Diana ended up setting off later than planned. They had lingered in bed and even managed to pull off touching each other a bit while the little girl watched TV. It had been kept simple by necessity. Quiet, goal-oriented side sex that could quickly and easily stiffen into an embrace if caught. Håkan had entwined his fingers in hers and gasped and grunted his way to climax. Then he had breathed warm air on her neck and pressed his lips against her shoulder and pulled out. Her nether regions were still throbbing. And she was hungry. And warm. A combination she hated.

The roadworks meant the car shook and jolted its way to Restaurant Gruvköket. Which was closed, of course it was closed. She should have bloody known. She decided to turn in to Svappavaara. Thanks to the mine, the town was expected to flourish again, that’s what they had told her on the local news, so maybe she’d be able to find something to eat.

Long rows of construction site cabins. A pointless fence that was rotting into a bank. Brownfield land lush with weeds. A lone petrol pump and a newsstand without newspaper placards, without any colour whatsoever. Car tyres, a mountain of them in the greenery. A hatchback parked in the middle of a lawn that a person in shorts was watering with a hose. The only person in sight. Egg-white caravans hidden behind birch trees. Sofie Lindmark Road. How common was the surname Lindmark in the village? Probably inappropriately common. More caravans. A shuttered shop with windowpanes blinded by sheets of Kraft paper. Damn local news. There was never any nuance. It was either depopulation and shrinking tax bases and doom and gloom, or it was new jobs and budding hopes for the future. People didn’t mind working here, but living here? No, they stayed well clear of that. She drove out of town with the same feeling she had every time she visited one of the villages around Kiruna. That this was tissue death. Necrosis.