Since then, the boys had scarcely been indoors.

Vetle and his big brother were among the first youngsters in the entire neighbourhood with fibreglass skis. When the fathers in Jupiterveien as usual arranged a race in Langsetløkka on Boxing Day, the brothers had won in their age groups. It was all because of the fibreglass, the other youngsters had grumbled, but their dads had shushed their backbiting away, firmly declaring that it was the man on the skis that mattered.

Always the man on the skis.

They had been awarded diplomas and hot blackcurrant juice, and Kent from the furthest away of the Myrer apartment blocks was permitted to try out the Bonna skis. Vetle’s dad had struggled to hide his pride when he drew his youngest son towards him and said: ‘Maybe those skis were worth the money, my boy. But they were certainly highway robbery, so you take good care of them. That applies to you too, my lad!’

The final words were shouted in Arne’s direction.

‘Take care of those skis! They cost an arm and a leg!’

His big brother was fooling around. He stood with his left ski on the ski run and used his right to kick off on the well-prepared outside edge, almost like with an enormous skate. He took off at top speed down the slight slope down towards the clubhouse.

‘Stop that nonsense,’ their father roared. ‘Ski properly! You’re damaging the skis. And the ski run!’

It had been such a wonderful evening. Just Vetle and Arne, Mum and Dad. Their relatives had all gone home. The apartment was still conventionally decorated, with a glittering tree, a Bethlehem star in the living room window, and elves, angels and candles everywhere. The family huddled around the little kitchen table and ate leftovers as their father teased their mother so mercilessly that Arne even blushed. Vetle himself just felt warm and happy and even managed to persuade everyone to play a board game, The Missing Diamond, once they were replete. In fact, Vetle was the one who found the sought-after cardboard disk, the one with the biggest diamond of all, before he won by flying straight to Cairo on the third night of the best Christmas he had ever experienced.

Bloody, shitty brother.

Vetle hadn’t seen him for ten minutes at least. Almost unnoticed, Arne had picked up speed as they approached the residential area and the car park where they would unfasten their skis and walk the last four hundred metres or so home to their apartment. Mum had promised that they would have cheese toasties with ham and Dole pineapple. Dad had said they would be allowed to watch a movie, Tante Pose, on TV. The film was ancient and boring, but Mum laughed so uproariously every time they watched it that even Arne would bring his supper with him and sit on the floor in front of the TV to watch.