‘How much?’ I say, holding it. The fur, the weight of it, the animal’s skin against my own.

Alice sucks air through the considerable gaps between her teeth.

Cornelia says, ‘Call it a thousand. Cash only.’

‘Cash? In Sweden?’

‘We live by our own rules out here, girl. Take it or don’t take it.’

‘I’ll take it. Can I drop by with the cash tomorrow?’

Cornelia looks at Alice for her decision. Alice mulls it over then looks back at Cornelia and nods.

‘Your lucky day, girl. See you tomorrow.’

I throw the mask in my Hilux and cross the square. The apple trees creak in the wind and the place feels more like a forest than a built-up area. Thank God for the streetlights and the welcoming pizzeria lit up in the corner of the square. I kick cooking apples as I walk. The bandstand smells of varnish, like someone’s cleaned and prepared it.

I text Lena about dinner. Ask her not to order Thai tonight after all. Tam will understand.

Visberg Grill is empty. Just Luka Kodro sitting at a table playing a game of Go with himself. There’s a chessboard laid on the next table.

‘Are you open?’

‘Welcome, please. Do come in.’

‘Takeout pizza?’

‘Of course. What can we get you?’

There’s another man behind the counter with an apron on.

I check my phone and read Lena’s message.

‘One Vegetarian.’ That’ll be Sebastian – my-body-is-a-temple – Cheekbones Newboy the Third. ‘One Hawaiian, and one Spicy American sausage.’

‘Excellent choices,’ says Luka. ‘Please take a seat and my chef will get right on it. Would you like a drink? It’s on the house.’

There is no bar here, no alcohol, no licence, but I want a rum and Coke. Just to take the edge off my nerves. The headless man, the Hive, the sisters, that membrane of a mask. Just need a generous dose of gold rum to steady myself.

‘Coke, please.’

He opens a glass bottle of Coke and gives it to me, together with an Ikea tumbler. I have the same ones in my new apartment. I remember what Annika told me about her ex-husband. The affair he had with Luka Kodro’s wife.

‘You play Go?’ I say.

‘Nineteen by nineteen board,’ he says. ‘I learnt in the military. I just dabble nowadays. You play?’

‘Chess,’ I say.

His eyebrows rise up.

‘Ten-minute cooking time, ten-minute game?’

‘You’re on.’

I don’t particularly want to play chess right now but it’s a suitable cover to grill him, excuse the pun.

‘How long have you been here in Visberg?’

He offers me the white side of the table.

‘Since the war, 1995.’

‘That must have been awful.’ I move my king’s pawn two places.

‘It was hell on earth,’ he says, mirroring my move.

‘I heard you were a soldier?’

‘Not by choice.’

‘But you fought?’