'It's better than the way yours carry on. You've always put your parents ahead of me. As if they were the ones who were your real family.'

'Well, they are.'

'There, you see! Why don't you go and have a kid with them, too, then? And move in with them. Then you can keep on fucking your lover as usual.'

He slammed his fist into the door jamb and rushed out to the kitchen. She followed him. He was leaning over the counter and breathing hard, his chest heaving with the effort.

How could he have the nerve?

'What the hell do you mean by that?'

He turned his head and looked at her.

'You can stop playing games now. He told me all about it.'

'What fucking 'he' are you talking about?'

A condescending smile slid across his face.

'How can you be so pathetic? There's a lot I could say about you, but I had no idea you were such a coward.'

'You're calling me a coward?'

He didn't reply. She realised that her remark had hit home and that she had the upper hand again. But for how long? What was she allowed to know and not know? She wasn't allowed to know about Linda, who at the same time was her only defence for what she had done. But now her well-devised scheme had been shattered and ended up in disarray. Everything could be turned against her.

'Who is this "he" and what did he say?'

'Come off it, Eva. I'm telling you that I already know what you're up to, so you can stop playing games. Did you think he was going to move in here after you threw me out?'

'Who is this fucking 'he' you're talking about?'

With a sweep of his arm he knocked the fruit bowl to the floor. Apples and oranges rolled across the polished hardwood floor, scattering around the sharp ceramic shards.

He headed for the bedroom.

She followed.

'Why don't you answer instead of diverting your rage to something else? It wasn't the fruit bowl's fault that you don't have an answer.'

He pulled out the top drawer of the bureau and started rummaging round in her underwear.

'What are you doing?'

'Where is it?'

'What?'

'That fine new diary that you've got.'

'Do you want to take it back or what?'

He stopped and stared at her.

'All right, that's enough! I put it out on the bed for you. I've already seen it and that disgusting lock of hair. How old is he, anyway? Did you exchange lockets too? How sweet if you went around with a little golden lock of hair round your neck from now on.'

He held up the black lace bra and waved it in front of her face.

'I presume he gets turned on when you wear this, although I can't see why.'

She stood mute. Had he completely lost his mind?

He slammed the drawer shut and left the room. She caught up with him in the doorway to the living room, where he suddenly stopped.

'You're really sick in the head.'

He sounded like he really meant what he said, and she followed his gaze. On the coffee table stood the vase with the green stalks in it. The roses themselves had vanished without a trace. Cut off and removed.

Now it was her turn to snort.

'That's really going too far. You could have saved yourself the trouble, I didn't want them anyway.'

He turned his head and looked at her with an expression as if she were utterly mad.

The phone rang. Neither of them made a move to answer it. It rang and rang, and they stood like statues, ignoring the phone.

'Let it ring.'

He turned at once and went to the phone in the kitchen. As if her words were a direct order to pick it up.

'Yes, this is Henrik.'

Then there was silence. It went on so long that she walked over to look in the doorway. He was standing completely still with his mouth open, staring into space with the receiver pressed to his ear.

'How is she doing then? Which hospital is she in?'

Suddenly nervous. His mother had had a bypass operation a few months ago. Maybe she had a relapse.

Then he turned his head slowly and looked at her. Fixed his eyes on her with a look so full of loathing and hostility that it scared her. Without looking away he kept talking.

'You can tell her yourself.'

He held out the phone to her.

'Who is it?'

He didn't answer. Just continued hating her and held out the phone.

She went slowly over to him; there was a palpable sense of danger. He kept staring at her when she put the receiver to her ear.

'Hello?'

'This is Kerstin Evertsson from Kortbacken pre-school.'

Formal and impersonal. Someone she didn't know. Or someone who preferred not to know her.

'Yes, hi.'

'I might as well get straight to the point. I've just told your husband that I know he and Linda Persson had a relationship which was terminated yesterday. I also told him that sa Sandstrom received an anonymous letter with a newspaper article about Linda and that you were the one who put it in her mailbox. sa saw you when you did it.'

Good God, let me disappear. Let me not have to go through this.

'Naturally I was obliged to call Linda and tell her this, even though I already knew all about the trial and everything else she had been through. But for Linda it was more than she could bear. She's in intensive care at the Soder Hospital after slashing her wrists.'

She briefly met Henrik's black look before she glanced away.

'I also think you should know that the parents' group has collected money for flowers and that they will be asking Linda to continue working here if she pulls through.'

She would never be able to show herself in public again.

'I have to confess that I don't really know how we should resolve the rest. For Axel's sake, of course, it's obvious that he should keep his place here, but I have to say it feels extremely difficult to keep you as clients. I'll leave the decision up to you.'

Help me. Good God, help me.

'Are you still there?'

'Yes.'

'Then it would be good if you got hold of sa Sandstrom, because she wants to talk with you. She wants an explanation for why you involved her in all this. Because now everyone understands who sent all those emails too, which you claimed were from Linda. Surely you must see that sa feels used and rightly so. She's upset about this, to say the least.'

She couldn't breathe.

This was intolerable.

'As you can hear, I'm furious about what you've done, and I'd be lying if I said anything else. I can understand that it must have felt, well, I don't know, bloody awful, when you realised that Henrik and Linda were having an affair, but that does not excuse what you've done. Here we work day after day to teach the children about right and wrong, and that one must always take responsibility for one's actions. I thought I knew you, but obviously I don't.'

Shame was a snare, growing tighter with each syllable. She was annihilated, deprived of all honour. She had to get away. Away from Nacka. Away from Sweden. Away from any chance of meeting anyone who might recognise her and know what she had done.

'Is she going to be all right?'

'They don't know yet.'

She put down the receiver, forgetting to hang up. Henrik with his arms crossed. Hateful, hostile, and forever with right on his side.

Down the stairs.

Shoes. She remembered that you had to have shoes on when you went outside.

Not Varmdovagen. She had to stay on the side streets.

The houses surrounding her, the lamps lit in their windows, families just coming home, reunited after another work day. All of it just a decoration to punish her. Not for sale. Inaccessible. Henceforth you shall only look, never take part. You are banished from our community. Outlawed for all time, but remembered.

As if through a dirty filter she saw a car approaching, and she reached back to pull up her hood. Not be seen. The hood wasn't where it was supposed to be. She looked down and noticed that her jacket too was missing. The car passed by. She had to go further, had to get away.

At first she didn't notice the car creeping along next to her. Only noticed something white out of the corner of her eye. Then it drove past her and stopped. Someone got out.

'Hi.'

A surprised voice that sounded glad.

Nobody could be glad to see her.

She stopped. Something familiar about the figure whose face was dimly lit by a street light.

'Imagine meeting you here, do you live around here?'

Colourful pictures. The voice associated with abstract patterns.

'How are you doing, anyway? Can I drive you somewhere?'

Everything empty. And then this person, sounding so worried for her sake, who still lowered himself to talk to her. Then she saw Daniel's parents walking towards her farther down the street. Each carrying a briefcase. On their way home from the bus. Soon they would see her. Flowers for Linda. They knew what she had done and had contributed money for flowers for Linda today. No side street to escape into.

She went over to the passenger side and climbed in.

Just take me away from here.

Let me get out of meeting Daniel's parents.

What could possibly be worse?

If only she hadn't.

So many 'if only she hadn't's. So many that it was no longer possible to see when the first one occurred.

They sat in complete silence. He didn't ask where she wanted to go and she didn't wonder where he was headed. Just leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. A silent zone where she was not subject to accusations.

She didn't open her eyes until the car stopped and the engine was turned off. A cul-de-sac. Some parked cars. Blocks of flats. She remembered the last time she was here.

With an effort of will she turned her head and looked at him. Took in his warm smile and lowered her eyes, let her gaze settle on his hands resting on the steering wheel. She remembered their clumsiness, his fumbling fingers running over her body; she was amazed that he had even dared.

Again an 'if only she hadn't'.

'Thanks for the lift.'

She made a move to open the door. The exhaustion felt like an ache in her joints, a physical plea not to have to move.

'Wouldn't you like to come in for a while?'

She let her hand rest on the door handle as she searched for an answer. There was anticipation in his voice, and that was more than she could bear. She opened the car door and the cold that struck her reminded her that she had no jacket. Or money.