‘I shot somebody. And it wasn’t exactly like I could talk about what happened to anyone – Säpo made that abundantly clear. If anyone understands keeping it together with alcohol and work and a little bump now and then, surely it’s you? But after what happened this summer… The Russians and those fucking riots in the suburbs? I haven’t been able to sleep. I think people are breaking into the apartment, I think I’m being followed and monitored. And do you know what the worst part is?’

Klara shakes her head.

‘That I’m not even sure I’m paranoid. Because who the hell knows, right?’

Klara stretches out her hand and puts it on his cheek, caressing it gently. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Who the hell knows?’

‘So I bought a gun from a guy down in Anderlecht that my cocaine dealer knew.’

He lifts it up and turns it over, inspects it.

‘It’s so damn big. But I didn’t know what else to do.’

‘You bought a gun and applied for a job at the Ministry of Enterprise. Unusual strategy, I’d say.’

George laughs and stands slowly. He puts the gun on the kitchen counter. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘Maybe if I can get out of here, if I get away from my job at Stirling & Merchant and all the bullshit, maybe it will stop? Maybe I can start sleeping again, won’t panic every time I hear a sound I can’t quite place.’

Klara stands up too. ‘You should get help. For real. You can’t live like this, surely you know that?’

George picks up the bags of food and puts them onto the small kitchen table. He looks at her ironically. ‘Good advice. How’s that working out for you?’

*

It’s five o’clock in the morning when Klara slips into the kitchen, opens the door to the fridge, and takes out an almost untouched tub of hummus. Neither of them ate much last night, despite being so hungry when they ordered that George bought basically the entire menu.

‘You sleep about as well as I do.’

She turns around and sees him standing in the doorway, in a tank top and a pair of striped boxers. He’s squinting at her; without glasses his face looks so naked and clean cut, and he’s so… cute? Is George Lööw cute? She truly has lost control.

‘I have some Rohypnol,’ she says. ‘To help me sleep. But I don’t dare use it.’

She has an important meeting in about twelve hours. After she got control of her drinking last night, she couldn’t risk being affected in any other way. Better to be tired than chemically hungover.

‘And here I gave you the bed,’ he continues, passing by her to the fridge. ‘You could have taken the sofa if you didn’t want to sleep.’