‘Stop it!’ Gabriella turns away from the road completely to stare at Klara with her eyes wide. ‘I knew it! I knew it this summer! Have you been in touch? Met? Tell me everything!’

Klara’s cheeks still feel hot, her mouth is dry. ‘Please stop!’ she says. ‘And no, we haven’t met or even been in touch. We’re friends on Facebook, that’s it. And it’s so stupid, he’s… Well, you know what he’s like. But still. I think of him pretty often. Too often.’

Gabriella drums her fists on the wheel. ‘Yes!’ she says. ‘Finally back in the game.’ Then she stops, puts a hand on Klara’s thigh. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not the right day to tease you about this. And honestly,’ – she turns to Klara again – ‘it’s a good thing. He’s hot, and he’ll grow into himself. You two are going to have the most beautiful little babies.’

‘I barely know him, Gabi. And I have no idea where this comes from? It’ll pass. I hope.’

Gabriella glances at her again. ‘We’ll see,’ she says. ‘We’ll see.’

‘Ha ha,’ Klara says. ‘I don’t think we’ll see anything at all.’

She turns her head and looks out over Stockholm. She asked Gabriella to take this route via Essingeleden, even though it’s a bit longer and more complicated, just for this very view. The city looks so grand from here, so promising and undeniably beautiful. The silver, sparkling water of Riddarfjärden contrasting with Kungsholmen’s yellow and pink buildings.

She runs her eyes along Söder Mälarstrand, past the brick walls of Münchenbryggeriet and towards Mariaberget where Gabriella lives. The bare trees seem so lonely in the bright morning light.

She leans back in her seat, allowing herself to feel this blend of calm and expectation that Stockholm always evokes in her, pushing away the sadness and emptiness of the past few months. Even though she’s never lived in Stockholm, she feels at home here. In Stockholm and on Aspöja. In East London sometimes. In Ixelles and Saint-Gilles in Brussels. Home can be many places, she thinks, gently turning her head back, glancing over her shoulder.

There’s another reason she asked Gabriella to take this way. On Sunday mornings the traffic here is sparse, and the bridge feels extra long and straight. It’s a good place to check if someone is following you. She thought she saw a Volvo take off from the rest stop at Sille-Krog right behind them. Thought the driver was a man she saw smoking outside the kiosk.

Now there’s a truck behind them blocking her view and before she can get a good look they’re on Kungsholmen making their way towards the inner city and Gamla Stan. On these city streets it’s impossible to see if you’re being followed.