was probably no more than five foot three. At five foot nine Charlotte felt like a giant. Jeanette had also not had her figure altered by two pregnancies. Charlotte couldn't help noticing that her breasts in the tight top didn't need a bra to look perky. In her mind's eye Charlotte pictured Jeanette naked, in bed with Niclas, who was caressing her perfect breasts. She shook her head to get rid of the image. She had already spent far too much time on that sort of self-torment over the years. But the images no longer bothered her as much. She had worse images than that in her head – images of Sara, floating in the water.

Charlotte forced herself back to reality. In a calm voice she said, 'I just want to talk a little. Could we have a cup of coffee?'

She didn't know whether Jeanette had expected her to show up or whether she found the situation so surreal that she couldn't really take it in. At any rate, Jeanette's face showed no surprise. She simply nodded and went into the kitchen, with Charlotte following.

Curious, she looked around the flat. It was close to what she'd imagined. A little two-room place with a lot of pine furniture, frilly curtains, and souvenirs of trips abroad as the primary decoration. Jeanette apparently saved every öre she earned to be able to take party trips to the sunshine, and those trips were probably the high point of her life. Except when she was fucking married men, that is, Charlotte thought bitterly as she sat down at the kitchen table. She wasn't feeling as self-assured as she hoped she looked. Her heart was pounding hard, making her very nervous. But she'd just looked the other woman in the eye, seeing for the first time what sort of person could make a roll in the hay weigh heavier than marriage vows, children and decency.

To her surprise Charlotte was disappointed. She had always imagined Niclas's lovers to be in a whole different class. Sure, Jeanette was cute and curvy, she couldn't ignore that, but she was so – she searched for the right word so insipid. She radiated no warmth, no energy. From what Charlotte could see of her and her home, this woman didn't seem to have either the capacity or ambition to do anything other than just go with the flow in life.

'Here,' said Jeanette peevishly, setting a coffee cup in front of Charlotte. Then she sat down across the table and began nervously sipping her coffee. Charlotte noticed that she had long, perfectly manicured nails. Yet another thing that didn't exist in the world of mothers of small children.

'Are you surprised to see me here?' said Charlotte, observing with ostensible calm the woman facing her.

Jeanette shrugged her shoulders. 'Dunno. Maybe. I haven't thought that much about you.'

At least she's honest, Charlotte thought. Whether it was from boldness or sheer stupidity, she couldn't tell yet.

'Did you know that Niclas told me about you?'

Once again the same nonchalant shrug. 'I knew it would come out sooner or later.'

'How did you know that?'

'People talk so much in this town. There's always somebody who's seen someone somewhere, and then they feel compelled to pass it on.'

'Sounds like this isn't the first time you've played this game,' said Charlotte.

A little smile tugged at the corners of Jeanette's mouth. 'I can't help it if the best ones are already taken. Not that it usually bothers them much.'

Charlotte's eyes narrowed. 'So Niclas didn't worry about it either? That he was married and had two kids?' The word 'had' stuck in her throat and she felt her emotions once again well up and threaten to take over. With an effort she pushed them back.

Her hesitation apparently made Jeanette realize that she might have certain human obligations. Stiffly she said, 'I'm really sorry about your daughter. About Sara.'

'Don't speak my daughter's name, thank you,' said Charlotte with an icy cold that made Jeanette shrink back. She lowered her eyes and stirred her coffee.

'Instead answer my question: did Niclas worry about sleeping with you when he had a family at home?'

'He didn't talk about you,' said Jeanette evasively.

'Never?'

'We had other things to do rather than talk about you,' Jeanette let slip, before she again realized that out of sheer decency she ought to watch what she said.

Charlotte looked at her with disgust. But she felt even more disgust and contempt for Niclas, who clearly had been ready to throw away everything they shared for this – a stupid, narrow- minded girl who thought that the world lay at her feet simply because she'd once been chosen as the class Lucia in high school. Yes, Charlotte knew the type. Too much attention during her most impressionable years had swelled Jeanette's ego to enormous proportions. Hurting other people, taking what didn't belong to her, had no meaning for girls like her.

Charlotte stood up. She was sorry she'd come. She would have preferred to keep the image of Niclas's lover as a beautiful, intelligent, passionate woman. Someone she could harbour some understanding for as a competitor. But this girl just seemed cheap. The thought of Niclas with Jeanette turned her stomach, and she could feel the little respect she still had for him slowly vanishing into nothingness.

'I'll find my way out,' she said, and left Jeanette sitting at the kitchen table. On the way out she happened to bump into a ceramic donkey with 'Lanzarote 1998' painted on it that was standing on the hall bureau. It shattered into a thousand bits on the floor. An ass for an ass, thought Charlotte, treading with glee on the remains before she shut the door behind her.

FJÅLLBACKA 1928

It was a Sunday when catastrophe struck. The boat to America was supposed to sail from Göteborg on Friday and they had already done most of the packing. Anders had sent Agnes into town to buy some last items that he thought they would need 'over there', and for once he had entrusted her with some money.

She had her basket full of purchases when she turned the corner and began to walk up the hill. She could hear people shouting in the distance, and she quickened her steps. The smoke reached her a few houses away from theirs, and she saw that it was thicker farther up the hill. Agnes dropped the basket and ran. The first thing she saw was the fire. Huge flames were shooting out of the windows of the house, and people were running back and forth like chickens with their heads cut off. The men and some of the women were carrying buckets of water. The rest of the women held their hands to their heads, screaming in panic. The fire had spread to a number of houses and seemed to be taking over more and more of the neighbourhood. It spread with incredible speed. Agnes observed the scene with her mouth agape and her eyes wide with shock. Nothing could have prepared her for this sight.