Fairy lights twinkled and lighted stars glowed from windows beneath roofs like white witches’ hats as they trekked along the quiet residential streets past traditional wooden houses and brick-built modern apartment blocks. Then Nico turned through a gateway to the cemetery where dwarf conifers and heather poked through the snow.

It looked unexpectedly beautiful. A man sweeping the path between the hedges said, ‘Hej,’ as they crunched past. Pine trees towered like giant pointed figures holding up spiky dresses to catch the snow. The headstones were small rectangles, set out in rows with lanterns beside them. Hannah was struck by the dignity and simplicity of the plain memorials rather than the larger, ornate kind she’d seen in English graveyards. It felt very Swedish.

Josie was obviously familiar with events. When Nico stopped at a pair of stones and brushed them off she said, ‘Can I light the candles?’ Hannah watched them crouch together, prising the top off the glass lanterns and carefully positioning inside stubby ivory-coloured candles from Nico’s backpack. Then he took out an igniter and Josie pressed the trigger. Its flame leaped to the candlewicks. Hannah kept Maria’s mittened hand in hers. With the lantern lids replaced, the flames flickered prettily.

Nico rose, brushing snow from his knees. ‘My grandparents.’ He gestured at the stones. ‘Mormor and Morfar. They used to take me hiking and skiing when I was young.’ From ‘mor’ at the beginning of each word Hannah didn’t have to be told these were his mother Carina’s parents.

Wandering deeper into the cemetery they repeated the action with Nico’s Farmor and Farfar and then a cousin and a great-uncle. ‘We did this with Mum when we were little. It’s a peaceful thing to do,’ he said, hooking the now empty backpack over a shoulder.

They retraced their footsteps, the girls scurrying ahead, hand in hand, their chatter floating on the icy air. ‘Feeling peaceful’s important to you?’ Hannah asked as he held a branch so she could squeeze through a gap in the hedge. Snow whispered down around them.

‘I prefer it to stress,’ he answered. ‘Peace makes me a better dad. I don’t mess with my eating to try and get a feeling of control. If I look after myself better, I look after others better.’

The wind was behind them now and it was easier to walk without the snow flying in their faces. She said, ‘It’s like when you’re in a failing aircraft and the masks drop down. You have to get your own oxygen flowing before you can help others.’

His blue eyes glowed. ‘Yes, it’s exactly like that! That’s a great analogy.’

‘Do you feel at peace in Middledip too?’ she ventured, watching the snow fly and bank around them, muffling the noise from the nearby road. ‘Or do you think you should be back in Sweden?’