‘Watched TV,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘Drank instant hot chocolate and ate Risperidone. Played Othello with a pyromaniac called Jens. It’s like fucking nursery school in there, just so you know. They’ve painted Goofy on a column in the common room, and some other cartoon characters, I don’t know their names, and underneath someone had written ‘Welcome to Basket Case Nursery’. And that’s what it was like. A nursery school for insane people.’

‘And you put up with it for ten years.’

‘Well, I was in prison in Haparanda first. Then, when I cut my arm with the bandsaw in the workshop, the second time, they transferred me. And started giving me drugs.’

‘When I visited you, and told you we’d found him, that we’d found Skabram, you didn’t believe me. Remember?’

He shook his head.

‘You said you knew they were all dead. That you could feel it. I can feel they’re gone the same way I can feel my hand’s gone. That’s how you put it.’

‘I still feel that way.’

She grabbed hold of her wheels and drew closer.

‘But you were wrong.’

‘Yes.’

She watched him.

‘Eventually, we’ll find the others.’

‘They’re dead.’

‘We don’t know that.’

‘Well, then how are you going to find them? More Goldilocks stories in the paper?’

‘Exactly!’

He looked at the hare, which hopped across the floor and settled down under the table. From where it stared at him, its nose twitching violently.

‘If Luttak were dead, we’d know.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because her fur’s so grey. If anyone came across such an unusual bear, dead or alive, it would be in the paper. Don’t you think?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Trust me.’

‘I think you should try to get hold of that girl Fanny instead.’

‘I don’t know if I dare to. There’s a considerable danger that the next time you come to visit, it won’t be me sitting in this chair, but rather someone who just calls themselves Grete, if you know what I mean.’

‘Have you heard anything from Stava?’

Grete shook her head. She shifted in her wheelchair and straightened the blanket wrapped around her legs.

‘You know who her mother is, don’t you?’

‘I guess I’ve had my suspicions,’ he mumbled into his plate.

Grete looked down at her hands.

‘But you never said anything.’

‘Does she know?’

‘I think I assumed she had pieced it together. Or that someone had told her. Maybe not in so many words, but that she’d figured it out. We had no contact at all for at least fifty years; I figured that was why. That she knew. But then she came here last spring. Lennart. Look at me.’

‘I am.’

‘Take off your glasses. Who am I supposed to talk to about all this, if I can’t talk to you?’