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could certainly understand the problem. It was like the meeting of two opposite poles. The desire, the longing and the need on one side cannoning into the reality on the other, apparently irreconcilable. This was where the most difficult questions arose. Stefan came across them all the time in his work. That was when his patients came to him – when they suddenly found themselves unable to come up with the answers. It was human. Nothing strange about it. The strange thing about this situation was that the person sitting in front of him was Sebastian Bergman. A man who had always had all the answers. A man Stefan had never expected to seek his help.
    Sebastian had been Stefan’s tutor at university. Everyone in the group had felt a certain reluctance to attend his lectures. They were always memorable, but on the very first day Sebastian had immediately made it clear to everyone that he was the star, and that he had no intention of sharing the limelight. Any student who questioned Sebastian’s arguments or attempted a critical discussion of his theses and theories was humiliated and mocked. Not just for the remainder of that particular lecture, but for the rest of the academic year, the rest of his or her university career. This was why Sebastian’s ‘Any questions?’ was always followed by complete silence.
    The exception was Stefan Larson. He came well equipped to meet Sebastian. As the youngest son in a family of academics, dinner at home in Lund had prepared Stefan for verbal sparring, and he had often sought discussions with the sharp, impossible man who was feared by so many others. Sebastian also reminded Stefan of his older brother Ernst, who had the same powerful need to make his point, and always went that bit too far in the battle to be proved right. That was the most important thing to both Ernst and Sebastian: to be proved right. It made them formidable intellectual opponents, which suited Stefan perfectly. He provided the opposition they required, but he never gave them the final victory. He came back with the next question, and the next, and the next. They were looking for the final killer blow, but instead they were faced with a long war of attrition. It was the only way to stand up to them.
    To wear them down.
    One morning almost two years ago, Sebastian had been waiting for Stefan outside the door of his practice. From the exhausted expression and the crumpled clothes, it looked as if Sebastian had been waiting all night. He was already a shadow of his former self by then. He had lost his wife and daughter in the tsunami in 2004, and since then he had been caught in an increasingly frightening downward spiral. Gone were the lectures and the book tours, replaced by tormented thoughts, apathy and a growing problem with sex. There was no one else he could turn to, he had said. No one. They had started to meet, always on Sebastian’s terms. Sometimes months would go by between meetings, sometimes just a few days. But they never lost touch.
    ‘How do you think Vanja would feel if she found out about this?’ Stefan went on.
    ‘She’d say I was crazy. She’d report me to the police and she would hate me.’ Sebastian paused for a moment before carrying on. ‘I know that, but . . . she’s the only thing I think about, all the time, going round and round . . .’ The end of the sentence was little more than a whisper. ‘This is something completely new. I’m used to being in control.’
    ‘Really? So you mean that until you found out she was your daughter, you were in control? It was your brilliant plan to fuck up your life one hundred per cent? In that case, congratulations; you certainly succeeded.’ Stefan leaned forward. That was the best thing about having Sebastian as a patient. You could take off the gloves. Hit him hard. ‘You don’t want me to pander to you. All your life people have let you have your own way. I’m not doing that. You lost your family in the tsunami, and now you’ve lost