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"We have to pray that Britt-Marie finds a man who can support her, otherwise she'll have to live in the gutter, because she has absolutely no talents of her own," Britt-Marie used to hear her mother say into the telephone. "I got her for my sins," she also used to say, into the telephone if she was drunk, or pointedly at Britt-Marie after tippling sherry.

Sweet boys don't get to kiss pretty girls," Britt-Marie's mother sometimes used to say. Even though what she really meant was that pretty girls should not kiss sweet boys, because when dealing with sweet boys there's absolutely no certainty of being able to look forward to a reliable income.

It's impossible to be good enough for a parent after losing a sister who, in all important respects, was a better version of yourself. Britt-Marie did try, nonetheless. But with a father who came home later and later and, in the end, not at all, she did not have very many options. Instead, Britt-Marie learned not to have any expectations of her own, and to put up with her mother's skepticism about her prospects.

One of the brothers was too insensitive to her, always going on about how much money he was going to make; the other was too kind. Britt-Marie didn't want to disappoint her mother, so she chose Alf and ruled out Kent.

Kent stood in the stairwell with flowers in his hands and his eyes closed when she walked off with his brother. By the time she came back, he had gone.

Alf and Kent lived on the same floor, and they fought, as brothers tend to do. Sooner or later they both wanted the same girl. Whether they wanted Britt-Marie because they really did want her, or because brothers always want what their brother wants, she was never quite sure. If Ingrid had been there they would have courted her instead, Britt-Marie had no illusions about that. You tend not to if you're used to living in someone's shadow. But the boys were persistent, competed, fought for her attention in very different ways.

She was only with Alf for a short length of time. He was weary, she remembers. Already bored. Like a victor after the adrenaline has worn off. One morning he left her to go and do his military service and was gone for months.

Britt-Marie turned up in an old dress and with sweaty hands and her heart clattering like horse's hooves on cobblestones. Obviously she had heard the stories of how soldiers have a girl in every town, she had just never thought this would be true of Alf. At least she'd never thought he'd have two girls in the same town.

"I see you're trying to make yourself look cheap. Well, mission accomplished." Britt-Marie tried to explain that this was modern. Her mother told her not to raise her voice, it made her sound very ordinary. Britt-Marie tried to gently explain that she wanted to surprise Alf at the train station, and her mother snorted: "Oh, he'll be surprised all right." She was right.

She'd been sitting all night in the kitchen weeping into a towel when her mother finally got out of bed and scolded her for making too much noise. Britt-Marie told her about the other girl she'd seen Alf with. "Ha, what did you expect when you picked a man like that?" hissed her mother before going back to bed. She got up later than usual the following day. In the end she didn't get up at all. Britt-Marie found a job as a waitress instead of getting herself an education, so she could take care of things at home. Brought dinner into the bedroom for her mother, who had stopped talking, yet was capable now and then of sitting up in the bed and saying, "Ha, working as a waitress -- it must be nice for you not to feel you owe more to your parents after all the advantages we've given you. I don't suppose any education was good enough for you, you obviously prefer to stay here at home and live off my savings instead."

The morning that he was due back, Britt-Marie spent hours in front of the mirror for the first time in her life and tried on a new dress. Her mother gave her a look, and said:

Britt-Marie had been hoping for so long that she thought this must be a figment of her imagination, and when he smiled at her it felt like sunlight on her skin. She made his dreams her own. His life became her life. She was good at this, and people want to do the things they're good at. People want someone to know they are there.

"I got your postcard. And I… well… the accountant checked your cash withdrawals," he says almost with embarrassment and gestures at the road towards town.

Now Kent stands in her doorway in Borg, holding flowers. He smiles. Sunlight on her skin. It's hard not to want to go back to your normal life once you know how difficult it is to start again.

The flat grew increasingly quiet. And finally absolutely silent. Britt-Marie polished the windows and waited for something new to begin.

One day, Kent was just standing there on the landing. The day after her mother's funeral. He spoke of his divorce and his children.

"Were you waiting for someone?" asks Kent insecurely, and once again he is like that boy on the landing.

Britt-Marie shakes her head in shock. He smiles.

It doesn't feel natural to have to invite him in. It never did, not even when they were teenagers. At her mother's she wasn't allowed to bring boys into the bedroom, so the first time Britt-Marie brought a boy in there, it was Kent. After her mother's death. That boy stayed. Made her home his own and his life hers. So now it seems very natural to them both to be driving around Borg in their BMW, because in many ways they were always at their best when they were in the car. He in the driver's seat, she the passenger. At this moment they can pretend they have only been passing through, and leave Borg, as you do with places you send postcards from.

"No," whispers Britt-Marie, unsure whether he's making that up.

He waves dismissively at her.

When Britt-Marie doesn't know what to say he goes on:

"I asked for you in the pizzeria. That woman in the wheelchair didn't want to say where you were, but a couple of old blokes drinking coffee there were pretty keen to tell me. Do you know them?"

"Darling… I… damn it, I'm sorry! Me, her, that woman, it never meant a thing. It's over. You're the one I love. Damn it. Darling!"

"What on earth's happened to you?"

Kent holds out the flowers.

"Ah, don't make a fuss about that, the doctors just wanted me to have it for a while after the heart attack, that's all. The chassis has rusted up a bit, after it's been parked up in the garage for half the winter!" He grins, with a nod at his legs.

She wants to hold his hand.

Britt-Marie looks with concern at the stick he's using to prop himself up.

They drive into town and back. Kent keeps his hand on the gearstick, so that Britt-Marie can carefully reach out with the tips of her fingers of the hand that is not injured, and put them on top of his. Just to feel that they are both heading in the same direction. His shirt is creased and has coffee stains over his stomach. Britt-Marie remembers Sami talking about how some children look as if they live in the trees, and Kent does look as if he fell out of a tree in his sleep, hitting every branch on his way down. He smiles apologetically.

"I couldn't find that blasted iron, darling. There's no order to anything when you're not at home. You know that."

Britt-Marie doesn't answer. She's worrying about what people will think. Will they say he had a wife who left him while he was walking about with a stick and everything? Her ring finger feels cold, and she's infinitely grateful for the bandage, which stops Kent seeing it. She knows he let her down, but she can't get away from the feeling that she also let him down. What is love worth if you leave someone when he needs you the most?

Kent coughs and takes his foot off the accelerator, although the road lies empty ahead of them.

Britt-Marie has never seen him slow down for no particular reason.

"The doctors say I haven't been so well. For a long time, I mean. I haven't been myself. I've been given some darned tablets, antidepressants or whatever they're called."

She wants to ask why he never called her, after all she had a cell phone with her. But she realizes he would have assumed she couldn't switch it on. So she stays quiet about it. He peers out of the window as they drive back into Borg.

The way he says it is the same as when he's talking about his plans, as if they are all a foregone conclusion.

As if what made him come home late smelling of pizza was nothing but a production fault, perfectly easy to mend. Now everything is fine.

"Darned strange place for you to end up in, isn't it? What was it your mum used to call the countryside? 'Sheer mediocrity'? She was darned funny, your mum. And it is a bit ironic that you should end up in the sticks out here, isn't it? You, who hardly put your foot outside our flat in forty years!"

"It's over. With her. That woman. She never meant a thing. Not like you, Britt-Marie."

He says it as a joke. She can't quite accept it in that spirit. But when they stop outside Bank's house he's breathing so heavily that she can hear the pain he's in. His tears are the first she's ever seen in his eyes. There were no tears there even when he buried his own mother, while clutching Britt-Marie's hand.

He holds the fingers of her unscathed hand, caresses them gently, and says in a low voice:

"Boys are not allowed in my bedroom. Not then and not now either," she whispers.

"Tomorrow?" he calls out behind her as she's getting out of the car.

Britt-Marie brushes invisible crumbs from his shirt. Breathes in the fragrance of the flowers in her arms.

He laughs out loud. Her skin is burning.

"I need you at home, darling. I need you there. Don't throw away a whole life we've lived together just because I made one stupid mistake!"

She nods.

Because life is more than the shoes your feet are in. More than the person you are. It's the togetherness. The parts of yourself in another. Memories and walls and cupboards and drawers with compartments for cutlery, so you know where everything is.

The cell phone rings, the display showing the number of the girl from the unemployment office, but Britt-Marie declines the call. Sits on her own on the balcony all night. With her packed bags next to her.

She goes up to her room. Opens drawers. Folds towels.

A life of adaptation towards a perfect organization, a streamlined existence based on two personalities. A shared life of everything that's normal. Cement and stone, remote controls and crosswords, shirts and baking soda, bathroom cabinets and electric shavers in the third drawer. He needs her for all that. If she's not there, nothing is as it should be.