Klara Walldéen is squatting with her back to that church, and she turns up her face now to the snow, closes her eyes, lets it fall on her, lets it melt on her eyelids and forehead. It flows down her temples and cheeks, in under the collar of her navy blue coat, down along her neck and collarbone, under her black dress. She lets the snow be the tears she can’t cry.

‘Your grandma said you were out here.’

Klara is startled, opens her eyes, and almost loses her balance. She puts her hand down on the cold, muddy grass to keep from falling. Gabriella stands in front of her, thick red hair in a tight braid, a dark coat, dark tights, funeral attire down to the minutest detail. With some effort, Klara straightens up, gets to her feet; she can feel the cold, sticky mud on the palm of her hand.

‘Damn, you scared me,’ she says. ‘I didn’t hear you.’

Gabriella’s arms are around her now, pressing her in towards the scent of jasmine and citrus.

I want to smell like a garden by the Nile, Gabriella had said when she bought this perfume for the first time at NK in Stockholm many years ago, back when they were still students. Klara still remembers how she laughed at Gabriella’s ironic, almost irritated facial expression.

Now Klara lets her arms hang down by her sides, doesn’t have the energy to lift them, doesn’t want to put her dirty hand on Gabriella, so she lets herself be held, lets herself be enveloped by Gabriella’s warmth.

‘I’m so sorry, Klara,’ Gabriella whispers.

Gabriella’s lips are cold against Klara’s ear. Klara presses herself closer to Gabriella, pressing her face past the collar of Gabriella’s coat until it’s resting against Gabriella’s soft, warm neck. And Gabriella just pulls her closer.

And then, at last, Klara starts to weep.

Ten days since Grandpa died. Two months since he took her out on his boat with a thermos and a net, fished his flask out of his pocket and poured a large splash of his homebrew into his cup while insisting that Klara did the same.

‘Just this once, Klara,’ he said. ‘I know you don’t drink any more, but today we’ll both need it.’