‘How the fuck can it be like this?’ she yelled so loudly that people passing by turned around. ‘How can you leave me? I don’t get it!’

She was sobbing now, sobbing for all the things that would never be, all the things they hadn’t got around to doing, for the children who were so small, and for her own pitch-black future.

‘Do you know how it feels?’ she whispered. ‘It feels as if I’m going to die along with you.’

She heard Spencer’s breathing and felt incredibly guilty.

The kingdom of sorrow was too cramped. There wasn’t room for both of them.

‘See you soon,’ Spencer said in a muffled voice, and ended the call.

Fredrika wept all the way to the cafe. When she arrived Spencer was sitting at one of the round tables. Thinner than before he fell ill, but only someone who’d known him for a long time would notice. From a distance he looked strong and healthy. He spotted Fredrika and raised a hand in greeting.

She waved back, then hurried over and kissed him on the lips. Spencer opened with his favourite question:

‘Hard day?’

‘Same as usual.’

The events of the day had already been filed away in her mind, leaving the boundless love for the man she’d adored for virtually all of her adult life. Their time together might be limited, but her love was not.

‘I want us to reconsider,’ she said. ‘I want us to give up work, be together instead.’

Spencer shook his head.

‘Grief would drive us both crazy. It’s out of the question – I don’t want you to remember my last few weeks in that way.’

‘But if we’re talking about my memories, then surely I have the right to choose?’

‘Sorry, I didn’t express myself very well. It’s not just about your memories, it’s also about how I’m going to cope with the realisation that every single thing I do this summer will be for the last time.’

He sighed.

Fredrika swallowed. ‘There are other options,’ she said quietly. ‘You don’t have to stick to the choice you made.’

Spencer flinched.

‘Are you crazy? What are you saying? Do you expect me to wait for a slow death that will inevitably be a living hell? To experience how it feels to lose control over my bodily functions, one by one? Never, Fredrika. We’ve already discussed this.’

And of course they had. And of course she understood his thought process. His brain encompassed everything that made him the man he was, and letting his illness slowly obliterate him was out of the question.

‘I ordered you a glass of red,’ he said.

‘Perfect.’

‘It’s a Burgundy – the one we had at the Erlandssons’ a few weeks ago. Heavy and voluptuous – do you remember?’

‘I do.’

He took her hand and kissed it.