Someone has managed to grab hold of him and is forcing his arm up behind his back, wrestling him to the ground, pushing his face against the wet grass. The world topples onto its side. He stares wild-eyed at legs moving jerkily in the flashing blue light, the stone steps beyond them, the wide-open front door. Feels a knee against his back.

Then he hears Sigrid’s voice.

‘Get off him. Dad, tell them.’

Sigrid’s voice, and yet not. Shrill with fear, and he can feel anxiety hammering against the inside of his chest.

Another shove of the knee before an authoritative tone cuts through the din of tense voices and police radios.

‘It’s OK, let him go, he lives here.’

He shakes off the hands that are now trying to help him up. Rolls over and gets back on his feet, slips, and sees Smeed moving towards him with a firm hold on Sigrid’s upper arm.

‘But you’re staying here. No, don’t go in, Leo. Wa—’

*

Someone is lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. A body obscured by two paramedics dressed in green. For a moment, he thinks it’s her. Then one of them raises an arm to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand and moves over slightly.

The relief is physically painful and knocks the air out of his lungs.

Not her.

A man, lying on his side, in a pool of blood, fingers searching for signs of life, exchanged looks, condoling headshakes.

Then he spots something next to the body. Sharp shards and the remnants of a familiar label behind something dark red, sticky. And only now does Leo Friis realise what he’s looking at.

Voices from the kitchen. Someone grabs his arm, gently now, almost kindly, but he pulls free. Someone else is blocking the way and he shoves. Ruthlessly pushing his way to the door.

*

She is sitting on the kitchen floor with her back against the fridge. A female officer is squatting in front of her with a hand on her shoulder, trying to establish eye contact, saying something but getting no response. She is sitting completely still, her legs straight out. One hand is holding the long robe closed and the other is firmly shoved between her legs.

As though she’s trying to hold something in.

Then she sees him, and they lock eyes.

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

She’s lying on her side, listening to the sounds coming from the bathroom. The splashing of water, the squeaking of taps, pipes groaning in protest. Someone singing. Straining to hit the high notes. The hard crash of something being dropped into the bath, a curse, and then the singing resumes. A different key now. Better.

And then that paralysing feeling of . . . joy.

She gently traces the curve of her belly with one hand, as if to assure herself it’s still there.