“Well, then. Just call that number,” Kevin’s dad says.

Then he says nothing for a long time. As if that were the whole purpose of his visit.

*

What is a Pack? Nothing, if you ask its members. It doesn’t exist. The men sitting around the tables in the Bearskin have nothing in common apart from the fact that they’re men. The oldest are over forty, the youngest not even able to vote. Some have the bear tattooed on their necks, others on their arms, many not at all. Some have good jobs, others bad jobs, many no job at all. Some have families, children, mortgages, and go on package holidays, and some live alone and have never set foot outside Beartown. That is precisely the problem when the police try to identify them as “the Pack”: they only have something in common when you see them together. As soon as they’re a few feet away from each other, they’re just individuals.

And what is a club? If you ask them, it belongs to them. Not the old bastards, the men who wear smart jackets to games, the sponsors and board members and president and GM—they’re all the same. In a single season all those old bastards could disappear, but the club would still be there, the Pack too. It’s a thing that doesn’t exist and always exists.

They’re not always threatening. Rarely violent, unless it’s a match day and there are opposing fans in the vicinity. But they make a point of showing the old bastards who the club really belongs to, every now and then. And what happens if you jeopardize its survival.

*

Ramona is standing behind the bar. The men in black jackets are sitting at her tables. They’re the most considerate lads she knows. They buy her food and put in new bulbs up in the apartment without her even having to ask. When she once asked why they hate Peter so much, their eyes darkened and one of them replied: “Because that fucker never had to fight for hockey. He got it all on a plate. So he’s frightened. The sponsors have got him on a leash; he puts their fucking logos ahead of what’s best for the club. Everyone knows he grew up in the standing section, but when the sponsors want to drive out those of us standing there now and replace us with the fucking hot-dogs-and-Coke audience, he doesn’t say a word. Everyone knows he loves Sune like a father, and that he doesn’t want David to be A-team coach, but he just keeps his mouth shut. What sort of man is that? How can we let him be GM of our club?”

Ramona fixed her eyes on them and hissed: “And what about you, then? How many people in this town would dare to disagree with you? Do you think that means you’re right, every single fucking time?”

They fell silent then. Ramona could, perhaps, have been proud of that. If it weren’t for the fact that through the small windows facing the street she now sees Peter walking along. Slowly, as if he doesn’t know where he’s going. He stops and looks in through the window with a bag of groceries in his hand, hesitating.

Ramona could have gone out and gotten him. Offered him a cup of coffee. It would have been so simple. But she looks around her inside the Bearskin, at the men at the tables, and the only thing that is simpler than offering Peter coffee in this town right now is not doing so.

*

How big is the world when you’re twelve years old? Both infinite and infinitesimal. It’s all your wildest dreams, but it’s also a cramped locker room in an ice rink. Leo is sitting on a bench. The front of his jersey has a large bear on it. No one is looking at him, but everyone is. His best friends get up and move to another bench when he sits down. He doesn’t get a single pass all session. He wishes someone had checked him. He wishes they’d thrown his clothes in the shower. He almost wishes that they’d shouted something horrible about his sister.

*

Just to escape the silence.

*

Amat’s fingers can’t stop feeling the edge of the business card. Kevin’s dad looks at the time, as if he’s in a hurry to leave, and smiles at Amat as if they’re done. Amat even has time to reach for the door handle before the man pats him paternally on the shoulder and says, as if the thought has only just occurred to him:

“By the way . . . At the party, my son’s party, I know you think you might have seen something that night, Amat. But I think you also know that an awful lot of people saw how much alcohol you drank at that party, right?”

The quivering business card betrays how much he is shaking. Kevin’s dad puts his hand on his.

“You can get so many ideas in your head when you’ve been drinking, Amat, but that doesn’t mean that they’re true. People do stupid things when they’re drunk. Trust me, I’ve done plenty!”

The man laughs, warmly and self-deprecatingly. Amat is still staring at the business card. The name of a personnel manager, a big company, a different life.

“Are you in love with Maya?” the man asks so abruptly that Amat nods before he has time to think.

It’s the first time he’s admitted it to anyone. Tears are pricking the backs of his eyelids. The man is still holding his fingers gently and says:

“She’s put you in a terrible situation, you and Kevin. A goddamn terrible situation. And do you think she cares about you, Amat? Do you think she would have done this if she did? It’s hard for you to understand now, but girls need attention in a different way than boys. And they do goddamn weird things to get it. Little girls gossip and spread rumors, but men don’t. Men look each other in the eye and sort things out without involving everyone else. Don’t you think?”

Amat glances at him. Bites his lip and nods. Kevin’s dad leans over confidentially and whispers:

“That girl chose Kevin. But believe me, there’ll soon come a time when she’ll wish she’d picked you instead. When you’re playing in the A-team, when you turn professional, the girls will flock to you. And then you’ll understand that some of them can’t be trusted. They’re like a virus.”

Amat sits in silence, feeling the weight of the man’s hand on his shoulder.

“Is there anything you want to tell me, Amat?”

The boy shakes his head. Sweat from his fingers is starting to stain the business card. The man takes out his wallet and hands him five thousand-kronor notes.

“I heard you might need new skates. From now on, whenever you need anything, you can just call me. We take care of each other, in this town and on this team.”

Amat takes the money and folds the notes around the business card, opens the door, and gets out. The man rolls down his window and calls:

“I know that tonight’s training session is voluntary, but it would be good if you were there. The team needs to stick together, right? People are nothing when they’re alone in this world, Amat!”

The boy promises to go. The man laughs, pretends to be angry and frowns, hunches his shoulders and growls:

“Because we are the bears, the bears from Beartown!”