He helped her carry out her things. He kept most of the furniture and the kitchen utensils. Bernt already had a completely furnished apartment in a building on Blomsterkungsvägen.

“Can I offer you a cup of coffee or something,” he asked when they were done.

He didn’t want to ask; he really wanted her to go as soon as possible so he could be alone. He didn’t understand why he asked, the words just fell from his mouth.

She hesitated a moment, then agreed.

They sat together on the sofa, but when she wanted to lay her arm on his shoulder, he steeled himself against her.

She swallowed.

“So you’re really pissed off at me, aren’t you?”

That was the first time he heard her use bad language. That surprised him so much that he burst out laughing.

Many years later, he ran into them at Åkermyntan. They were weighed down by grocery bags, and they had children, though he forgot their names right away.

Her new husband was tall and strong, with well-trained abs. He was wearing a jogging suit.

Stupid jock, he thought, but without any real aggression.

Liv had cut her hair. It was curly now.

“Come over for a drink sometime,” she said, and her husband nodded.

“Sure, do that. We live in Baklura, you just take bus 119.”

“OK,” he said without much enthusiasm.

Liv touched his sleeve.

“I wish that we wouldn’t lose each other totally,” she said.

“No,” he answered. “We won’t.”

Sometimes his mother reproached him, although indirectly. She wanted grandchildren, which she never said directly, but she would do things like pointing at a picture of a child in the newspaper or make some kind of sorrowful comment. Or she would turn the television on right when the children’s programming was starting.