Page 24 of The Sleepwalker (Joona Linna #10)

The dark brick villa with the steeply sloping roof is in one of the oldest areas of Gamla Enskede, just south of the Avicii Arena.

The garden is bare and wintry, with a layer of frost on the patio furniture and a rusty hammock tugging on its supports.

Erik Maria Bark is standing in one of the large windows, looking out towards the gravel driveway and the open gates on to the road.

Erik’s heart rate quickens as a car pulls up on the street, slowing again as it turns off onto his neighbour’s driveway.

He is conscious that he must look like some sort of lonely old grandfather in the window, so he turns around and makes his way through to the kitchen, the varnished oak floor creaking underfoot.

Glancing over to the table, he worries that folding the napkins into Christmas trees might have been a step too far.

Erik tries to tell himself that he still looks pretty good for his age, despite the fact that his hair is greying, the bags beneath his eyes are bigger than ever and the laughter lines more prominent.

He is middle-aged now, and has started leaving a trail of reading glasses wherever he goes.

Today, he is wearing a blue shirt made from such thick denim that it is practically a jacket. That’s a good thing, he thinks, because it acts a bit like a girdle and helps to hold in his stomach. He has spent the afternoon cleaning, putting out fresh towels and changing the bedsheets.

He goes back through to the living room and has to fight the urge to text her as he checks his phone.

Without really paying any attention to what he is doing, he moves over to the window and peers out just as she walks through the gates. She spots him, and he gives her a silly little wave as the car on the road behind her pulls away.

Erik met Moa on a dating app, and they spent a long time messaging back and forth before eventually getting together for coffee at Stockholm Central.

On their second date, they went to an exhibition of modern art at an auction house, and pretended to be interested in bidding on an erotic work before going for a drink at a bar nearby.

The last time they met, they ate Chinese food at Surfers and split the bill.

Today, for the first time, she is coming over to Erik’s house for dinner. She sent him a recipe in advance, and has promised to show him how to make the perfect truffle pasta.

Moa Nygaard is a trained chef who worked in some of Stockholm’s most popular restaurants before moving to V?xjo and becoming a sous chef at PM & v?nner.

Her last relationship was with a man called Bruno, an administrator at Linné University, and she has a daughter with him.

Moa inherited her parents’ house to the north of Stockholm when they died, and after Bruno got a new position at Sodertorn University, they moved in. She took a year’s paid maternity leave, then found a job in Bobergs matsal in central Stockholm.

Moa has been honest with Erik that Bruno can be difficult, and that he still hasn’t found a place of his own to live despite the fact that they have been separated for over a year.

She lets him stay in her guesthouse and says, ‘Bruno thinks we’re still together, but we’re not. He knows that, but he’s an idiot. I just don’t want to make a big deal out of it, for Matilda’s sake.’

Erik has already made his way through to the hall when he hears the doorbell ring. He waits for a moment, then starts to worry that she might be able to see him through the patterned glass, and hurries over to open the door.

Moa is wearing a brown aviator jacket with a sheepskin collar, and her short blonde hair is gelled up in a slightly punky style.

‘You made it,’ he says.

‘I took an Uber,’ she replies, pressing her lips together to stop herself from grinning.

‘Of course. I saw the car.’

He takes her heavy jacket and hangs it up, then moves back into the hallway with an over-the-top ‘come in’ and manages to knock a straw Christmas goat from the sideboard as he waves his hand behind him.

Moa has on a pair of low-cut leather trousers and a loose gold top that leaves her shoulders and stomach bare.

She follows him through to the kitchen – which smells of truffle, garlic, Parmesan and fresh basil – and over to the table.

‘Nice,’ she says, reaching for one of the folded napkins.

‘It is almost Christmas,’ he says, taking a bottle out of the wine cooler and holding it up for her to see. ‘How about a ripassa?’

‘Perfect.’

He opens the wine and pours two glasses, then hands one to Moa and looks deep into her pretty green eyes.

‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers,’ she replies with a smile, her pointed teeth poking out from beneath her lip.

They both take a sip, and Erik tries to joke about how nervous he is for her to try his pasta sauce, telling her that it feels like he is on a cookery show and the judge is about to come in.

‘But everything went OK, didn’t it?’ she asks, glancing over to the sauté pan on the hob.

‘I think so .?.?. I don’t know.’

‘A lot of it really just comes down to having confidence in yourself.’

One of her tattoos is visible above the waistband of her trousers, a delicate lacy pattern in black ink.

Erik moves the greasy can of sardines and the jar containing the black truffle to one side and wipes the counter with a piece of kitchen roll. He then rinses a few chives and cuts them into the sauce before offering her a spoonful.

‘Nice,’ she says, giving him an appreciative nod. ‘Really.’

‘But?’

‘Personally, I think pasta needs a bit of acidity to really make it sing,’ she says after a moment.

‘But I added the red wine vinegar.’

‘I know.’

He takes out a clean spoon and tries the sauce himself.

‘I forgot the lemon,’ he says, reaching for one from the net and grating a little zest into the pan.

Moa playfully guides him through the finishing touches, showing him how to balance the seasoning and thicken the sauce. Erik then mixes it with some rigatoni in a warm serving dish and scatters a few basil leaves over the top.

*?*?*

They are now sitting across from each other at the table, eating the pasta. Erik pours more wine, and she praises his cooking again.

He uses the corner of his napkin to wipe a creamy lip mark from his glass before helping himself to more food.

‘You have beautiful hands,’ she says, reaching over to stroke the back of one of them, resting on the table beside his glass.

‘Do you think so?’ He looks down at it, as though he has never noticed it before.

‘How was your day?’ she asks.

‘Oh, nothing special. I tried to write a little .?.?. an article about the dual nature of the voice in my field. Attentive and reassuring, yet also authoritarian.’

‘Interesting.’

‘What else .?.?. I finished reading a German thesis about hypnosis and hallucinogens, which was pretty cool. And I saw two clients, too.’

‘Women?’ she asks, lowering her fork.

‘Yes.’

‘Do they .?.?. I’ve been wondering, don’t they fall in love with you?’

‘No.’

‘What?’ she asks, astounded.

‘If they do, they manage to hide it very well.’

‘Or maybe you’re just not so attuned to signals of that kind,’ she says with a smirk.

‘I think I’d notice.’

‘You haven’t noticed that I want to kiss you. A lot.’

‘Ah, you’ve got me blushing now .?.?. But the truth is that I’ve probably become more cautious about .?.?. interpreting certain things .?.?. Sorry, I don’t know what I’m trying to say here.’

‘You’re trying to change the subject,’ she says with a smile.

‘I’d really like to kiss you, too.’

‘But?’

‘I don’t want to rush it, to force anything .?.?. I’m so glad you’re here, that you wanted to see me again. You’re so attractive, vibrant and interesting .?.?. and you have incredibly sweet ears.’

‘But .?.?.?’

‘I’m not like all the exciting people you must meet through your work, with their cool clothes, tattoos and muscles.’

‘You’ve been working out, you said.’

‘That’s true .?.?. Does it show?’

‘No.’ She laughs.

‘Well, my muscles have definitely been aching,’ he says, massaging his shoulder.

‘I can help with that,’ she says, getting to her feet.

Erik sees her breasts sway beneath the gold fabric of her top, and he quickly looks away. She moves around the table, and he feels a shiver pass down his spine as she pauses behind him.

Embarrassingly enough, what he said is true. He has started working out since he met Moa. He goes down to his son’s old gym in the basement almost every day, and his muscles really have been aching.

She massages the back of his neck, pressing down on his shoulders and squeezing the muscles.

‘Oof,’ he sighs.

‘Did that hurt?’

‘It’s OK, just—’

‘Are you scared of me?’

‘No.’

She kisses his cheek from behind, then steps to one side and looks down at him.

‘No?’

‘I’m pretty tough,’ he says.

‘You don’t look tough.’

‘Do so.’

‘We can have a safe word,’ she says, her face solemn.

‘What?’

Moa roars with laughter.

‘Sorry, I’m only kidding. God, I just wanted to startle you,’ she says, covering her mouth to hide her smile.

‘OK.’

‘Erik? I was only kidding.’

He catches her hand and presses it softly to his lips. She gently caresses his neck, running her fingers slowly through his hair.

Erik’s phone is lying on the table in front of them. It is set to silent, but the screen lights up with a message from Joona. I need your help.

Moa picks up the phone and hands it to Erik. She apologises for accidentally reading the message, but says it could be important.

‘Thanks.’

‘A patient?’

‘No, a friend .?.?. A detective.’

‘You should call him.’

‘I’ll do it tomorrow.’

‘I should probably get going anyway. I have to be up early in the morning,’ she says.

Dr Erik Maria Bark is a specialist in psycho-traumatology and disaster psychiatry, and spent four years leading a ground-breaking research project into deep hypnotic group therapy at the Karolinska Institute.

He is a member of the European Society of Hypnosis, has written a major standard work on the subject, and is now considered one of the foremost authorities on clinical hypnosis in the world.