Klara nods and stands up from the sofa she was sitting on. She doesn’t know if she should feel relieved not to have found a mysterious car, or worried that she’s imagining things. But it’s true, she’s been through so much in the last few years.

‘I know,’ she says. ‘But hopefully I can get some sleep now.’

She smiles at Gabi who also stands up.

‘One can always hope,’ she says.

*

The bed is so warm and soft and sleep so incredibly near that for the first time in a long time Klara almost feels content. Despite the funeral. Despite everything. Going to sleep with Gabi in the room next door has a calming effect, and she can feel herself falling, falling into the deep, soothing hole of sleep.

But just before she’s drifting away she hears it again. A sound, barely audible through the wind.

A motor.

She immediately sits up in bed, puts her feet on the floor, and walks to the window. The sound is constant. She cups her hands and peers out into the night. A small light flashes for a moment and disappears halfway between the hostel and the road. Just for a moment. As if someone were lighting a cigarette. Then it’s quiet again.

Quiet and dark. As if nothing happened.

17–22 August

Beirut

Everyone says it’s a stressful time, but for Jacob, the week crawls with unbearable slowness. At the embassy it’s mostly just him, Agneta and Frida, who greets him hastily every morning, but doesn’t stop by his desk until mid-week.

‘So sorry, Johan,’ she says, ‘I promise we’ll figure out something more for you to do, but do you think you could sort these receipts for now? I can’t really ask Agneta, she’s so busy.’

She puts down a small cardboard box filled to the brim with wrinkled slips of paper onto his desk and looks at him apologetically, her forehead imprinted with a deep furrow. He feels his own motivation sinking even lower; they don’t seem to care at all. And Vargander who let him borrow the embassy’s car and arranged that strange excursion? Didn’t that mean anything at all?

‘Jacob,’ he says, with emphasis. ‘You mean Jacob.’

She looks at him uncomprehendingly at first. Then she makes the connection. ‘Did I say something else? Please forgive me if that was the case. I didn’t mean to. I’ve just got so much on my plate right now.’

He nods.

‘You know, the political situation?’ she begins. ‘You’ve read about the demonstrations, right? So far they have been centred downtown and mainly taken place on the weekends, but it feels like it is building up. If the government doesn’t sort out the mess with the trash collection, there could be a late iteration of Arab Spring here too. We have to be prepared for that.’