The girl was at school and Pekka at work. I started watching the execution of American aid workers on the internet. On the news, they only show the initial image and then say the rest has been cut. I suppose I just wanted to see what it looked like.

Of course, I should have realized that when a clip lasts for three minutes and sixteen seconds, it’s not going to be instant. They call it ‘beheading’ so I was thinking of those films where the axe swings once and the head falls. I went on clicking and clicking and just couldn’t stop. The clips had captions in Arabic and also Spanish because some of the material belonged to Mexican drug gangs. There were knives, swords and chainsaws. There were orange overalls and heads dangling by the hair. There were family men and black flags. There were bones, tendons and T-shirts. God help us, there was music.

Luckily Pekka is the first to come home.

The baby splashes about, kicking vigorously; maybe the videos upset it, too.

Pekka: ‘What’s going on here?’

Me: ‘A man’s head was being cut off.’

Pekka: ‘Where? What with?’

Me: ‘On the computer. With a knife.’

Pekka: ‘What is this about, Krista…?’

Me: ‘It wasn’t a quick job, either. And another man was on his knees next to him, waiting for his turn.’

Pekka: ‘What made you go and watch something like that?’

Me: ‘Three minutes sixteen seconds.’

Pekka: ‘Come on, darling…’

I’ve got to go to the toilet and throw up. When I come back to the kitchen, Pekka has switched off the computer. He looks at me from the other side of the room. He looks me in the eye. He takes hold of my face and looks. I struggle to make my eyes stop moving. My head swings as if it couldn’t stay still. Stop, I tell my head, don’t disappear. Don’t roll down, head.

‘It’s so terrible…’ I begin.

‘Hush,’ Pekka says.

‘Why did I go and watch something like that?’

‘Hush.’

In bed, I lie in Pekka’s arms for a bit. We do that every night. Pekka fiddles with my hair and my hand rests on his chest.

‘We once had a visit from a policeman at the manor,’ Pekka says softly. ‘He came in civilian clothing but he showed me his identity card when he introduced himself. He was one of the ones who were here when Hannele died. He said he was very sorry, and he’d leave straight away if I wanted him to. He asked to see a photo of Hannele.’

Pekka sighs.