This was it. Rock bottom. It was always overwhelming during the aftershocks of his orgasms, but it could come over him any time. In this moment, he wished she would go away; he wished her hair would turn blonde and curly and that it would be Johanna lying there. He closed his eyes and wished it so intensely his eyes welled up.

But she didn’t go away.

Stava. With an open, Finnish a.

Did she exist? Was she really real?

Yes, she was real. As surely as there was a pine needle in her hair. A yellow hair grip being swept away in that black river.

He looked at the clock radio. He had been awake for almost an hour, torn between violent repulsion and burgeoning desire. The door was ajar and the parquet floor outside a radiant plane. Dots of light stacked on the blinds.

‘You’re looking sad again.’

Anders swallowed hard before replying.

‘How do you know?’

‘Am I wrong?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t see myself.’

She rolled over and looked at him.

She was almost beautiful. But just almost. Something about her nose was off. Her darkly squinting eyes were placed oddly far apart. He figured she might be around sixty, but it was hard to tell. She moved so quickly and in the areas where women usually had fat deposits, her skin was taut. Touching her was like touching a starving animal. She weighed nothing.

She reached out and pushed her index finger against his cheek until it hurt so much he had to turn away.

‘Don’t be sad. I forbid it.’

‘You forbid it?’

She sighed.

‘My aunt used to tell me that. I forbid it. She couldn’t cope with sadness. So she forbade it.’

‘And that worked?’

‘It probably did for her.’

She had rolled onto her back.

‘Is your mother alive?’ She pinched the lampshade and scrutinised it. ‘Where did you buy this, IKEEE-A?’

‘Yes, she’s alive.’

‘I’ve been to IKEA once. In Haparanda. Twice. But I didn’t buy anything. A bag of tealights, but that’s it. Do you go to IKEA a lot? The happy little family?’

He had grown used to her sarcasms, which seemed to spring from searing envy, and didn’t bother to make a reply; he just shook his head. She spun around to lie on her front. Balled the pillow up under her chin and looked at him between the dark curtains of her hair.

‘Have you changed your mind, are you pining for Johanna? Do you long for her sweet scent?’

‘Stop.’

‘Then why are we here, Anders? Why are we in this bed? In this bedroom that is so bright and harmonious it makes me gag. Dad is waiting for us.’

She put the nail of her pinkie against his nipple and scratched it.

‘Why did you ask if my mother’s alive?’

‘I know she’s alive all right.’