“I don’t know what I’d have done without you,” Chris said softly.

“Don’t worry about that, weddings are always fun to organize, no matter what the circumstances.”

“I don’t just mean that, I mean everything. All these years, all the things we’ve done. All the shit we’ve been through together. Sure, there may have been the odd hiccup, with Jack and all that, but most of the time you’ve been the best friend anyone could ever wish for.”

Faye couldn’t hold back the tears.

“Do we . . . do we have to talk about this right now? You’re getting married, after all.”

“Yes, we do. I haven’t got long. And I want to say this while my mind’s still clear.”

Faye nodded.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better friend in life than you,” Chris went on. “You bring out the best in me.”

Faye brushed away the tears that were trickling nonstop down her cheeks. “You’re the crack where the light gets in,” she said. “The one Leonard Cohen sang about. I don’t know . . . I have no idea how I’m going to manage without you.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” Chris said. “I’m just so sorry I won’t be able to join in.”

“I slept with Robin again, by the way. Do you remember him? The guy I met when you forced me to go to Riche when I’d been feeling sorry for myself for far too long.”

Chris burst out laughing. “See, you can manage fine without me.”

She leaned back and took some deep breaths. The slightest movement seemed to exhaust her.

“Would you like me to leave you alone so you can get some rest?” Faye asked gently.

Chris shook her head. “No, not at all. I’m actually too weak to drink, but what the hell, it’s my wedding day. In the bedside table you’ll find a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, let’s have one last toast, just the two of us.”

Faye leaned over and opened the cupboard, took out the bottle, unscrewed it, and passed the bottle to Chris.

“To us,” Chris said, holding the bottle up. “And to the fact that I’ve never even come close to feeling bitter about it ending this way. How could I, when I’ve been able to live such a wonderful life?”

She drank a few sips.

“To you, Chris,” Faye said. “The best, most beautiful sister a girl could have.”

Chris blinked away some tears.

“I need to get myself sorted out, but first tell me how it’s going with Jack.”

“We’ve got fifty-one percent.”

“So it’s done?”

Faye nodded. “It’s done.”

Chris took hold of Faye’s arms, her grip was surprisingly strong. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Chris swallowed several times. “I haven’t got either of my parents here, and you mean the world to me, and even if it isn’t a typical Swedish tradition, I was wondering if you . . . if you’d do me the honor of giving me away to Johan.”

Faye wrapped her arms around Chris and hugged her as hard as she dared.

“Of course I will.”

Faye looked out of the window, she could see people moving about on the street below. The city’s nightlife had started to get going.

She turned back toward the screen again and went through the latest set of results. What was the best way to tell Jack he was being fired? And when? Jack was a liability to the company and needed to be got rid of. Part of her felt like letting Compare collapse, but there were a lot of employees to think about. She had already found a smart businessman who was prepared to buy all her shares at a knock-down price, on condition that the name was changed. That way Compare would still be history.

Despite all the scandals, Jack persisted in believing, with the obstinacy of a lunatic, that he could cling on regardless. That he was Compare. If only he knew what was coming.

—

It turned into a late night. On the way home Faye texted Kerstin and asked if she felt like coming over. They ended pretty much every evening with a glass of wine or two. They were probably borderline alcoholics, but told themselves they were only following the Mediterranean diet and that red wine every day was an integral part of that. Kerstin had said her grandmother used to have a large spoonful of whiskey every day, for a bad toe. After that they always joked that they needed a glass of red wine in each leg for the sake of their health.

“I can’t help wondering how Jack’s going to react when he finds out he’s been fired,” Faye called from the kitchen, where she was getting cheese and biscuits. A decent selection of cheeses was one of the essentials in her fridge.

Kerstin didn’t answer, but Faye could hear her moving about in the living room. Faye put the cheese on a plate, added some grapes and digestive biscuits and went out into the living room.

Kerstin was sitting on the sofa staring into space.

“What is it?”

Faye put the plate down. She sat down beside Kerstin and put her arm around her. She could feel the slender woman shaking.

“He . . . he . . .”

Kerstin couldn’t get the words out, her teeth were chattering too much. Faye stroked her back as anxiety grabbed hold of her. Surely Kerstin wasn’t sick as well? She couldn’t bear to lose her too, not someone else, that would be unbearable. Sometimes she was so frightened of losing Chris that she could hardly breathe, even though the worst was yet to come.

“Ra . . . Ragnar . . .” Kerstin stammered.

Faye stiffened.

“Ragnar?”

“He . . . Things have changed. They called from the care home. He . . . his condition’s improving. They think he might be able to come back home one day if things keep moving in the right direction.” Kerstin laughed, a shrill, raw laugh. “The right direction! They actually said the ‘right’ direction! They have no idea that it’s the wrong direction for me. How could they know that the useless lump they’ve been wiping shit and drool off is a hideous, sadistic bastard who’ll make my life a misery if he ever comes home again? I wish I’d been brave enough, I wish I’d put a pillow over his face and smothered him while I still had the chance . . .”

Kerstin was rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped tightly around her. The scars on her back were visible through the thin fabric of her blouse.

The fury started as a warm glow in Faye’s feet, then spread up through her body until it exploded in her head.

Kerstin was family to her and Julienne, she was their rock, their lifeline, their warm embrace. No one could be allowed to threaten that. No one could be allowed to threaten her.

Faye clutched Kerstin to her chest as she wept. The tears soaked up by her cashmere hoodie would soon dry. The darkness was moving inside Faye. There were no tears there.

The sun was shining, the sky was bright blue, people were laughing, talking, drinking coffee. The buses and metro were running as usual. But in a bed on the top floor of the Karolinska Hospital lay Faye’s best friend, sustained by life-giving tubes and losing the fight she had been doomed to lose from the start.

Faye got out of the car outside the hospital only a few hours after she had last left it. During her visit the day before Chris had barely been able to speak, her voice had been so fragile, her eyes so tired, her body so weak. The wedding ring she had worn with such pride was far too big for her thin fingers. It fell onto the floor twice while Faye sat there telling her how much she loved her.

Faye had wept in the car on the way home, realizing that it would soon be over. And when Johan called an hour or so ago to say she should come straight away, she rushed out of the apartment.

On arriving at the hospital, she hesitated in the entrance, wondering: How do you say goodbye to your best friend? How do you say goodbye to your sister? How the hell are you supposed to do that? She bought some cigarettes and a bar of chocolate and sat down on a bench. Some blue-clad nurses were eating lunch. Talking about their children. Two new parents were carefully carrying a baby toward the parking lot. They stopped every thirty feet, leaning over the stroller and smiling as they admired the little miracle.

Faye threw the packet away after two cigarettes, stuck the chocolate in her bag, and made her way to the elevator.

“Chris is going to die,” she murmured to herself as the doors closed. “Chris is going to die.”

The corridor was completely silent. Her footsteps echoed. She stopped outside room number eight and knocked before opening the door. Johan looked up as she walked in but didn’t speak. He turned back toward Chris and stroked her hair.

Faye walked around the bed and stood next to him.

“There’s not long left,” he said. “She’s not responsive at all now, she’s in some sort of coma. It . . . she’s never going to wake up again. I don’t know what I’m going to do, how am I ever going . . .?”

His face contorted. She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.

“She’s so small, so alone,” he whispered, wiping his eyes.