‘You know what you have to do,’ Håkan whispers.

She hears a noise behind her and turns around. The crunch of gravel beneath narrow tyres, followed by the sound of a bicycle bell.

*

She wakes up slowly. The room is in semi-darkness, and she is almost immediately aware that she is not alone. Someone is dozing in an armchair in the corner, and for a second her heart believes that it is Håkan. Then her eyes grow accustomed to the gloom and her brain takes over. The person in the chair is Lisa Savic. Her left arm is in a sling across her chest.

Anna reaches for the handle dangling above her and uses it to pull herself up into a sitting position. The movement makes the bed creak and pulls at the tubes. One of the machines to which she is evidently linked makes a discreet beeping sound, which disturbs Lisa.

‘You’re awake,’ she says, getting to her feet.

‘Agn . . .’ Her vocal cords aren’t co-operating, so she clears her throat and tries again. ‘W . . . where is Agnes?’

Lisa comes over to the bed and takes Anna’s hand in hers, just as Håkan did in the dream.

‘She’s in intensive care.’

Anna’s heart starts racing. She pulls her hand away, tries to get out of bed. Another machine beeps in protest.

‘Help me, I have to go to her,’ she says, tugging at the side rail and looking for a way to lower it. Lisa joins in, finds the catch, and Anna manages to swing her legs around. The room sways, her eyelids feel heavy.

‘I’m not sure you should be . . .’ Lisa says anxiously.

The door opens and a nurse comes in. ‘Now, what’s going on here?’ She places a hand on Anna’s shoulder. ‘How are you feeling, Anna?’

‘I h . . . h . . . have to get up. My d . . . daughter. Intensive . . .’

The nurse pats her gently. Her expression is kind.

‘Wait a minute, I’ll fetch a wheelchair.’

*

Agnes looks so small, lying there in the hospital bed. Her hair is spread across the pillow, a white dressing covers her forehead, and an oxygen mask covers most of the rest of her face.

Her eyes are closed, her hands neither warm nor cold.

‘We’re keeping her sedated until at least tomorrow afternoon,’ the female doctor says, then goes on to explain something about concussion, lack of oxygen and water in the lungs. Anna does her best to listen, but somehow the words just don’t stick. All she can see is Agnes in a bed that is identical to the one Håkan died in, all she wants to do is get out of her wheelchair and grab her daughter. Take her home.

It wasn’t your fault, Håkan says. You do know that, don’t you?