‘Karl-Jo painted these too.’ She brings up photographs of a small display case with a forest motif: tall grey tree trunks disappearing into the mist and becoming barely visible shapes, half trees and half shadow-creatures. Inside the case Mats has built a section of a stone wall. It must have taken him many hours. On top of one of the bigger stones a snake with a zigzag pattern down its back is consuming what is presumably a mouse; only the back legs and the tail are protruding from the snake’s jaws. Seen through the lens of a camera, it looks incredibly realistic. It is almost impossible to distinguish the image from the reality itself.

‘Did Mats say what Karl-Johan thought of his collection?’

‘He said Karl-Jo did the paintings here at Tabor, then Mats came and collected them. He’s had his collection down in the cellar since the mid-’80s, but Karl-Johan has never been there. According to Mats, he doesn’t like dead animals. It’s a pity everyone doesn’t think that way,’ Agnes says with a little smile.

Anna remembers Morell’s story about the injured deer that found its way into the garden at Tabor, and wonders if she should share it with Agnes.

Her daughter leans back in her chair and tucks a strand of hair behind one ear. The gesture reminds Anna so strongly of Håkan that her heart turns over.

‘I asked Mats about Simon,’ Agnes continues. ‘At first he seemed pleased; he talked a lot about Simon’s studio and his music. Apparently, he could play five instruments, and everyone liked him. But when I wanted to know about the accident, Mats didn’t want to chat anymore. He said all the joy had gone from Änglaberga with Simon, and that it never came back. Then he went up to his room and closed the door. I had to find my own way out. Aunt Elisabet called to me as I was about to start the Vespa and invited me into the kitchen for coffee and cake. Mats is right – the whole of Änglaberga feels kind of gloomy, doesn’t it?’

‘Mm.’

They sit in silence for a few seconds. ‘Do you really think that grief can make you go blind?’ Agnes asks.

‘I don’t know, but certain illnesses can be triggered by traumatic events. I’m not sure about . . .’

‘Retinitis pigmentosa,’ Agnes supplies. ‘I googled it. The first symptom is difficulty with night vision, then a loss of colour and sharpness, then peripheral vision disappears until all that’s left is a narrow, grainy black-and-white field of vision straight ahead.’ She shakes her head sadly. ‘It must be terrible, especially for someone like Karl-Jo, who has lived with colours and pictures. So cruel.’

‘Some illnesses are more cruel than others.’