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David pulls the revolver from his hand with a chuckle, stumbles and falls, and fires a shot up at the sky, then another as he tries to stand up.

A couple of guests clap, and others laugh and raise their glasses in a toast.

Reidar takes the revolver back and brushes the snow off it.

‘It’s all down to the last shot,’ he says.

Veronica goes over and kisses him on the lips.

‘How are you doing?’

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘I’ve never been happier.’

Veronica looks at him and brushes the hair from his forehead. The group on the stone steps whistles and laughs.

‘I found a better target,’ cries a red-haired woman whose name he can’t remember.

She’s dragging a huge doll through the snow. Suddenly she loses her grip of the doll and falls to her knees, then gets back on her feet again. Her leopard-skin-print dress is flecked with damp.

‘I saw it yesterday, it was under a dirty tarpaulin in the garage,’ she exclaims jubilantly.

Berzelius hurries over to help her carry it. The doll is solid plastic, and has been painted to look like Spiderman. It’s as tall as Berzelius.