Håkan was still in bed. She stood in the doorway for a while, studying the dark shape. Who was that lying there? And why didn’t she care more about him? Something she didn’t understand was at work inside her. She had figured it was self-preservation that had made her reject him emotionally. As an emergency measure. A red button. Now she was leaning toward it being something else. The feelings were there but couldn’t get through. It was both eerie and pleasant.

Kiruna was on the floor in the middle of her room, propped on her elbows, looking at a picture book. Diana sat down in front of her and palpated her aching cheek. Then she lay down on her back.

‘You’re going to be with Grandma and Grandpa tomorrow.’

The little girl got up and when she stepped over her, Diana raised her hand to shield her tender face.

‘I’m hungry.’

‘I just need a quick lie-down. Give me one minute.’

Anders closed his eyes…

Anders closed his eyes. Before, he had been sobbing uncontrollably, now he could only mime his crying. Erasmus looked at him. The light streaming in through the window set half his face alight. A glowing cascade of beard merging with a grey one. He was holding a dog lead, a plaited leather lead that he thumbed as though the interwoven straps were beads on a rosary. The tall, broad-shouldered man they called Näcken* was blocking the door. He was bald and had large, staring eyes with a cold, blue centre.

His ears were blocked; his own whimpering voice sounded like it was coming from another room. It was as though a frail, crying creature had been unleashed and was now speaking for him.

‘How am I supposed to live, how am I supposed to bear having done something so horrible, something so incredibly horrible? I will never be able to forgive myself.’

‘What you can’t forget, you have to bury.’

‘I can’t. It’s impossible.’

‘I promise you it’s possible.’

‘I can’t do it, I’m too tired.’

‘You feel that way now. But in time, it will fade.’

‘No,’ he said, ‘it’ll never go away. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.’

‘Anders. What is it you can’t do?’

‘Live with this.’

‘So you want to die?’

Erasmus gave him a thoughtful look.

He said nothing. Strings of thick saliva hung from his mouth; he did nothing about it.

‘That is the kind of thing,’ Erasmus said and slapped the lead against the palm of his hand, ‘you want to be one hundred per cent sure about. Because you can’t change your mind afterwards.’

He nodded.

‘So, how do you want it?’

Erasmus bent down slowly, very slowly. There was something shiny between the floorboards. It was a screw; after examining it, he placed it on the window bench like a very small ornament.