Hassan wanted to know if it was love that took her to Svartliden, but she denied that. She wanted to get away from Silje, wanted a life of her own. She had always dreamed of a real home, a home with food in the larder and parents who didn’t drink or smoke or walk around naked. Parents you didn’t have to be ashamed of. Birger and Anita were weird in their own way, with all their talk about the coming end times, but she had chosen not to believe all that.

Her cheeks reddened when she told him about the survival bunker and all the weapons, the glitter in Birger’s eyes when he showed her everything they had collected. And Göran with his injured face – her stomach hurt when she thought he had caused all that pain himself. She thought Carl-Johan was jealous when he said he didn’t want her to be alone with Göran. In actual fact he had been afraid he would hurt her.

‘I knew they were weird, with all that stuff they believed in. But I didn’t have much to compare it with. I’ve never had a normal family. I was just grateful they wanted to take me in.’

Hassan nodded as if he understood. When the grey dawn began to filter through the venetian blind and her speech became slurred with tiredness, he went and bought two cups of coffee and two sandwiches, which they devoured instantly. Birger was dead, he explained. The others were in custody. And Hanna was going home to Arjeplog as soon as the doctors had given their approval.

Meja tried to imagine Birger dead. Pale and staring under a white sheet. She couldn’t. And she didn’t feel any grief, either. She wondered how Anita would cope in prison, without her saucepans to stir or bread to knead. And how would things turn out for Carl-Johan, who had never left Svartliden?

‘Have you found Lelle’s daughter?’ she asked.

Hassan’s eyes welled up, but he didn’t cry.

‘We have found a body. It hasn’t been identified yet, but everything suggests it could be Lina.’

Meja felt exhausted as her head lay on the pillows. Unreal. She thought of Lelle, the drooping shoulders and the tousled hair, which seemed to be protesting about life itself. What would happen to him now, if the worst was confirmed? Would he cope? Her eyes stung when she thought of it, but she didn’t give in to the tears either.

‘The media will be desperate to talk to you,’ Hassan said, when they had finished their coffee. ‘But don’t let them. I think you should concentrate on getting some rest. You’ve had a severe shock. And according to the doctor you’ve been given enough sedative to knock out a horse.’

‘I’m ashamed,’ Meja said. ‘Ashamed I lived with such people.’