‘You were lucky,’ the older woman goes on. ‘Children can be horrible. Vile. Karl-Johan was afraid the stammer might be hereditary, and that Simon would have it too, but he was worrying unnecessarily.’ Elisabet smiles at the memory, then grows serious once more.

‘Karl-Johan spent almost ten years working on that mural. Towards the end he could hardly see at all. Klein had to lead him to and from Tabor. I thought that if you saw it, you’d understand the depth of his grief.’

‘You manipulated me,’ Anna says as calmly as she can. ‘Used me and Agnes as your pawns – didn’t that occur to you?’

‘Of course it did. And don’t imagine I took any pleasure in it, but my father always said that sometimes you have to sink to the depths in order to reach the heights. There’s something in that.’ She pauses, then laboriously gets to her feet. ‘Come with me – I want to show you something.’

*

They follow the path slowly all the way to the far end of the garden. It is a distance of about a hundred metres, and Elisabet does her best not to show how exhausting she finds it. Klein, who supplied her with a jacket and boots, is hovering anxiously, but he stays in the background. The sun is beginning to go down.

Behind a large fir tree there is a gap in the hedge that leads out through an iron gate. Elisabet asks Anna to open the gate, and they emerge on a patch of level ground. An undulating fairy-tale landscape is spread before them, with low green hills and dales, trees and bushes extending all the way to the edge of the forest, which must be about a kilometre away. A herd of white cows has settled down to rest in one of the valleys. Two birds of prey hover high in the sky, against clouds coloured pink by the setting sun. The whole scene is breathtakingly beautiful, and Anna recognises it at once. It is one of Karl-Jo’s favourite motifs.

‘Over there.’ Elisabet points to an old oak tree on their left, with a wooden bench beneath it. ‘Let’s sit down.’

Anna is so busy helping Elisabet that she doesn’t notice the gravestone beside the tree until they are settled. It is made of pale marble with gold lettering, and there is something about the small, perfect stone that brings a lump to her throat.

Simon Karl-Johan Vidje 22.06.1971 – 29.08.1990

Loved. Missed.