The man nods in Milo’s direction as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. His hair and beard are curly, his nose flat and his eyes wide apart, which makes him look odd, a bit like a character from a Harry Potter film. The fairy-tale impression is strengthened by his almost impenetrable Skåne accent.

‘Not all dogs would dare to crawl into a badger’s sett. My name is Mats Andersson – I live at Änglaberga.’ He carefully wipes the knife on his trousers before sliding it back into its sheath.

‘Right, yes, hi, Mats. I’m Anna Vesper, and this is Agnes and Milo. We live . . .’ She feels a stammer coming on, and pauses for a second.

‘At Tabor,’ Mats says, solving her dilemma. ‘I know. You moved in yesterday. You’re renting from my aunt – Elisabet Vidje at Änglaberga. My father is Bengt Andersson.’

The way he says the name suggests that Anna ought to recognise it, but she doesn’t.

He turns to Agnes and Milo. ‘What breed is he? Skåne terrier?’

‘A cross between a Jack Russell and a fox terrier,’ Agnes informs him.

‘Looks like a Skåne terrier to me.’

He holds out his hand to the dog, who curls his upper lip and bares his teeth. Mats appears unconcerned, and before long Milo’s curiosity takes over. He sniffs at Mats’s hand, then starts to lick it.

‘It’s the smell of blood. A good hunting dog can’t resist it.’ Mats scratches Milo beneath the chin, while the terrier carries on licking his wrist.

‘Can I take a photo of you?’ Agnes touches the camera around her neck.

‘Why?’ There is a wariness in his tone, as if he thinks Agnes might be teasing him.

‘I just like taking photos – I want to be a photographer. Plus, you rescued my dog.’ Agnes switches on the smile that always worked on Håkan. It has the same effect on Mats.

‘OK.’

The big man blushes; he suddenly looks like a shy teenager instead of a man in his forties. In spite of the camouflage gear, the bushy beard, the gun and the knife, there is something child-like about him.

He poses obediently with the badger, even obligingly pushes up the top lip to display the vicious teeth.

‘They can break bones,’ he says as Agnes clicks away. ‘Years ago people used to say that you should have eggshells in your boots when you were hunting badgers, in case they bit you. The idea was that the badger would let go when it heard crunching. Stupid idea.’ He grins, and so does Agnes.

‘Can you eat badger meat?’ Anna asks.

Mats turns around looking slightly surprised, as if he’s forgotten she’s there. Then his smile widens at what is obviously a stupid question.

‘Oh no – they can carry roundworms. I usually cook the meat for my sister’s dogs. Badgers are fat at this time of year. Very filling.’