He changed the subject. ‘How do you like living in Sweden? I remember the hilarious results of trying to teach you and Rob Swedish when we were kids, yet here you are speaking it.’ He rearranged his food again then ate a prawn.

‘It’s proved more useful than the French I used to sigh over,’ she agreed lightly, surprised he retained such a clear memory of her. Somehow, her having easy recall of him was more understandable. Everyone had known Nico Pettersson, the athletic foreigner. Girls had befriended Hannah to get information about him because he’d been so tight with Rob. ‘How’s your dad?’ she asked. ‘Do you remember him telling people they could call him “Lasse” and them pronouncing it “Lassie”?’

He laughed. He’d eaten nearly half his meal now and was looking more comfortable. ‘People named Lars are often called Lasse by friends. He was never sure whether being called “Lassie” made him a girl or a dog but encouraged people back to saying Lars.’ He paused to sip wine. ‘He’s fine. He’s living in Nässjö, in the Småland region in the south of Sweden, close to Lake Vättern. My brother Mattias lives in nearby Huskvarna with his girlfriend. Mum lives on the edges of Älgäng, a smaller town. Dad only coaches hockey at community level now – a retirement job. Mattias is an assistant curator at Husqvarna Museum. The Husqvarna factory has a varied history, producing anything from weapons to sewing machines, motorcycles and lawn mowers.’

‘Do you see your family much?’ She’d slowed her own eating, wary of laying down her cutlery in case he’d immediately do the same. The bistro was busy with people dining after the shops closed and before hitting a bar. Every time the door clanged at the top of the stairs a breath of cold air reminded them of winter lurking.

He nodded and looked down at his plate. To Hannah it appeared as if he were taking part in a silent argument with the food. He took another small forkful. ‘I see Mum and Dad several times a year but I usually go to them rather than them coming to Stockholm on the train from Jönköping. Mattias a little less. I’ll take Josie home for St Lucia’s Day in December. She loves to make saffron buns and gingerbread – saffransbullar and pepparkakor – with my mum. She yearns to be Lucia and wear candles in her hair.’

Hannah had been in Sweden long enough to know about Lucia processions, the symbolic bringing of light into the short Swedish winter days by St Lucia of Syracuse. ‘Maybe she could start as a handmaiden and work up?’