For some reason, I took the fact that Diana’s car wasn’t parked by the house as a good sign, and I told Håkan she might already be on her way home. We would have met her on the road, he countered. I don’t know why I assumed the role of optimist, maybe that’s just what happens in difficult situations: if one person pulls one way, the other takes the opposite tack. I felt anything but optimistic on the inside.

Håkan barged through the door, calling Diana’s name; the sound of his voice broke my heart. The worry I had carried inside for years had been just that, a worry. Something internal. Now here he was, shouting. It was suddenly serious. I didn’t call out; I was already bracing for the worst and didn’t know if I could even bring myself to enter the house.

Diana’s phone was charging on the floor. He yanked the cord out and stomped up the stairs with the phone in his hand.

When I reached the upper landing, he had already gone into Susso’s bedroom. He stood there, stock-still in complete silence and when I came in, I realised why.

There was a man sitting on Susso’s bed. The bed was unmade but the man was fully dressed. He had a red beard and his arms were covered in tattoos.

‘Where is she?’ Håkan demanded.

‘We’re going to live here,’ he said without looking at us.

‘What?’

‘We’re going to live here.’

‘Where the fuck is she!’

Håkan was instantly furious; he revved up like an engine. He kicked at the feet sticking out from the bed and when the man pulled them back and curled up in the foetal position among the pillows, he lunged at him and grabbed his throat with both hands. He straddled him and bellowed into his blood-filled face, where is she, where is she, what did you do to her!

Did I try to intervene? I might have mumbled something, but that was it. I stood there, watching Håkan Sillfors strangle that poor sod. I was invaded by the dark energies that were also filling Håkan with a murderous rage. But I was neither murderous nor rageful. I was nothing. I felt absolutely nothing. The man was emitting gurgling sounds and I just stood there, looking at his feet, which twitched and then stopped twitching. Pilled white socks that said INTERSPORT, I remember that clearly, and I suppose I’ll never forget it.

Afterwards, Håkan slid to the floor and sat with his back against the bed, staring vacantly into thin air. Not at me; I don’t even think he was aware I was in the room. I was also fairly certain he hadn’t seen what I’d seen and if he had, he had no way of knowing what it meant.

‘Håkan!’ I said.