‘Dr Eva hated Arne. Not because of the money she lost, like I said. Nor the gossip, really. You see, those fairways and greens look like fields to you and me but they’re her pride and joy. She was very much involved in the design process, in the landscaping. They had an Instagram account showing off the greens and bunkers, and then they had to go dig up half the course to replace piping and so on. It was a real local scandal. And then there’s the rumour that she fancied him back in their schooldays, back in the dark ages, and he rejected her advances.’

She makes a face like, I’m sure you can read between the lines here, Tuva.

‘Did Ragnar Falk cover any of this in the Visberg Tidningen? The golf-course problems, I mean. I’d like to read more on it.’

She bursts out laughing and a small piece of ham or saliva, I’m not sure which, flies out of her mouth.

‘Ragnar wouldn’t say boo to a horse.’

‘Goose.’

‘Wouldn’t say goose to a horse?’

We both fall about laughing again like idiots, the whisky loosening our Nordic inhibitions, although I doubt Julia had many of those to begin with.

‘So it wasn’t in the paper?’

‘Ragnar had a very respectful arrangement with the Edlunds,’ she says. ‘And that’s why he’ll be a member of the golf club by the end of the year. You mark my words. Biggest prize in all of Visberg if social climbing gets your juices flowing.’

‘What about the Hive self-storage. Margareta and Emil.’

‘What about them?’

‘Any goss?’

‘For your newspaper?’

I shrug.

‘No, no,’ she says, looking down at her drink and then her floorboards. ‘I need to watch my mouth.’

I look at my watch. ‘And I need to get going soon.’

‘You really going to Falun tonight?’ she says. ‘Or are you here for some fun?’

I pause and reflect and then hold my hands up and smile. Guilty.

‘I can read you like a book.’

Can you, now?

‘You got here too early. Doesn’t kick off until the town kids are all in bed asleep. Sometime after nine.’

‘Are you going, Julia?’

She shakes her head. ‘I’ll put my saucepan outside the door like everyone else, but I’m not traipsing around in the cold late at night just to see my neighbours dressed up strange, walking around backwards. I’d rather trick-or-treat next week with the children and the old folk. Much more fun.’

‘What is it exactly?’

‘Pan Night?’

I nod.

‘Better you see for yourself than I tell you. My words couldn’t do it credit.’ She rubs her tummy. ‘You hungry? I’m cooking pasta if you fancy some?’

I nod and she gets to work, chopping shallots and portobello mushrooms and flat-leaf parsley.

‘You look like a pro,’ I say.