Håkan took off his watch and put it on the shelf where they kept the spices. He always did when he was about to do something in the kitchen. Diana sat on a chair, watching him. The hairs on his wrist were curly with sweat under the metal links of his wristband. He wore his jeans, which were the perfect length, with a leather belt, and his shirt was tucked in. It was always tucked in. How he managed that was beyond her. He was filling the frying pan with pinches of mince from the packet. The pan hissed when he dropped the red dollops into the butter and the fan was humming so loudly she almost had to shout to make herself heard.

‘His blood pressure won’t budge even though I’ve given him the whole shebang; I even have him on spironolactone!’

‘Have you done any tests?’

‘Of course I have. The screen lit up like a Christmas tree when I opened the module. MCV was high and his triglycerides and transes. He had a CDT of nine!’

‘Because he drinks. You know that, right?’

‘I’ve asked, I ask every time. But he denies it. Snaps at Christmas and a glass of wine or two on the weekend with his wife.’

‘Speaking of which, I bought wine,’ he said and chopped at the mince with the spatula.

She opened the door to the laundry room. The bag was on the floor, next to the box of detergent. Håkan always put alcohol in the laundry room. Maybe because he was ashamed of the bags, maybe it was the closest they had to a wine cellar. She pulled out a bottle of red, set it down on the kitchen counter and rummaged through the drawer for the bottle opener.

‘I ran into Susso’s mum the other day, in the park. Last Tuesday.’

She turned the roar of the fan down a little, sniffed the bottle and then filled two glasses she had placed on the table.

‘And I realised something I hadn’t understood before. Which is that she’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic. No wonder Susso turned out the way she did with a mother like her. All of it comes from her. From Gudrun.’

‘Like a kind of heritage, you mean?’

‘What’s it called, a delusion shared with another person, something in French.’

‘Folie à deux.’

‘Oui. Folie à deux.’

‘Though that’s exceptionally unusual, just so you know.’

‘More unusual than trolls?’

‘Pretty much on a par, I reckon.’

‘She’s worried Lennart Brösth is out for revenge.’

‘On her?’

‘On Susso.’

‘Why? Cheers.’

‘Cheers. Because she helped catch him. Do you want me to cut the vegetables?’

‘It’s done.’

With her wine glass in her hand, she sat down on the floor with her back against the fridge.