Page 65 of The Sleepwalker

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 Växjö and becoming a sous chef at PM & vänner.

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 Södertörn 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.’