She quickly examined her own bag and noticed it was missing a tag. Surely it couldn’t be that . . .? What if it was clear from the name tag Jeanette was clutching who the bag had once belonged to? It couldn’t be that—not now that everything was going so well for Jeanette, now that they had managed to do something absolutely incredible together, and everything had been forgiven and almost forgotten.

She carefully took Jeanette’s hand between her own. It was limp and didn’t move. Jeanette didn’t react to being touched. Kerstin prised the name tag from her hand and detached it from the bag. She examined the business card behind the plastic window—the one that belonged to a child minder called Kerstin Barbenius, which included not only her contact details but also a photograph of her in profile. She sighed deeply and sank back resignedly in her seat.

She had to handle this in a balanced and carefully considered way. She had to set aside all her hurtful thoughts—all the bitterness and intolerance. What she was going to offer was tolerance for human weakness, understanding, and the power of forgiveness. And surely that couldn’t be so hard, given that was all she had left?

“Jen,” she said cautiously. “It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jeanette said. “It’s anything but okay. Now I know where the name Barbamama comes from. Nanna. If only I’d checked up on that sooner, we wouldn’t have ended up here. We wouldn’t have had to deal with each other at all.”

“It didn’t cross my mind that there would be a name tag on the bag with a photo of me on it. You have to believe me. I really didn’t want you . . .”

“Me to know? Me to find out who you are?”

For a moment, it crossed her mind that Jeanette might actually be upset at having been hoodwinked—that she had been tricked into telling her life story to Kerstin in particular, the only person who definitely couldn’t be allowed to find out. But she dismissed those thoughts and continued to pursue her soft approach.

“No, actually, I didn’t. I wanted to spare you that. I didn’t consciously keep my real name a secret from you, but today wasn’t exactly . . .”

“Spare me?” Jeanette interrupted, turning to Kerstin with shiny eyes. “Me? You must hate me.”

“Why?” Kerstin asked.

“When I told you about my own part in that accident—you must have wanted to kill me there and then.”

“I’m not inclined that way,” Kerstin said truthfully.

“But why didn’t you say anything?”

“What was I supposed to say?” said Kerstin. “I was taken completely off guard. I had to gather my thoughts and decide how to act around you.”

“And what was your conclusion?” Jeanette asked.