Ten years after my husband threw me out in the rain while I was carrying his twins, I watched him tell a television audience that his one regret was never having children.

Lilja cried for about four minutes, and then stopped, and then asked whether we would have had a different house.

And I said probably. And she said oh, and that was the end of it for her, and it has not come up since.

And Oskar did not say one word for a long time.

He took his glasses off, which he does about four times a year, and put them on the table.

And then my son — who is ten, who has his father's face and his father's hands and a thing he does with the side of his mouth —

said: "So you knew on the fourteenth."

And I said yes.

And he said: "And he didn't know for seven years."

And then: "And then he knew for four."

And I said yes.

And then Oskar Nyman put his glasses back on, and pushed them up, and said:

"Okay. So everybody in this is bad at telling people things."