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As they backed out of the driveway, Kenneth cast a long look at the house. His lips moved, as if forming the words of a silent farewell.

Nothing had really changed; it felt just as empty as before. The only difference was that now there was a body to bury and the last glimmer of hope had vanished. Cia’s premonitions had turned out to be right, after all. Dear God, how she wished she’d been wrong.

How was she going to live without Magnus? How would her life look without him? It seemed so unreal that her husband, the father of her children, would be lying in a grave in the cemetery. Magnus, who had always been so full of life, who had always wanted to have fun and make sure that everyone else enjoyed themselves too. Of course she had been annoyed with him on occasion, irritated by his carefree attitude and constant teasing. It drove her crazy whenever she wanted to talk about something serious and he just played about and teased her until she couldn’t help laughing even though she didn’t want to. At the same time, she had never wanted to change anything about him.

What she wouldn’t give for just one more hour with him! Half an hour, even one minute! They weren’t finished with their life together; in fact, they had just begun. They’d only had the chance to make half the journey they’d envisioned for themselves. The exhilarating first meeting when they were nineteen. The first years when they were so in love. Magnus proposing to her, and then their wedding in Fjällbacka church. The children. The nights filled with crying infants, when they’d taken turns getting some sleep. All the hours of playing and laughing with Elin and Ludvig. The nights when they had made love or just fallen asleep, holding hands. And the last few years when the children were getting older and she and Magnus had been able to get to know each other again.

But there was so much more they had wanted to do; the road ahead had seemed long and filled with anticipated experiences. Magnus was looking forward to teasing his children’s first boyfriend and girlfriend, respectively, who would turn up at their house to be introduced, awkward and shy and stammering. They were planning to help Elin and Ludvig when they moved into their first flats, carrying in furniture, painting the walls, and sewing curtains. As the father, Magnus would give a speech when each of his children married. He would talk too long, get too sentimental, and tell too many details about their childhood. Cia and Magnus had even imagined their first grandchild, even though it would be years until that happened. But it was there in the future, like a promise, sparkling like a jewel. And they would be the world’s best grandparents. Always ready to lend a hand and spoil the grandchildren. Give them cake for dinner and buy them far too many toys. Offering their time, all the time that they had.

All of that was now gone. Their dreams for the future would never be realized. Suddenly Cia felt a hand on her shoulder. She heard his voice, but it sounded so unbearably like Magnus that she shut it out, refused to listen. After a while the voice fell silent and the hand was taken away. In front of her she saw that the road had vanished, as if it had never existed.

On the last stretch of the drive to Christian’s house Erica felt as if she were heading towards Golgotha. She had phoned the library to speak to him, but was told that he’d gone home. So she had squeezed herself in behind the wheel to drive over there. She still wasn’t sure that it was a good idea to do as Gaby had asked. At the same time, she didn’t really see how she could get out of the situation. Gaby never took no for an answer.

‘What do you want?’ asked Sanna when she opened the door. She looked even sadder than usual.

‘I need to talk to Christian,’ Erica told her, hoping that she wouldn’t be asked to explain why.

‘He’s not home.’

‘When do you expect him?’ asked Erica patiently, feeling almost grateful for the chance to postpone the meeting.

‘He’s writing. Over in the boathouse. You can go down there if you want to, but you’ll be disturbing him at your own risk.’

‘That’s okay. I’ll take the risk.’ Erica hesitated. ‘It’s important,’ she added.

Sanna shrugged. ‘Do whatever you like. Do you know where it is?’

Erica nodded. She had visited Christian in his little writer’s den a couple of times before.

Five minutes later she parked the car next to the row of boathouses. The one Christian was working in had been inherited from Sanna’s family. Her maternal grandfather had bought it for a song, and now it was one of the few still owned by someone who lived in Fjällbacka year-round.

Christian must have heard her car, because he opened the door even before she could knock. Erica noticed that he had a cut on his forehead, but she decided that it wasn’t the right time to ask him about it.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked with the same lack of enthusiasm that Sanna had displayed.

Erica was starting to feel as if she were carrying the plague. ‘It’s just me and a couple of others,’ she tried to joke, but Christian didn’t look amused.

‘I’m working,’ he said, making no sign of inviting her inside.

‘I’ll only bother you for a few minutes.’

‘You of all people should know what it’s like to be in the middle of writing something,’ he said.

This was going a lot worse than Erica had expected. ‘I had a visit from Gaby a while ago. She told me about your meeting.’

Christian’s shoulders sagged and he sighed. ‘She came all the way here just to tell you about that?’

‘She was in Göteborg for a meeting. She’s really upset. And she thought that I could… Er, couldn’t we go inside to talk instead of just standing here in the doorway?’

Without saying a word, Christian finally stepped aside and let her come in. The ceiling was so low that he had to bow his head a bit, but Erica, who was half a head shorter, was able to stand up straight. He turned his back to her and led the way into the room facing the sea. The computer was on and manuscript pages lay strewn over the drop-leaf table in front of the window, indicating that he really had been working.

‘All right, what did she say?’ He sat down, crossed his long legs and folded his arms. His whole body radiated antipathy.

‘As I mentioned, she’s very upset. Or maybe concerned is a better word. She says that you refuse to do any more interviews or other promotion for your book.’

‘That’s right,’ replied Christian, looking even more defiant.

‘May I ask why?’

‘I’m sure you know why,’ he snapped, and Erica gave a start. He noticed her reaction and seemed to regret his tone of voice. ‘You know why,’ he repeated dully. ‘I can’t… I just can’t. Not after everything that has been said in the media.’

‘Are you worried about attracting more attention? Is that it? Have you received more threats? Do you know who’s sending them?’ The questions poured out of her.

Christian shook his head vigorously. ‘I have no idea. His voice rose again. ‘I have absolutely no idea! I just want a little peace and quiet so I can work undisturbed and not have to…’ He turned away.

Erica studied Christian in silence. He didn’t really fit in with this setting. That was something she’d thought about before, when she met him here at the boathouse, and the feeling was even stronger this time. He looked so out of place among all the fishing gear and nets adorning the walls. The little shed seemed like a doll’s house into which he had squeezed his long limbs and then got stuck so he couldn’t get out. In a sense, that might have been exactly what happened. She glanced at the manuscript on the table. It was impossible to see what the text was about, but she estimated that there were nearly a hundred pages.

‘Is that a new book?’ She had no intention of dropping the topic that seemed to upset him so much, but she was willing to give him a short breathing space so he could calm down.