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Somehow that place always made him feel uncomfortable. The people who worked there had such soft white hands, and they moved so gingerly in their elegant office attire, that it made him feel like an oaf. And even though he always did a thorough job of washing up, he couldn’t help it that the dirt worked its way into his skin. But what had to be done had to be done. He would drag himself down there and look over the drawings; then he could go back to the quarry, where he felt at home.
    ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then,’ said the foreman, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. ‘At seven. Don’t be late,’ he admonished, and Anders merely nodded. There was no risk of that. He didn’t often get a chance like this.
    With a new spring in his step he went back to the stone he was working on. His newfound happiness made the stone feel as pliable as butter under his chisel. Life was good.

    She was spinning through space. Free-falling among the planets and other heavenly bodies whose soft glow spread around her as she sped past. Dream scenes were mixed with small glimpses of reality. In her dreams she saw Sara. She was smiling. Her little baby body had been so perfect. Alabaster white with long, sensitive fingers on the tiny hands. Already in the first minutes of life she had grabbed hold of Charlotte’s index finger and held on as if it were her only anchor in this frightening new world. And maybe it was. For her daughter’s firm grip on her index finger would become an even fiercer grip around her heart in the days to come. One that, even then, she had known would last a lifetime.
    Now she passed the sun on her path across the heavens, and its dazzling light reminded her of the color of Sara’s hair. Red like fire. Red like the Devil himself, someone had said in jest, and she remembered in her dream that she hadn’t appreciated that joke. There was nothing devilish about the child lying in her arms. Nothing devilish about the red hair that at first had stood straight up like a punk’s, but that over the years had grown long and thick and tumbled down over her shoulders.
    But now the nightmare pushed away both the feeling of the child’s fingers round her heart and the image of red hair bouncing on Sara’s narrow shoulders as she ran around, full of life. Instead she saw that same hair dark with water, strands floating round Sara’s head like a misshapen halo. Below, she saw long green arms of seaweed reaching out for it. Even the sea had found pleasure in her daughter’s red hair, claiming it for its own. In her nightmare she saw the alabaster white darken to blue and purple, and Sara’s eyes were closed and dead. Ever so slowly, the girl began to turn in the water, with her toes pointed to the sky and her hands clasped over her stomach. Then the speed increased, and when she was spinning so fast that a small backwash formed on the gray water, the seaweed arms withdrew. The girl opened her eyes. They were completely, utterly white.
    The shriek that woke Charlotte seemed to come from a deep abyss. Not until she felt Niclas’s hands on her shoulders, shaking her hard, did she realize that it was her own voice she heard. For an instant relief washed over her. Sara was alive and well; it was only a nightmare playing a nasty trick on her. But then she looked into Niclas’s eyes, and a new scream formed in her breast. But he pulled her close to him, so that the scream metamorphosed into deep sobs. His shirt was wet in front and she tasted the unfamiliar salt of his tears.
    ‘Sara, Sara,’ she moaned. Even though she was now awake, she felt like she was still in free fall through space. The only thing holding her back was the pressure of Niclas’s arms round her body.
    ‘I know, I know.’ He rocked her, and his voice was thick.
    ‘Where have you been?’ she sobbed quietly, but he just kept rocking her and stroking her hair with a trembling hand.
    ‘Shh, I’m here now. Go back to sleep …’
    ‘I