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The taste was somehow reminiscent of old timber warmed by the sun. Sweet but sour, with a touch of bitterness — foreign, enticing.

‘I mix different worlds into my stews,’ said Louise. ‘When we eat, we pay visits to people in parts of the world we have never visited. Smells are our oldest memories. The wood that our forefathers made fires with, when they sheltered in caves and painted all those bloodthirsty animals on the walls — it must have smelled just the same as firewood does today. We don’t know what they thought, but we know what their wood smelled like.’

‘There’s always something constant in things that change,’ I said. ‘There’s always an old lady feeling cold on a bench under an apple tree.’

Louise was humming away as she prepared the meal.

‘You travel around the world on your own,’ I said. ‘But up there in the forest you are surrounded by men.’

‘There are lots of nice blokes around. But it’s not so easy to find a real man.’

I was going to continue, but she raised her hand in warning.

‘Not now, not later, not any time. If I ever have something to tell you, I’ll do so. Of course there are men in my life. But they are my business, not yours. I don’t think we should share everything. If you dig too deeply into others, you can risk destroying a beautiful friendship.’

I handed Louise some pot-holders. They had always been in the kitchen — I remembered them being there when I was a child. She took a large pot out of the oven and removed the lid. There was a strong smell of pepper and lemon.

‘This should burn your throat. No food is properly cooked if it doesn’t make you sweat when you eat it. Food lacking in secrets fills your belly with disappointment.’

I watched her stirring the pot and mixing the contents.

‘Women stir,’ she said. ‘Men hit and cut and tear and stab. Women stir and stir and stir.’

I went out for a walk before we started eating. When I got as far as the jetty, I suddenly felt that burning pain in my chest. It hurt so much that I nearly collapsed in a heap.

I shouted for Louise. When she got to me, I thought I would pass out. She squatted down in front of me.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘My heart. Vascular spasms.’

‘Are you going to die?’

I roared through my pain: ‘No, I’m not going to die. There’s a jar of blue tablets at the side of my bed.’

She hurried away. When she came back, she gave me a tablet and a glass of water. I held her hand. Then the pain eased. I was soaked in sweat, and shivering.

‘Has it gone?’

‘Yes, it’s gone. It’s not dangerous, But it’s painful.’

‘Perhaps you ought to go to bed.’

‘No way.’

We walked slowly back to the house.

‘Fetch a few cushions from the kitchen sofa,’ I said. ‘We can sit out here on the steps for a while.’

She came back with the cushions. We sat close together, and she laid her head on my shoulder.

‘I don’t want you to die. I couldn’t cope with seeing both my parents dying so soon, one after the other.’

‘I’m not going to die.’

‘Think of Agnes and her girls.’

‘I don’t know if that’s going to happen.’

‘They’ll come.’

I squeezed her hand. My heart had calmed down again now. But the pain was lurking in the background. I had received my second warning. I could live for quite a few years yet. But the end would come eventually, even for me.

Our celebratory dinner came to an early close. We ate, but didn’t stay on at the table. I went up to my room, and took the telephone with me. There was a socket in my bedroom that I never normally used. My grandfather had installed it towards the end of his life when he and Grandma had started to become ill. He wanted to be able to phone somebody if one or other of them became so frail that the stairs down to the ground floor would be too long and too steep. I wondered if I should ring, but couldn’t make up my mind. Eventually, at about one in the morning, I dialled the number — irrespective of the late hour. She answered more or less straight away.

‘I apologise for waking you up.’

‘You didn’t wake me up.’

‘I just want to know if you’ve made up your mind yet.’

‘The girls and I have discussed it. They shout no as soon as the word island is mentioned. They can’t imagine living without roads or asphalt or cars. They feel scared.’

‘They’ll have to choose between you and asphalt.’

‘I think I’m more important.’

‘Does that mean you’ll be coming?’

‘I’m not going to answer that at this time of night.’

‘Can I think what I think I can think?’

‘Yes. But we must stop now. It’s late.’

There was a click and the line went dead. I stretched out on the bed. She hadn’t said as much in so many words, but I was beginning to realise that she would come after all.

I lay awake for a long time. A year ago I used to lie here and think that nothing more was ever going to happen. Now I had a daughter and angina. Life had taken a new direction.

It was seven when I awoke. Louise was already up.

‘I need to go to the forest for a while,’ she said. ‘But can I leave you on your own? Can you promise me that you’re not going to die?’

‘When will you be back?’ I asked. ‘If you’re not away for too long, I shall keep going.’

‘I’ll be back in the spring. But I won’t be up in the forest all that time. I have somewhere else to go to.’

‘Where?’

‘I met a man after the police had released me. He wanted to talk about the caves and the mouldy wall paintings. We ended up talking about other things as well.’

I wanted to ask who he was. But she put her finger to her lips.

‘Not now.’

The following day Jansson came to fetch her.

‘I drink a lot of water,’ he shouted as the boat started to reverse away from the jetty. ‘But nevertheless I’m always thirsty.’

‘We can talk about that later,’ I shouted back to him.

I returned to the house and collected my binoculars. I watched them until the boat disappeared in the fog behind Höga Siskäret.

Now it was only the dog and me. My friend Carra.

‘It’s going to be just as quiet here as it always is,’ I said to the dog. ‘For the time being, at least. Then we shall build a new house. And girls will play music far too loudly, they’ll be shouting and swearing and sometimes they will hate this island. But they’re coming here, and we shall have to put up with them, A bunch of wild horses is on its way here.’

Carra was still wearing the red ribbon. I untied it and let it float away on the wind.

Late that evening I sat in front of the television with the sound turned down. I listened to my heart.

I had my logbook in my hand. I noted down that the winter solstice had now passed.

Then I stood up, put the logbook away and took out a new one.

The following day I would write something completely different. Perhaps a letter to Harriet, even though it was far too late to send it now.

The sea in the archipelago didn’t freeze over that winter.

Thick ice formed on the mainland, and in sheltered bays and creeks of the islands, but the navigable channels out to the open sea remained open. There was a period of extreme cold and persistent northerly winds at the end of February, but Jansson was never forced to use his hydrocopter and I didn’t need to put my hands over my ears on post days.

One day, just after the extreme cold had given way to milder weather, something happened that I shall never forget. I had just removed the thin layer of ice over my bathing hole and was having my bath when I noticed the dog lying on the jetty and chewing away at something that looked like the skeleton of a bird. As dogs can wound their throats on bones, I went over to her and removed it. I threw it into the frozen seaweed, and urged the dog to come back to the house with me.