Faye tucked Chris in bed and settled down on her sofa for a while. She didn’t want to leave yet. She got her laptop out and checked her latest work emails. Chris’s labored breathing in the next room made it hard to concentrate, it hurt so much to hear how her friend was suffering. When she was halfway through her inbox her mobile buzzed. A newsflash from Dagens Industri. It read: “Jack Adelheim speaks out!”

Her pulse was thudding in her temples as Faye clicked to open the interview. It was longer than she had feared, ingratiating and in fact might as well have been labeled as an advertisement. Jack was allowed to direct the conversation, and was described exclusively in superlatives. The journalist laid out the questions for him like teed balls on a golf course.

Faye scrolled down to find the journalist’s name. Maria Westerberg. In the photo byline she was standing close to Jack at the entrance to one of the city’s smartest hotels. They were both smiling broadly at the camera. Faye looked closer at the picture. Jack and Maria were standing in front of a shiny mirrored wall and the picture editor had evidently missed one particular detail when the image was selected: Jack’s hand was on Maria’s backside.

Faye snorted. She wasn’t about to let Jack regain the advantage just because he’d seduced a journalist. She reached for her mobile and called his number. He answered with renewed vigor and enthusiasm in his voice.

“Things have started to turn around. People are buying shares in Compare,” he crowed. “I knew it would come to rights!”

His tone was triumphant. Some of his old self-assurance had snuck back in.

“That’s great, Jack. Not that I was ever really worried,” she whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

She looked up at the ceiling as she crept out of Chris’s living room. Johan would be back soon.

“I was wondering if you’d like to meet to celebrate?” she said, enjoying her own acting skills. She needed more ammunition to neutralize what he’d managed to achieve by having sex with Maria Westerberg.

“Sure,” Jack said. “I’m at the office. But I can sneak out if you’ve got time?”

Faye went into Chris’s bathroom, opened the cabinet where she knew she kept her sleeping pills, and took out a blister pack of Ambien. Chris would never notice or mind that a few pills had gone missing.

“Are you still there?” Jack said. “Hello? Did the line cut out?”

“Yes, I’m here. That sounds good. Shall we meet at the Grand?”

“In the bar?”

“No. The suite.”

—

Faye had texted Kerstin, and she had promised to look after Julienne. They were going to play Minecraft, like they did every evening these days. Kerstin had started to become something of a virtuoso at it, and Faye had even caught her playing it at work.

No price was too high when it came to getting revenge on Jack, Faye had reminded herself on the way to the hotel. And now she was lying in the big double bed looking at her ex-husband, who was high on newfound self-confidence.

“Christ, I can’t get enough of you,” Jack panted, looking down at Faye. He was on the edge of the bed licking her breasts, nibbling them, nipping them. And she was enjoying it—not the sex, but the fact that he thought he was the one exploiting her.

She didn’t feel the same weakness for Jack, the same desire as when they fucked in his study, on Ingmar Bergman’s desk. That had been a dream, a fantasy of something that had probably never been real in the first place.

When he kissed her she felt sick from his bad breath. He’d started to dye his hair to cover up the gray, but that only made it look more and more like a knitted hat. She also suspected he was using Botox.

The thought made her as dry as tinder between her legs. Jack merely grunted, wet his hand with his tongue, and lubricated her enough for him to go on thrusting until he came. Faye faked a few half-hearted groans and he was happy to let himself be fooled by them. He wasn’t the sort of man who was all that bothered if a woman orgasmed or not. Other than for the sake of his own ego. She lay there after he got off and started strutting around the suite naked.

She found herself comparing his body with the men she had slept with since he left her. He might train at the gym five times a week, but not even Jack Adelheim could stop the passage of time. His buttocks were no longer as pert, and weren’t those the beginnings of man boobs? It was as if she’d got a new pair of glasses after living with impaired vision for far too many years.

Had he been projecting his own image of himself onto her? She found herself missing Robin’s firm body. Or Mike’s. Or Vincent’s. Or the guy with the Nirvana T-shirt she’d gone home with from the Spy Bar last weekend. Any of the men who had replaced Jack in her bed.

Jack went into the bathroom, whistling. Faye quickly got up and pulled on her bra and panties. She reached for her black Chanel Boy Bag. Inside was the powder she had made from crushing three Ambien tablets in Chris’s kitchen. While Jack showered she poured him a shot of whiskey and opened a half-bottle of cava for herself. In the bathroom he was singing “Love Me Tender.” She tipped the powder into his glass. When he had finished showering she drew herself a bath.

“God, I’m exhausted,” he said, stretching out on the bed like a contented cat.

“It’s just the tension easing after everything you’ve been through. Have a whiskey and relax for a while,” she said, then closed the bathroom door.

She sank into the warm water and waited. Drank two glasses of cava. Then she called out, “Jack?”

No answer. She got out and cautiously opened the bathroom door. Jack was lying asleep with his mouth open, completely naked. His penis looked almost ridiculous in its limp state. It lay nestled against his thigh like a white grub. Faye giggled. Jack snored loudly and she flinched. But he merely rolled onto his side and sank deeper into the pillow.

She put on a dressing gown, took out his laptop, sat down at the desk, logged in, and connected to the Wi-Fi. How many hours did she have? She had been waiting for an opportunity like this, having laid the foundations by gradually letting Jack get closer, turning herself into someone he desired again. She had wanted to make him lower his guard, let her in, trust her. And now, this evening, she had finally gotten the chance. And she was going to make the most of it.

She read his most recent emails but found nothing of interest, except that he seemed to be having an affair with a young student at the School of Economics.

Faye looked her up on Facebook and discovered that she was twenty years old. Faye looked at her pictures. She was pretty. Blonde, but she looked dull. Would the press be interested in something like that? No, they’d never publish it. A mobile buzzed in the bedroom. She jumped to her feet, padded in and looked at the mobile lying by Jack’s side. It wasn’t that one that had received a text. Jack must have two mobiles. Of course he did. Presumably he used the secret one for his affairs. She felt the pockets of his coat and found a white iPhone.

It needed a password to unlock it. Or a fingerprint. Faye carefully lifted Jack’s index finger and pressed the button with it. A moment later she was in. She checked that she hadn’t turned the sound on by mistake.

The message was from Henrik.

Where are you?

She didn’t bother to reply and looked through his messages instead. Jack was evidently completely mad, and in all likelihood a sex addict. She was astonished. Some days he appeared to have two or three sexual encounters booked in. She couldn’t understand how he had any time to run his business. Women sent him naked pictures and videos of themselves showering and masturbating. Jack replied with pictures of his penis. She felt oddly indifferent, even though some of the messages and pictures were over three years old and had obviously been sent while they were married. She couldn’t hate him more than she already did. But she was disappointed. Nothing she’d found on his phone could help her. Swedish newspapers didn’t publish infidelity scandals unless they were a matter of national security. In Britain, on the other hand, news of Jack’s penis pictures would have made it onto every front cover. Just to be on the safe side, she got her own phone out and filmed as she scrolled though the pictures. She even captured the text exchanges, making sure it was clear whose phone it was. There were also a few selfies among the dick pics.