‘Do they know yet?’ she asked, her voice quavering.

‘No,’ said Patrik. ‘But two police officers have also gone over to their place, so I can phone and ask them if they’d like to come here.’

It turned out that wasn’t necessary. Just then another police car pulled up next to Patrik’s, and he realized that Gösta and Martin had already informed Magnus’s parents, who climbed out of the vehicle. They came into the house without stopping to ring the bell. Paula went out to the hall to have a whispered conversation with her colleagues. Through the kitchen window, Patrik saw Gösta and Martin go back out into the cold and drive off.

Paula came back to the kitchen, accompanied by Margareta and Torsten Kjellner.

‘I thought having four officers here would be too much, so I sent them back to the station,’ Paula told Patrik. ‘I hope that’s okay.’ He nodded.

Margareta went straight over to Cia and put her arms around her. As soon as her mother-in-law did that, Cia began to cry, and then the dam burst and the tears flowed freely in awful, wrenching sobs. Torsten looked pale and upset. The pastor went over to him and introduced herself.

‘Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll make all of us some coffee,’ said Lena. They knew each other only by name, and the pastor was aware that her job at the moment was to stay in the background, stepping forward only if necessary. Everyone reacted differently to the news of a death, and sometimes all she had to do was to provide something hot and soothing to drink. She began rummaging around in the cupboards, soon finding everything she needed to make the coffee.

‘Hush now, Cia,’ said Margareta, stroking her daughter-in-law’s back. Over Cia’s head she met Patrik’s gaze, and it took a great effort for him not to look away from the deep sorrow he saw in the eyes of a mother who had just learned that she’d lost a son. Yet Margareta was strong enough to offer comfort to her son’s wife. Some women possessed such fortitude that nothing could break them. Bend them perhaps, yes. But they didn’t break.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Patrik turned to Magnus’s father, who was staring blankly straight ahead as he sat at the kitchen table. Torsten didn’t respond.

‘Here’s some coffee for you.’ Lena set the cup in front of Torsten and then placed her hand on his shoulder for a moment. At first he didn’t react, but then he said faintly, ‘Sugar?’

‘I’ll get it.’ Lena again looked through the cupboards until she found a box of sugar.

‘I don’t understand…’ said Torsten, closing his eyes. Then he opened them. ‘I don’t understand. Who would want to hurt Magnus? Who would want to harm our boy?’ He looked at his wife, but she didn’t hear him. She still had her arms around Cia, while a wet patch was growing bigger on her grey jumper.

‘We don’t know, Torsten,’ said Patrik. He nodded gratefully to the pastor, who handed him a cup of coffee before she sat down at the table with them.

‘So what do we know?’ The words seemed to stick in Torsten’s throat from anger and grief.

Margareta gave him a warning look. As if to say: Not now. This isn’t the proper time or place.

He bowed to his wife’s stern gaze and instead reached for the sugar, pouring some into his coffee and stirring it with a spoon.

Silence descended over the room. Cia’s sobs had diminished, but Margareta still held her close, putting her own sorrow aside for the moment.

Cia raised her head. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and her words were barely audible as she said:

‘The children. They don’t know yet. They’re in school. They have to come home.’

Patrik nodded. He stood up, and then he and Paula headed back outside to the car.

9

He held his hands over his ears. He couldn’t understand how something so tiny could produce such a racket, and how something so ugly could attract so much attention.

Everything had changed after those holiday weeks spent at the campground. Mother got fatter and fatter until she disappeared for a week and then came home with little sister. He’d wondered a bit about that, but no one had bothered to answer his questions.

Nobody paid the slightest attention to him any more. Father was the same as always. And Mother only had eyes for the wrinkled little bundle. She was always walking about, carrying little sister, who never stopped crying. She was always holding her and feeding her and changing her and cuddling her and cooing to her. He was just in the way. The only time he caught his mother’s attention was when she scolded him. He didn’t like it when she did that, but anything was better than when she looked right through him, as if he were nothing but air.

What angered her the most was when he ate too much. She was very finicky about food. ‘You need to pay attention to your weight,’ she always said when Father asked for another helping of gravy.

Nowadays he always helped himself to more food. Not just once, but two or three times. At first Mother had tried to stop him. But he simply stared at her as he slowly and deliberately poured himself more gravy or shovelled more mashed potatoes on to his plate. Finally she’d given up and merely glared at him angrily. And the servings got bigger and bigger. Part of him enjoyed the disgust he saw in her eyes whenever he opened his mouth wide and stuffed in the food. At least she was looking at him. But nobody called him ‘my handsome little boy’ any more. He was no longer handsome. He was ugly. Both inside and out. But at least she didn’t ignore him.

After putting the baby in her cot, Mother often lay down to take a nap. Then he would go over to look at little sister. Otherwise he wasn’t allowed to touch her, not when Mother was looking. ‘Take your hands away, they might be dirty.’ But when Mother was asleep, he could look at the baby. And touch her.

He tilted his head to one side and studied her. Her face looked like an old woman’s. Slightly chapped and red. As she slept, she clenched her hands into little fists and moved about a bit. She had kicked off the blanket. He didn’t pull it back over her. Why should he do that? She’d taken everything away from him.

Alice. Even her name filled him with disgust. He hated Alice.

‘I want you to give my jewellery to Laila’s girls.’

‘Lisbet, sweetheart, can’t this wait?’ He took her hand, which was lying on top of the covers. He squeezed it gently, feeling how fragile her bones were. Like bird bones.

‘No, Kenneth, it can’t wait. I can’t rest until I know that everything is in order. I’ll never find peace if I know that I’ve left you with a big mess.’ She smiled.

‘But…’ He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘It’s so…’ Again his voice broke, and he could feel tears filling his eyes. He quickly wiped them away. He needed to remain in control, he had to be strong. But the tears fell on to the flowered duvet cover, which they’d had from the very beginning. By now it was faded from being laundered so many times. He always put it on her bed, because he knew how much she loved it.

‘You don’t need to pretend in front of me,’ she said, stroking his head.

‘Are you rubbing my bald spot again?’ he said, attempting to smile. She gave him a wink.

‘I’ve always thought that hair on the head is overrated. You know that. A nice, shiny head is much more attractive.’

He laughed. She’d always been able to make him laugh. Who was going to do that now? Who would stroke his head and say that it was lucky God had made a landing strip for her caresses in the middle of his head? Kenneth knew that he wasn’t the most attractive man in the world. But in Lisbet’s eyes he was. And he still marvelled at the fact that he had such a beautiful wife. Even now, after the cancer had stripped her of everything it could take, and eaten away at every part of her body. She had been so unhappy to lose her hair, and he’d tried to make the same joke about her. Telling her that God had now made a landing strip for his caresses. But her smile had not reached her eyes.