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peeler in one hand and a half-peeled potato in the other.
    ‘Or we’ll need to find another solution.’
    Mike had never mentioned the lover’s name again.
    The woman pulled Ylva’s hair hard and forced her face up.
    ‘How does she feel?’ she asked her husband.
    She didn’t raise her voice even though Ylva was screaming and crying and talking incoherently about what had happened.
    The woman didn’t want to miss a second of her humiliation, the long-anticipated retribution.
    ‘Like putting your cock in a bucket of hot water? She must be wide, she’s had that many in there.’
    The woman pulled at her hair.
    ‘Well, are you? Wide?’
    Ylva was crying and the snot ran from her nose. Her head bounced in time with the man’s thrusts. Her face was twisted with pain.
    ‘I think she likes it,’ the woman said. ‘She seems to like it. You’ll have to do it again, darling.’
    Ylva pleaded with them.
    ‘Please.’
    The woman leaned towards her.
    ‘I won’t do a thing,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll just watch.’
    The movements quickened and then finally stopped. The man straightened up, out of breath, pulled on his pants and did up his trousers.
    The woman let go of Ylva’s hair and straightened up as well. She walked in front of her husband and unlocked the door. She let her husband through and then followed.
    ‘You can be grateful there’s only one,’ she said, and closed the door.

10
    Mike cooked the spaghetti and made the red mince sauce. The sophisticated recipe entailed browning the mince, adding Barilla tomato sauce and stirring. The food was served with ketchup and parmesan. Sanna had a Coke as it was Friday and Mike had a glass of red wine, because he felt like it.
    ‘How was school today?’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘What did you do?’
    ‘Don’t know, all sorts.’
    Sanna put some food in her mouth.
    ‘But you like school, don’t you?’
    Sanna nodded as she chewed, mindful of keeping her mouth closed.
    ‘That’s good,’ Mike said. ‘You’d tell us if you weren’t happy, wouldn’t you?’
    He immediately regretted it. It was a stupid question, leading. Excessive anxiety on the part of the parents that could end up as a self-fulfilling prophecy. Fortunately, Sanna’s thoughts were elsewhere. For once, she was eating quickly and shuffling her bottom restlessly around on the chair.
    ‘Finished,’ she announced and stood up.
    She put her plate by the sink and went back to her film.
    Mike cleared up in the kitchen and was struck by the guilt of TV parents. He went into the sitting room and sat down beside his daughter on the sofa. It was a cartoon DVD that they’d bought. Sanna had seen the film a hundred times before and knew it off by heart. For some reason, she liked watching films she’d already seen. As if her greatest pleasure was knowing what was going to happen.
    ‘This is a good bit,’ she said in advance and leaned in to Mike.
    And then she laughed at something funny she knew wascoming up. Mike smiled at the luxury of being able to sit beside his daughter and watch an idiotic film that would otherwise simply pass him by.
    ‘Shall we play a game?’ Sanna asked, as the credits rolled.
    ‘Absolutely.’
    Sanna went and got a pile of spin-off products from various blockbusters. The rules were difficult to understand and the entertainment value zero.
    ‘Can we build a tower instead?’
    ‘You always want to build towers.’
    ‘I like towers.’
    ‘Oh, okay.’
    Sanna sighed as she went over to the play boxes and came back with a plastic tray full of building blocks in various shapes and sizes.
    The point was to build the tower as high as possible. They each put on one block at a time, and the one who made it topple was the loser. Mike was careful to lose convincingly. He had no time for parents who competed with their children.
    He had discussed this with some colleagues. One of them refused to let his children win. And it was the right thing to do, his colleague argued, because one of