Jeanette nodded hesitantly, sensing that something unwelcome was about to follow.

“Based on what you’ve said,” Lubbi continued, “there’s nothing in your life that is in proportion to your self-contempt.”

Jeanette didn’t say anything, holding her breath and waiting for him to continue.

“You can’t just carry around those feelings of guilt. It destroys you. You say you don’t deserve to be alive, and that you don’t want to be. You can’t feel like that. It makes your friends sad and worried.”

It was nicely put, and perhaps he would stop there. But Lubbi wasn’t done.

“You had an affair, betrayed your husband. That’s okay—you know that? You’re allowed to be unfaithful without going to jail. Or being pilloried. You might not feel great about it, but it’s hardly a reason to commit suicide.”

Jeanette exhaled. But then the clincher came, the thing she had been worried the conversation would lead to.

“It makes me think,” said Lubbi seriously, “that there’s something worse. Something you really don’t want to come out. And I dare say that’s why you’re in the position you are now. That it’s the reason why you can’t bear to go on, that you have panic attacks like the one today. Am I on the right track here?”

Jeanette nodded. Reluctantly, but she had to give him his due.

“In that case I suggest you say what it is. No matter what it is, you’ll feel better if you tell us. And it goes without saying that we won’t tell anyone else.”

Jeanette lifted her head and glanced at Jimmy, who was still sitting on the foot of the bed. He shook his head intensely. Jeanette lay down again and sighed.

“Okay,” she said. “You’re probably right. It might be a relief to be rid of this burden. But you’ll hate me.”

“I doubt that,” said Lubbi pacifyingly. “We’ve all done things we regret, things we’re ashamed of and would prefer not to talk about. Things we should be inside for.”

“I hate myself,” Jeanette said with a sigh. “What I’ve done is so awful, so selfish and cynical and totally fucking dumb. Unforgivable.”

Then she took a deep breath and began to tell them.

“It was four years ago, in winter. During the brief period that I was seeing that man I told you about. The one who went missing.”

She didn’t get further before the doorbell rang. A long, peremptory sound—she couldn’t guess who it might be. She closed her eyes and breathed out, grateful to have been saved by the bell.

She heard steps going along the hall, the front door opening, and a voice asking for her. Robust shoes approaching and entering the bedroom. She opened her eyes and saw two uniforms.

“Jeanette Wretberg? You’re under arrest in relation to a fight at the East Gate earlier today.”

15

Sandra

IT HAD BEEN a long time since it had rained, so Sandra did a lap with the watering can outside her small house. Everything around her was in bloom, and the beauty of nature in the soft light was overwhelming. The tender greenery in its many nuances had a calming effect on the senses, and it was a strong reason why she preferred to live in solitude out here rather than in Visby or another town.