Sun-bleached plastic toys scattered here and there. If it hadn’t been raining, the two children would’ve been running about in the garden, playing whatever kids of that age played. Bengt had had children rather late in life, when he was nearly fifty. Lena, who was twenty years his junior, had given him another chance. Ewert had no idea what a pretty, clever young woman like Lena saw in a middle-aged policeman, but he was pleased for Bengt, of course, even if he didn’t understand.

Their clothes were soaking and started to hang heavily. They didn’t notice any more and forgot about the weather.

Ewert leaned forward.

‘Look, Bengt.’

‘What is it?’

‘Jochum Lang gets out today.’

Bengt shook his head. ‘Ewert, you’re going to have to let go of that one day.’

‘Easy for you to say. You weren’t driving.’

‘And I wasn’t in love with her, you mean. Never mind, you must let go. Leave the past behind you, Ewert. It was twenty-five years ago.’

He had turned to look back.

He had seen her reach out and grab the fleeing body.

He sighed, rubbed his wet scalp, felt the old anger rise inside him.

Jochum reacted to the hand holding him back and half turned, still running. He grabbed her and pulled hard, and Bengt, who was sitting next to her, had not been able to hang on to her.

He sighed and rubbed his head again.

In that moment, as she fell and the rear wheel bumped over her head, he had realised the rest of their life together was no more.

Lang had laughed as he ran away. And he laughed when he was later sentenced to a few lousy months for grievous bodily harm.

Ewert hated him.

Bengt undid the top button of his shirt and tried to make eye contact with his old friend.

‘Ewert?’

‘Yes?’

‘Lost you for a moment, there.’

Ewert stared at the sodden lawn, at the tulips drooping in the neat border.