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this
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    ‘Thanks for calling,’ she said, ‘but I’m afraid this isn’t a subject we can look into this evening.’
    The woman on the other end raised her voice.
    ‘So you’re just going to hang up? You’re just going to ignore my work? Do you have any idea how many people I’ve helped? Do you really not give a damn about women in trouble? You journalists, you just sit there in your offices without a clue what society really looks like.’
    Annika felt dizzy, suffocated.
    ‘You don’t know anything about me,’ she said.
    ‘The media are all the same. I thought the
Evening Post
would be better than the big morning papers, but you don’t give a damn about abused and vulnerable women and children.’
    The blood suddenly rushed to her head.
    ‘Don’t you dare presume you know what I think,’ Annika said, far too loudly. ‘Don’t make statements about things you know nothing about.’
    ‘So why won’t you listen?’ The woman sounded grouchy.
    Annika put her hands to her face, waiting.
    ‘This is about people who are isolated,’ the woman at the other end of the line went on. ‘Their lives have been threatened, they’re terrified. Wherever they try to hide, there’s always someone or something that means they can be tracked down, a social worker, a court hearing, a bank account, a nursery …’
    Annika said nothing, just listened in silence.
    ‘Most of them are women, of course. And children, as you can imagine. They’re the group most at risk in society. But there are also witnesses who’ve been threatened, people who’ve left religious sects or are being hunted by the mafia, journalists who’ve written big exposés. But mostly it’s women and children whose lives have been threatened.’
    Annika slowly picked up a pen and started to make notes.
    ‘There’s a group of us behind this new organization,’ the woman said. ‘I’m in charge. Are you still there?’
    Annika cleared her throat.
    ‘What makes you different from existing women’s support groups?’
    The woman at the other end sighed tiredly. ‘Everything.Those support groups receive public funding, but nowhere near enough of it. They don’t have the resources to do what we do. We’re an entirely private initiative, which means we can do an awful lot more.’
    The pen stopped working and Annika tossed it into the bin and dug out a new one.
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘I really don’t want to say over the phone. Can you meet me?’
    Annika slumped in her chair. She didn’t want to. She didn’t have the energy.
    ‘Bengtzon!’
    Ingvar Johansson was looming over her.
    ‘Hang on,’ she said into the phone, then held it to her chest. ‘What?’
    ‘If you’re not doing anything, you can type this up.’
    The news-editor was holding a sheaf of sports results from the lower divisions.
    The remark struck Annika like a physical blow. What the hell? So they thought they’d get her to do the things she used to do as a fourteen-year-old on the
Katrineholm Courier
, typing results into a table.
    She turned away from Ingvar Johansson, lifted the receiver and said, ‘I’d be happy to meet you, right now if possible.’
    ‘This evening? Great!’
    Annika clenched her teeth, aware of the news-editor’s presence behind her.
    ‘Where would suit you?’ she asked.
    The woman named a hotel in a suburb that Annika had never been to.
    ‘In an hour?’
    Ingvar Johansson had gone when she hung up. She quickly pulled on her jacket, slung her bag on hershoulder and checked the car rota. Naturally, there were none available, so she called a taxi. She could do what she liked in her own time, after all.
    Type up your own fucking sports results, you chauvinist pig
.
5
    ‘Are you ready yet, darling?’
    Eleonor was standing with her coat on in the doorway of the recreation room, pulling on her leather gloves.
    He could hear the surprise in his own voice.
    ‘What for?’
    She tugged at the thin leather, annoyed.
    ‘The business association meeting. You