“It took several hours for him to die,” said Kerstin, and Sandra now heard her voice cracking.

“How awful,” was all she could bring herself to say.

“According to the police, he was stuck there with a cracked skull and difficulty breathing for more than two hours before he died. And it was four days before they found his body.”

“Despite them searching?” said Sandra, who was beginning to feel physically sick as the picture of the horrible accident emerged with increasing clarity before her.

The receiver fell silent. The only thing audible were stifled snuffles.

“Despite them searching?” Sandra repeated, who really couldn’t believe the four days being mentioned.

“The car was quickly covered in snow,” said Kerstin. “It wasn’t visible from the road until it thawed four days later.”

“But still,” Sandra couldn’t stop herself from persisting. “You must have had some idea about roughly where he was, and the police have dogs and thermal cameras. I don’t understand why it took four . . .”

But Kerstin was gone. And Sandra was sat there with the mobile in her hand, staring blankly into space.

12

Jeanette

A NEW DAY and different but still familiar emotions were governing her. Jeanette felt better, but not well—she never did. But today the booze was like a peaked cap surrounding the brain with cotton, wrapping the body in a sense of well-being that was reminiscent of a soft and warm fleece blanket in front of a roaring fire. Here and now she was safe, surrounded by people who wanted the best for her and whom she cared about in return, screened off from all those people walking past with their vague outlines, their gazes neutral or contemptuous.

On days like this she didn’t care about them, all those people who lived real lives and hurried from work to the bank to home to kindergarten to the shops—from life to death. She couldn’t care less about their welfare, and even though she occasionally recognised some of them from her former life, she never let herself be depressed. Life was here and now, amongst those people who shared her daily existence, her joys and hardships.

She was still getting over the blow to the nose that had floored her the other day, the black eye that had now gone a shade of poisonous green. Her fellow companions in misfortune were treating her gently, showing a tenderness that she had not experienced for a long time, with gentle physical touches and soft words. She responded to the friendliness with heartfelt words and laughter that was infectious.

A day on the bench could be like that—and that was presumably what they all hoped for every day. The noisy but friendly atmosphere prevailed while the merciless reality remained at a safe distance and didn’t make any immediate or heavy demands.

This was the atmosphere Jeanette found herself in when a person—flesh and blood—took shape amongst the passersby on the asphalt path. Out of the fog of alcohol stepped a figure with a more distinct outline and something markedly recognisable about her. A woman of her own age, but not someone she knew from school or her job. Since she was unable to work out who the familiar face belonged to straight away, she tried to shake it all off, but something stopped her.