“Why do you ask?” Sandra asked.

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot over the last few days. I think children redefine you as a person. You become someone else. Someone’s mother, instead of being just any old woman.”

“Of course, you’re special to the child, otherwise there’s not really anyone who cares whether you have children or not,” Sandra expounded. “Are you thinking about yourself, or your mother?”

Kerstin was silent for a few seconds and then replied with another question.

“Are you a good mother?”

It went against Sandra’s principles to talk about her own private life, but to get closer to Kerstin, to give something back, she decided to make an exception on this occasion.

“I’m not exactly someone who fights wars on behalf of my child,” she admitted with shame. “I’m probably a pretty weak parent, but I’m loving and have good intentions. So in that regard I think I’m a pretty good mother, actually. Otherwise I’m not especially good at anything much.”

The last remark snuck out of her. Was that how she saw herself? Bad at everything? She couldn’t go around thinking like that about herself without doing something about it. She ought to take her least worst part and do something with it. Even if she wasn’t good, she had to be able to train and improve, get into shape and develop.

“Son or daughter?” Kerstin asked.

“A three-year-old son,” Sandra heard herself say.

But that was enough. No more disclosures about her own private life; the conversation was meant to be about Kerstin. Sandra was curious whether she had children, but the question might be sensitive so she left it open to interpretation.

“Do you have any causes for joy in your life?” she asked.

“No, not any longer. Not since my husband was taken from me.”

Sandra heard the crisp sound of a lighter, followed by a deep breath. She took the opportunity to lead the conversation where she wanted it.

“You say he was taken from you. Your way of expressing it sounds . . . Are you saying that death took him? That God took him?”

“No,” Kerstin replied harshly. “I’m not.”

They were there again, nudging against it. So near, and yet so far. Sandra was convinced that it was the death of the husband and the circumstances around it that was affecting Kerstin more than anything else, yet she never quite got there.

“Our last conversation ended very abruptly,” Sandra said. “Did we get cut off, or did you feel unable to keep talking?”

“I don’t remember,” said Kerstin expressionlessly.

Sandra had a feeling that she probably did, and that the same thing might happen now. Smoke was drawn in and exhaled, and Sandra thought the conversation might end at any moment. But it didn’t. Instead something very unexpected happened. After another drag on the cigarette, Kerstin spoke again with what Sandra could have sworn was suppressed rage in her voice.

“It was an absolute ice rink out on the road,” she said. “It had just frozen and wasn’t gritted. He encountered a car that forced him off the road. Do you understand? He was forced off the road. The barrier that used to be at the edge of the road above the old limestone quarry wasn’t there anymore for some reason, and the other driver did nothing to avoid the accident. He cut the corner and didn’t even brake or swerve, just drove straight towards the car. Left it all up to my husband. Who slid off the road and crashed into the ravine.”