The funeral reception had been cancelled, thank God.

Haakon’s mothers looked so diminished. Even Vanja who, in addition to being too heavy, was also tall and stately, had withered away entirely in her unfamiliar, dark, monochrome clothes. First the shock of their son’s death, then the viewing on Monday and the memorial ceremony in Maridalen the following day: it had all become too much for them both.

Although their sorrow would never end, their mourning had by now worn them out completely, Selma thought.

Elise stood like a pillar of salt beside the hearse. Her father had his arm around her. Little William was held in his grandmother’s arms and was laughing. He had been given a new fire engine for the occasion, fortunately with no sirens. Selma couldn’t understand why they had brought him with them. He was far too young to be able to remember anything of the service, and it couldn’t be good for him to see his mother in such a state of collapse as she had been inside the chapel.

At last the coffin was safely inside the hearse. Those nearest went across and laid a final hand on the coffin lid. Selma withdrew as far as possible, back into the throng that could barely number more than forty or fifty people. Not a soul from the Cross-Country Skiing Federation, as Vanja had refused to invite them. Selma’s hope was that the close relatives had by now had their fill of hugs, and that she could just shuffle off to her Amazon without having to say her goodbyes. She had parked on the other side of the E6 and Strømsveien, and it was quite a distance to walk to the closest footbridge.

She very nearly succeeded. The hearse rolled slowly away en route to the crematorium at Alfaset. Elise’s father, sister and two brothers escorted Vanja, Kristina and Elise to the relatives’ car park beside the chapel. Selma turned up the collar of her coat and pretended to accompany a group of elderly women who seemed to be walking in the same direction as her.

In the corner of her eye, she noticed that Elise had broken away from the family group.

And was heading straight for Selma.

The impulse to break into a run was almost irresistible. Instead, she stopped and turned towards the brand-new widow with a sympathetic expression on her face.

‘You were wrong,’ Elise said sotto voce, as she came to a halt.

‘About what?’

‘Haakon was unfaithful. I’m not going to tell anyone else. Vanja and Kristina, Mum and Dad, they don’t have to know. But you were wrong, you see.’

Elise was also bereft of make-up today. Her pallor was almost transparent. She was the only one in the entire mourning procession who was dressed in light-coloured clothes – a beige coat, pale brown trousers and a mohair scarf in the same shade as her coat.

It all matched perfectly.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Elise.’