It had stopped raining, which was a good thing. It meant he didn’t need that fucking umbrella. It was ages since he’d seen Ylva indoors.

‘I know what you’re thinking. I should have done it earlier, I’m not taking responsibility. But you’re wrong. This time I’ve taken all the responsibility anyone could wish, and more besides. Deep down, you realise that.’

A bird flew past, so low that Peder automatically ducked.

‘Bastard fucking bird,’ he muttered.

He’d always been afraid of birds; they were so unpredictable. His brother Jimmy had felt the same way. The fact that Jimmy could also feel scared had frightened Peder when he was a child, because Jimmy was the kind of person who hardly ever found things unpleasant. He didn’t have nightmares like Peder, he didn’t insist on sleeping between his mum and dad. Then the accident happened, and everything changed. If Peder closed his eyes he could still see his brother’s body being thrown from the swing, landing on the hard ground and hitting his head on a stone. He could still remember the pool of blood that got bigger and bigger, how warm Jimmy’s head had been when he held it between in his hands. Jimmy would never be the same again, but Peder didn’t realise that until he grew older and the gap between him and his brother – who remained a child for as long as he lived – became too wide to bridge.

He carried on talking to Ylva. ‘You know when I shot the man who killed Jimmy? I don’t remember the details, it’s all kind of blacked out, but I do remember the feeling, I was certain I was doing the right thing. I still think so today.’

The ground was soft and damp beneath his feet. He moved gently across the green grass, felt each blade bend with his weight.