Page 231 of The Sleepwalker

Hugo almost loses his footing as a gust of wind takes hold of him. He stumbles, slips down a couple of steps and regains his balance, but it feels like he has pulled a muscle in his back.

The snow lashes at his face.

It has taken him almost an hour to walk two kilometres, clambering over fallen trees and ducking to avoid flying debris.

All around him, flagpoles have snapped, and there are broken awnings and solar panels strewn along the street.

When the metro reached Aspudden, there was an announcement telling everyone to leave the train, and the driver locked the doors behind them.

Most people hung around on the platform, but Hugo decided to walk the last few kilometres home, despite all the warnings. He did up the zip on his coat and climbed the stairs. The station doors were broken, and the tiled floor in the ticket hall was buried beneath a thick blanket of snow.

It felt as though he had been hit by a snow cannon as he left the building and headed out onto the dark street.

There was no sign of anyone else out and about.

Hugo is now less than half a kilometre from home, but he has lost all feeling in his face. He hurries along the street, past a fence that seems to have been torn out of the ground outside a large villa. Pink curtains flutter through two broken windows.

He takes cover for a moment against a supporting wall when he sees the cover from a swimming pool careening through the air.

It crashes down onto a car roof nearby with such force that the windows shatter.

The last stretch along Pettersbergsvägen is relatively sheltered, but the tall pines creak as they bend in the wind, and the snow beneath them is full of branches, needles and cones.

In the darkness and the haze, Hugo almost misses his own driveway.

Their green rubbish bins have all blown over.

He picks his way down the slope, battling through the fierce wind blowing in from the lake. He scrapes the inside of his thigh as he clambers over three fallen trees, then runs the last few metres to the door.

His long hair whips around his face.

The ground is littered with broken roof tiles, he notices, and the old maple is groaning.

Hugo fumbles for his keys and opens the door with stiff fingers. He stamps his shoes, hurries inside and locks the door behind him.

Shivering, he brushes the snow from his coat, hangs it up, kicks off his shoes and makes his way down the dark hall towards the kitchen.

The wind is howling in the extractor fan.

He goes through to the library and smells the faint scent of burning wood. His father must have lit a fire in the stove in the bedroom, he thinks.

Hugo climbs the stairs and sees the warm glow in the hallway.

As ever when he reaches the landing, he glances to the left, through the window in the door leading to his old room, before turning right into the main bedroom.

Bernard and Agneta are sitting by the stove, each with a glassof wine. On the sideboard, there is a plate of hotdogs and buns.

‘Hugo!’ Bernard shouts, getting to his feet.

‘The metro stopped at Aspudden, so I had to walk,’ he says.

‘You were probably lucky; nothing is working,’ Bernard says as he comes over to give him a hug. ‘My God, you’re frozen. Here, sit down by the fire.’

‘It’s crazy out there.’

‘I’m just glad you made it home safely.’

‘Hi, Agneta.’