‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ he says.

‘I don’t – it’s expensive and it kills you. Plus, you get yellow teeth. Only idiots smoke . . .’ She takes an exaggerated drag, manages to tease a little smile out of him.

‘Absolutely – smoking is for losers.’ Alex also takes a deep drag. Anna feels as if the burgeoning connection between them has been restored.

‘I saw your youngest daughter won the talent show,’ she says. ‘Congratulations!’

Before Alex has time to answer, the group of giggling women reappear. They seem to know Alex; a couple of them fling their arms around his neck and shower him with sympathetic babbling. ‘Poor you!’ ‘Joss has no idea what she’s throwing away!’ ‘It’s so nice that you’re staying on good terms for the sake of the girls.’

Alex plays along, but glances in Anna’s direction from time to time, making it clear exactly what he thinks of the situation. The autumn air is cold and damp, and she shivers. She jerks her head in the direction of the party room, and Alex nods. He extricates himself from the women and accompanies her inside.

‘So, how’s the date going?’ he asks, keeping his tone light.

‘Brilliant. Lasse Gunnarsson is a real catch!’

He stops, apparently not realising that she’s joking; he looks quite crushed. She frowns and shakes her head, and he breaks into a grin. Only now does she realise that he’s pretty drunk.

‘You’re divorced too, aren’t you? How long have you been on your own?’

‘Two years.’ She waits for Håkan’s comment, but fortunately he’s keeping quiet at the moment.

‘Can I ask whose decision it was?’

‘Mine.’

‘I see . . .’

He sounds so sad that she goes on:

‘Håkan and I met at the police academy. We got married in 2000 and Agnes came along the following year. He was my best friend; I really thought we were together forever. But then I found out he was having an affair with a female colleague. It’s not unusual among police officers.’

‘I see,’ Alex says. ‘What an idiot. No wonder you kicked him out – you must have been furious.’

Anna shakes her head. ‘It wasn’t really about anger. Actually, that’s not true . . .’ She pauses, navigates her way past a stammer. ‘At first I was livid. Håkan was devastated – he begged me to forgive him.’

She falls silent again, takes a deep breath. She’s never told anyone this, and yet she’s standing here, baring her soul to someone who was a complete stranger only a few days ago. But she goes on:

‘I honestly tried, but the wound was too deep.’

He doesn’t say anything, which she appreciates. He merely nods slowly as if he understands her thinking, even though she doesn’t really understand it herself. She shivers.

‘And what about you?’ she asks.