‘Why aren’t you eating?’

He impatiently gathered up the uneaten food and replaced it with vegetables that were still steaming, and a shiny piece of meat. The nausea attacked her immediately. Despite her hunger. Her stomach was a yawning hole.

‘I can’t eat. I throw up as soon as I try.’

‘Is there anything special you want, something you really like?’

She heard he was trying hard to be kind, even though the rage was vibrating under his artificial voice.

‘I’ve got to have fresh air. Just for a few moments. Please!’

‘Don’t start that again.’

He unscrewed the beaker from the thermos, filled it and handed it to her. The steam felt gentle against her flaking lips. It smelled sweet, like fruit.

‘Rose-hip soup,’ he said. ‘Get a few mouthfuls down and you’ll feel better.’

She raised the beaker to her mouth and pretended to drink. Her eyes fell on his boots, where a small yellow leaf was stuck.

‘Is it autumn out there?’

He visibly stiffened and began backing to the door.

‘When I come back I want that food to be gone.’

‘I dreamed you were pregnant.’

Carl-Johan had pulled out of her, leaving her lying in the damp patch. Meja pushed the duvet aside and got out of bed.

‘Sounds more like a nightmare.’

‘You were so beautiful, with your huge belly!’

Meja disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door behind her to stop him following. She brushed her teeth and hair and put on some mascara. There was no time for anything else. When she came out again he was still lying there, grinning. She walked over to the bed and leaned over him, put her lips on his and felt the warmth radiating from his body. He reached out both arms and drew her down on the bed.

‘Do you really have to go? Can’t you stay here with me?’

He hugged her tight and then ruffled her hair with both hands.

Meja twisted free. ‘Why do you have to ruin my hair?’

‘Why does it matter? Who are you making yourself gorgeous for?’

Carl-Johan and Birger didn’t like her going to college. They thought it was a waste of time. Meja had to explain over and over that she had promised herself she would pass her exams and do well in life. Better than Silje, at least. Silje, who left school when she got herself knocked-up.

‘Your mother didn’t miss out on a thing,’ Birger had told her. ‘Bringing a child into the world is considerably more important than being brainwashed by the most manipulative of all the state lackeys.’