On the other hand, Håkan Almquist knew very little about what went on, despite his daily visits. He had met Jonny and had good cause to remember him. But would he particularly link him to Liv? And the chances were that he had never recovered his lost memory. To Liv’s great relief, surely, he might retain only a confused recollection of that fortnight in London on his own, a trip which had started with the aim of fetching his daughter back to Kiruna, turned into a living-it-up he might prefer to forget, and ended in a hospital bed.

That night eleven years ago, when Liv failed to get hold of him at the hotel, we were none of us particularly concerned about his fate. No doubt he had left the money in his room or in the hotel safe and was even at that moment enjoying himself at Stringfellow’s or some such place. The fact that he had to make an early start the next day counted for nothing. He could sleep on the plane. Liv said that sounded very unlike Far, but as Silver put it, did fun and games in Soho sound like Far?

Her anxiety wasn’t enough to wake her early the next morning. Wim came out of the bedroom before she did and set about cooking eggs and bacon for himself and me and Silver. When Liv finally emerged at about ten she began at once on her phobia therapy, for which she required my support, creeping down the stairs with me ahead of her to shield her view of what lay below. Silver said it reminded him of a girl he had once seen on an underground escalator being escorted down this phobic staircase by a railway official. Only she had had another one behind her as well. I, of course, had only one tube memory to revert to, but having an irrational fear myself, I could understand Liv’s.

The rain had cleared and it was a fine misty morning. I asked her if going down into the hall on the ground floor would be sufficient for today or would she like the front door opened? She shook her head vigorously, so I took her into the living room as I had done the day before and raised one of the windows a couple of inches. Whether it was the feel of the air coming in or the sight of Russia Road from this level which reminded her—how could she have forgotten, even temporarily?—I don’t know, but she suddenly exclaimed that she must phone the hotel, she must find out if her father had come back the night before.