‘I’m not surprised.’ Patrik kissed his daughter on the top of her head. ‘So, what do you think, Maja? Shall we go and cook dinner for Mamma and the babies?’ He got up, holding Maja in his arms. She nodded eagerly. ‘What shall we make? Poop sausages with onions?’

Maja laughed so hard that she hiccupped. She was bright for her age and had recently discovered the pleasures of poop and pee humour.

‘Hmm…’ said Patrik. ‘No, I think we’ll cook fish sticks and mashed potatoes instead. Okay? We’ll save the poop sausages for another day.’

His daughter thought about this for a moment and then graciously nodded her agreement. Fish sticks it was.

Sanna paced back and forth. The boys were sitting in front of the TV in the living room, watching Bolibompa. But she just couldn’t settle in one place. She kept wandering through the house, gripping her mobile phone in one hand. Every once in a while she would punch in his number.

No answer. Christian hadn’t answered his phone all day, and one disaster scene after another had played out in her mind. Especially after the news about Magnus, which had shocked all of Fjällbacka. She’d checked Christian’s email at least ten times during the day. It felt as if something was building up inside of her, growing stronger and stronger until it demanded to be either denied or confirmed. Deep inside she almost wished that she could find something to blame him for. Then at least she would know and have some outlet for the anxiety and fear that kept gnawing at her.

In reality, she knew that she was going about things all wrong. With her need to be in control and her constant questions about who he had met and what he’d been thinking, she was driving him further away. She knew this on a rational level, but the emotions she had were so overwhelming. She felt that she couldn’t trust him, that he was hiding something from her, that she wasn’t good enough. That he didn’t love her.

The thought hurt so much that she sat down on the kitchen floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. The refrigerator was humming behind her back, but she hardly noticed. The only thing she was aware of was the hollowness inside of her.

Where was he? Why hadn’t he called? Why couldn’t she get hold of him? Resolutely she tapped in his number again. Christian’s mobile rang and rang, but there was still no answer. She stood up and went over to look at the letter lying on the kitchen table. It had arrived today, and she had opened it at once. The message was as cryptic as ever. You know you can’t escape. I’m inside your heart, and that’s why you can never hide, no matter where in the world you may go. The handwriting in black ink was very familiar. With trembling fingers, Sanna picked up the letter and held it to her nose. It smelled of paper and ink. No perfume or anything else that might hint at the identity of the sender.

Though Christian persisted in maintaining that he didn’t know who had written the letters, she didn’t believe him. It was that simple. Fury rose up inside her, and she flung the letter on to the table, turned on her heel, and dashed upstairs. One of the boys called to her from the living room, but she ignored him. She had to know, she had to find out the answer. It was as if someone else had taken over her body, as if she no longer had control of herself.

She started with the bedroom, pulling out the drawers in Christian’s bureau and tearing through the contents. She took everything out, carefully examining each item, and then ran her hand over the inside of the empty drawers. Nothing. Absolutely nothing other than T-shirts, socks, and underwear.

She stood in the middle of the room and looked around. What about the wardrobes? Sanna went over to the large pieces of furniture that covered one entire wall and methodically went through them. Everything that belonged to Christian ended up tossed on the floor. Shirts, trousers, belts, and shoes. She found nothing personal, nothing that would tell her anything more about her husband or help her penetrate the wall that he’d constructed around himself.

Faster and faster she pulled out his clothes. Finally only her own dresses and other clothing were left. She sank down on to the bed and ran her hand over the coverlet that her grandmother had stitched. She possessed so many things that revealed who she was and where she had come from. The coverlet, the dressing table that had once belonged to her other grandmother, the necklace that her mother had given her. Not to mention all the letters from friends and family members, which she kept in boxes in the wardrobe. There were also school yearbooks neatly stacked on a shelf, and her graduation cap safely stored away in a hatbox next to her dried bridal bouquet. So many little things that were part of her personal history, part of her life.

She suddenly realized that her husband didn’t have any such things. Apparently he wasn’t as sentimental as she was. Nor was he inclined to collect things. But there had to be something. No one went through life without holding on to at least a few mementos.

She jabbed at the coverlet with her fists. The suspense was making her heart beat faster. Who was Christian? Who was he really? An idea occurred to her, and she suddenly sat very still. There was one place she hadn’t yet searched. The attic.

Erik swirled the glass in his hand, studying the deep red colour of the wine, which was lighter towards the rim. The sign of a young wine, he’d learned at one of the countless wine classes that he’d attended.

His whole life was on the verge of collapsing, and he couldn’t really understand how this had happened. He felt he was being carried by a current so strong that there was nothing he could do to resist.

Magnus was dead. One shock had merged with another, so it was only now that he could really take in what Louise had texted to his phone. First the news that she’d heard Magnus’s body had been found, and almost at the same time Cecilia had announced that she was pregnant. Two events that had shaken him to the core and that he’d learned within thirty seconds of each other.

‘You could at least answer me.’ Louise’s voice was harsh now.

‘What?’ he replied, realizing that his wife had said something to him, but he’d obviously missed what it was. ‘What did you say?’

‘I asked you where you were today when I sent you the message about Magnus. I rang your office first, but you weren’t there. Then I tried you several times on your mobile, but I just got your voicemail.’ She was slurring her words, as she’d done all evening. She had probably started drinking sometime in the afternoon.

Disgust welled up in his mouth, mixing with the wine and giving it a bitter bouquet of steel. He found it nauseating that she had lost control of her life so badly. Why couldn’t she just pull herself together instead of looking at him with that martyr expression and her body full of wine from a box?

‘I was out running an errand.’

‘An errand?’ Louise took another sip of her wine. ‘Oh, right. I can just imagine what sort of errand that might be.’

‘Stop,’ he said wearily. ‘Not today. Not today of all days.’

‘Why not today?’ She sounded like she was eager for a fight. The girls had gone to bed a while ago, and now it was just the two of them. Erik and Louise.

‘One of our closest friends was found dead today. Can’t we have a little peace and quiet tonight?’

Louise didn’t reply. He saw that she was embarrassed. For a moment he pictured her as the young girl he’d met at the university: sweet, intelligent, quick-witted. But the image quickly vanished, and what he saw was the slack skin and the teeth stained purple by the wine. Again he had that bitter taste in his mouth.

And then there was Cecilia. What was he going to do about her? As far as he knew, this was the first time that any of his mistresses had got pregnant. Maybe he’d just been lucky. But now his luck had run out. She said she wanted to keep the child. She had stood there in her kitchen and coldly told him that. No argument, no discussion. She told him because she felt that she had to, and to offer him the opportunity to participate. Or not.