She couldn’t remember what happened next, but when she came to her senses she was lying on her own bed wearing her shoes and all her clothes. Jimmy was sitting at the foot of the bed and Lubbi adjacent to her head. He carefully brushed the hair from her forehead and held out a glass of water. She took it, and realised at the same moment to her despair that all the evil thoughts that had been chasing her were still there. She lifted her head and tried to drink the water, but her hand shook so much that most of it ended up on her.

Lubbi took the glass and put it down, put his arm around her neck and lay down next to her, holding her hand and trying to calm her down. But it was no good. Her breathing was shallow and very fast, and all the while words were once again tumbling from her mouth. But these were not hurtful words any longer, just a long torrent of emotions—emotions that were actually her own.

It was about the joy of having a child, the spiritual torment as you cared for it, the pain of losing the most important thing in life, the eternal grief afterwards, the betrayal of the person you had promised to love, the shame of letting oneself go and leaving, the feelings of guilt, the rash and fateful decisions, the suffering of living on after everything that had happened and everything she had done, the tragedy that she was still alive even though she didn’t want or deserve to be.

It was incohesive and probably incomprehensible, but they listened without interrupting. Jeanette knew there were things she shouldn’t talk about, shouldn’t even touch on, and she tried to stop herself on several occasions, but she couldn’t. Throughout the monologue she lay there coiled like a spring, but Lubbi never relaxed his grip on her. It warmed her and stopped her from shaking, and after a long time—hours perhaps—the words ran out and Jeanette’s body relaxed. Only then did Lubbi change position, but still with his arms around her.

“You smell good, Lubbi,” she said, her nose in his hair. “Sorry.”

“So you remember?” said Lubbi, and she could feel him laughing.

“I’m so sorry,” said Jeanette.

“Don’t be. We’ve all been in that state of panic and despair.”

“I don’t know what happened.”

“Delirium tremens, as Kat quite rightly said.”

“I was awful. I didn’t mean any of what I said.”

“No one believes you did.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely sure. But the most recent stuff was perhaps more relevant? Since we got back?”

“Yes,” Jeanette admitted. “But you’ve heard it before.”

“Not all of it. Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” said Jeanette without feeling convinced she was ready for it.

“I get the feeling that there’s something that you’re especially ashamed of, something that you regret enormously. Shame and guilt are the worst emotions to carry around—worse than grief and longing, hate and anger and unhappy love. Do you agree?”