‘Did you hang out with that lot when you were younger?’ she asks, nodding in the direction of the top table, where Caia’s arrival has definitely heightened the atmosphere. Anna waves to Henry and Eva-Britt Morell, but they’re both too busy to notice her. The four friends from the group photo are sharing a toast. Alex’s eyes are sparkling, and he doesn’t take them off Caia for a second.

‘No. They were a tight-knit group; they didn’t let anyone else in.’

‘It looks as if that’s still the case.’

‘It is for Alex, Bruno and Marie. We don’t see Caia here very often.’

‘No?’

Call-me shakes his head.

‘She and her new husband built a huge villa on the coast outside Helsingborg a few years ago. There was a bit of trouble about it – not all the neighbours were keen on the style. Old money meets new, if you know what I mean.’

‘You said her first husband died – was he a lot older than her?’

‘No – only a couple of years, I think. He was found dead in their summer home in France. This was right in the middle of the financial crisis, so there were rumours, but I have to admit that Caia did a good job of managing the money after he was gone.’

Someone at the top table says something funny; the whole group bursts out laughing so loudly that they drown out the music. The DJ turns up the volume, and soon the dance floor is so crowded that there is no chance of talking. Call-me draws her closer; she can smell his aftershave. He seems to be trying to put his cheek against hers, and Anna doesn’t quite know how to handle the situation. She lets him carry on, and at the same time she steers them a little closer to the top table, where there is still much hilarity.

As they reach the end of the table, she realises that things aren’t quite as they seem. The voices, the expressions, the laughter – everything is forced, as if everyone is making a huge effort to show what a wonderful time they’re having.

Alex gets to his feet and leads Caia onto the dance floor. Anna watches them over Call-me’s shoulder, sees Alex draw her closer, sees her move her hand up to the back of his neck. Their cheeks touch, and Anna feels a pang of – what?

Pull yourself together, Håkan whispers. You’re not fifteen, for God’s sake.

‘Shut up,’ she hisses between gritted teeth. Call-me gives a start.

‘Did you say something?’

She shakes her head, but doesn’t take her eyes off Alex and Caia.

‘And now a song you’ll all recognise,’ says the DJ, a man aged about thirty-five, with glasses and a nose piercing, from his booth in the middle of the stage.