There was nothing in the notes section but short, cryptic reminders. Times and locations of meetings. She checked a few of them with the texts and discovered that they didn’t match. What sort of meetings were they? Probably business meetings. So why weren’t they noted in the diary?

She was about to put the mobile down when she spotted the voice memo icon. Without any great expectations, she opened it and discovered that there were around thirty-five saved sound recordings in there. She clicked on one, assuming that it was going to be something to do with sex, but to her surprise heard two men talking. One of them was Jack, but she couldn’t identify the other man. They seemed to be sitting in a parked car. The sound quality was excellent. They sounded relaxed, as if they were good friends.

Was Jack having sex with men too? Nothing would surprise her anymore.

No, this was something different. Something worse than the video clip of Jack that had done such damage to Compare’s share price. She felt like bursting into laughter but stopped herself. She mustn’t wake Jack until she’d copied everything.

To make sure she didn’t leave any electronic evidence she played the clips through the speaker and recorded them on her own phone. When she checked the sound quality she could hear Jack’s snoring faintly in the background. She spent the next hour checking through his laptop, without finding anything else. But she was happy.

It had been a surprisingly lousy fuck. She pondered whether he had always been a useless lover. If that was yet another thing she had been deceiving herself about. Unless perhaps she simply hadn’t had anything to compare him to. She thought about the guy in the Nirvana T-shirt and felt herself getting wet. He had given her three orgasms. In a row.

Faye tapped in the code to get into Chris’s building without having to think about it. Chris had been so insistent on her coming that Faye was feeling nervous.

She got into the elevator and tried to think about anything but Chris.

She had sent the audio files to the same journalist who published the first leak. The new revelations that the CEO of Compare had known about and tried to hush up two deaths in their care homes that were the result of negligence had sent shock waves through Sweden, far beyond the confines of the business community.

Compare’s share price sank like a stone. The business press and evening tabloids found plenty of politicians and business leaders ready to say that Jack had to resign, along with a number of anonymous sources on the board of Compare.

Today the share price had sunk to sixty-three kronor.

The elevator stopped and Faye had to make herself open the door. Johan had taken a leave of absence from work to be able to care for Chris full-time, so Faye’s visits had become more sporadic. She was worried about intruding, worried about disturbing what she had started to realize was the last time Chris and Johan would have together. And sometimes it felt like she simply couldn’t deal with it. Every time she saw Chris so sick it was as if a part of her died. When it came to Chris she wasn’t the least bit brave. Just a cowardly shit who wanted to run away from the truth, from reality.

Johan opened the door.

“How are things?” Faye said.

Johan shrugged.

“It’s . . . what can I say?”

“Do you want to pop out for a bit, get some fresh air?”

“Maybe. Chris wanted to talk to you on your own anyway.”

Faye’s stomach clenched.

When she walked into Chris’s bedroom she had to stop herself from crying out. Chris was just skin and bones now, her ribs were sticking out, the skin of her shoulders stretched tight over her collarbones. Her eyes had sunk into their sockets, her cheeks were puffy, dry, and gray.

Outside life was carrying on as usual, buses driving this way and that, people arguing, loving, driving, getting married and divorced, but up in this loft apartment on Nybrogatan Chris was lying in bed, slowly fading away.

Faye sat down on the chair beside the bed and gently took Chris’s hand.

“It’s all over for me,” Chris said.

“Don’t say that.”

“Someone has to. And you and Johan ought to be doing something more useful with your time than looking after me. I’m dying.”

Faye squeezed her hand.

“But your doctors . . .?”

“Oh, they can’t do anything. They’ve stopped my treatment.”

They had told her the cancer had spread. Chris’s body was riddled with tumors and the treatment wasn’t having any effect on them, they just kept spreading.

There was nothing more they could do except ease her pain. They had suggested an end-of-life plan, including moving into a hospice. But Chris had refused, as she explained to Faye in a hoarse voice.

“Does Johan know?” she asked tentatively.

“Not yet. I can’t . . . that’s why I asked you to come. I was wondering if you could tell him. I couldn’t bear to see his face. I know I’m being a coward, but . . .”

“I’ll do it,” Faye said quickly. She couldn’t handle another second of this discussion.

She patted Chris’s hand softly, then rushed into the bathroom. Unable to hold back her feelings any longer, she wept quietly, curled up on the bathroom floor with her forehead pressed against the cold tiles.

She had no idea how long she lay there. She didn’t get up until she heard Johan open the front door.

—

Faye and Johan were walking in silence along Nybrogatan. Faye had wanted some air, needed space to be able to talk to Johan. The walls in Chris’s apartment felt like they were about to crush her.

They turned onto Karlav?gen. She pointed at The Londoner.

“I think we’re both going to need a drink.”

She asked for two shots of vodka, and took a sip of hers as she headed toward the table where Johan was waiting. He was drumming his fingers on the table. His face looked taut.

She had to hold it together now, be the strong one.

“This . . . I don’t know how to say this, Johan. The chemo’s stopped working, the cancer’s spread. They’ve stopped the treatment.”

He nodded slowly.

“I know.”

“You do?”

“My youngest brother’s a doctor. An oncologist in Gothenburg. Chris had a copy of her notes in her bag. I copied them with my mobile and sent them to him. He helped me to understand what they said. I know it sounds terrible that I’ve been snooping like that, and I know it’s her right to tell me as much as she wants, when she wants. But I . . . I couldn’t bear not knowing . . . I can’t help it, not when it comes to Chris. She’s shutting me out when she doesn’t need to.”

Faye nodded. Put her hand on his. She understood exactly.

He looked up at her.

“I still want to marry her. I’ve booked a time in a church in two weeks. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Faye leaned back. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable. She thought she’d gotten to know Johan well by now, she liked him, and he didn’t seem the sort, but she couldn’t help herself, her own bitterness bled into her grief about Chris.

“If you’re marrying her for her money,” she said, leaning closer to him, “I’ll kill you.”

He flinched. Looked like he wasn’t sure if she was joking.

“Understand? I’ll kill you, with my bare hands.”

She let him see a glimpse of the darkness she was constantly hiding, let it step forward for a moment.

“Why would I . . . ?” Johan was staring at her in shock.

“Because Chris is good for more than a hundred million, and I know what the scent of money can do to people. I’ve seen it. And I’ve seen what men can do. How ruthless they can be. I like you, Johan, I really do, you seem like a good man. But my best friend is going to die. The only person I’ve ever let get this close to me apart from Kerstin. And I’m not going to let anyone deceive or exploit her on her deathbed. So if there’s any financial motive behind this decision to marry her before . . . before she dies . . . I suggest that you give up the whole idea of getting married and carry on playing the faithful fiancé with absolute conviction until . . .”

Faye took a sip of her vodka.

“But if your intentions are honorable, I’ll help you arrange all the practicalities. And I’ll be able to tell the difference. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me.”

Johan met her gaze without being alarmed by her darkness. That made her feel calmer. Johan was genuine. He wasn’t scared of her.

He slowly turned the glass in front of him. Eventually he said, “I like you. And I appreciate that you’re looking out for her. I love Chris more than anyone I’ve ever met. That’s my only motive. I want to be able to call her my wife.”

They looked at each other.

“Good,” Faye said, then drank a gulp of vodka and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Let’s get on with organizing the wedding of the century, then.”

They drank a silent toast. But they both flinched at the chime of their glasses touching. For a fleeting moment it sounded almost like a bell tolling.

FJ?LLBACKA—THEN