‘Fuck,’ Tove whispered under her breath. ‘The vagus nerve.’

It was clear none of them had ever heard of this before.

‘How did Hanna take the news?’

‘She was very shocked. She collapsed, actually.’ Bell bit her lip, remembering how Hanna had paled and then fallen, her legs giving way, both of them sitting on the floor until Max arrived home.

‘Shit,’ Tove murmured, as though this was proof of the seriousness of the situation. She had met Hanna only once, but had rhapsodized afterwards about her skin and flashing aquamarine ring and good shoes. ‘She’s such a grown-up!’ Tove had cooed, and Bell hadn’t liked to point out that there was only three years between Tove and Hanna – and six years between her and her boss.

‘What happened to the guy? How did he end up in a coma in the first place?’

‘Traffic accident, I think. To be honest, she didn’t say much that was coherent, and I didn’t feel I could ask too much. She was so shocked; I’ve never seen her like that. Hanna never loses control.’ Bell took a swig of her beer.

‘So has she gone to see him?’

‘She can’t. Not tonight, it’s too late now. He’s in some clinic in Uppsala and they’ve got strict visiting hours. She and Max are going up in the morning.’

Kris put down the knife again. ‘Christ, that’ll be a head-fuck for him, won’t it? His wife’s first husband suddenly back on the scene again?’

‘Well, technically, he’s her husband, end of. Hanna and Max aren’t married.’

He hesitated. ‘I take it he knew about him?’

‘Yeah, seemed to. He was at this client dinner but I couldn’t leave Hanna in that state, so as soon as I rang and told him what had happened, he came straight back.’

‘And the kids?’ Tove asked.

‘They don’t know. Yet.’

Kris shook his head with a weary sigh. ‘Hell, Bell.’ It was his signature catchphrase to her but there was no laughter in his eyes today. ‘That’s one mighty mess.’

‘I know.’ She sank back into the sofa again, as though depleted by the message she had conveyed, and stared at the wall. But she was gazing far beyond the neon ‘love’ sign that sufficed as lighting in that corner of the room; she was trying to imagine how it must have felt to have been Hanna when the doctors had given her the prognosis . . . her husband alive, but to all intents and purposes dead. Hanna had said the doctors had told her that there was very little hope he would ever emerge from the coma.

She went to take another swig of her beer and realized she had finished it.

‘I’ll get you another one,’ Tove sighed, getting up and walking over to the fridge. ‘I’ve got to shoot anyway.’ She glanced at the clock and gave a small spasm of surprise. ‘Oh fuck. Not again.’

Bell glanced over. She knew Tove’s schedules well enough to know she should have come off her break twenty three minutes ago. She gave a small tut and a grin as Tove jogged over and handed her the fresh beer. ‘Thanks, hon.’