It was the sight of him, underwater, staring back at her, refusing to move or do anything to save himself, that had made her wake up, she realized now, and she pressed a hand to her throat; it was still tingling from her shout. Too late to help.

Heart pounding, she curled back under the sheets, the unfamiliar sounds of the melancholic house coming to her ear – footsteps on the terrace outside her window, the swoosh of a window opening, a whistle in the pipes . . . From the blade of light escaping past the solid shutters and drawing a line across the floor, she could tell it was another beautiful day. But her spirits still sank at the prospect of spending it here.

Dreams about Jack always tokened a bad day, she knew that. Experience was a hard master, and she breathed deeply for a few moments, trying to articulate her affirmations for why she should get out of bed: it was it was a beautiful day. A beautiful summer’s day on a stunning private island in the Swedish archipelago. She was in one of the most beautiful places on earth. She was alive. She had so much to be thankful for –

A sudden sound, something smashing, made her gasp and look at the far wall.

And Linus. She had Linus to look after.

She threw the sheets back and leapt out of bed, darting out of her door and peering in through his. ‘Okay, buddy?’ she asked, trying not to look wild-eyed, but the sight that greeted her was alarming – he was sitting fully dressed on the bed, the bed so expertly made with hospital corners that either Måns had already been in and made it, or Linus hadn’t slept in it. But she had tucked him in herself last night.

Linus was staring at the floor. She cast an apprehensive gaze around the room and, in the pristine simplicity, easily caught sight of the remains of the Lego truck he had been working on after arriving here yesterday, now smashed into hundreds of pieces against their dividing wall.

She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her. She ruffled his hair as she sat on the bed beside him. ‘What’s up, dude? Bad night?’

He shook his head. His eyes weren’t puffy, and he didn’t look pale.

‘How come you’re dressed already? I was just about to come and wake you. Are you that hungry for breakfast already?’

‘I’ve already had breakfast.’

‘Oh.’ Bell was taken aback. ‘Oh. Well, you should have woken me, then. We could have gone down toge—’

‘He told me not to tell you.’

She frowned, puzzled. ‘Who did?’

‘Emil. He woke me up early and said it was our secret.’

‘. . . What?’

‘We went out on his boat for breakfast and—’

‘You went on a boat with him? Just him? My God, are you okay?’ Now she was on her knees, kneeling in front of him and looking him over as though scanning for signs of injury.