‘You can’t mean that, Selma.’

Vanja Vegge stared indignantly at her over her red wine glass with a stem so long and slim that Selma feared Vanja’s rage would cause it to break.

‘That would be a conspicuous breach of professional ethics!’

She stopped the glass on its way to her mouth and put it down again as she shook her head.

‘In the first place I wouldn’t be able to take you on as a patient no matter how much you needed it. You don’t treat your closest friends, Selma. Secondly, anyway, I can’t possibly issue any declaration that you’re receiving treatment from me if that has no basis in reality! What’s more, there isn’t anything wrong with you. What would you need me for? Other than as a friend? Have you gone …’

Selma took a deep breath and let the air ooze out through puffed cheeks.

‘Fine. Forget it.’

She grabbed the Pepsi Max glass and drained it in one. Her restlessness made her twirl the empty glass on the table. Didn’t want to, but had to. Put it down with a bang.

‘Fabulous food. Thanks a million. I have to think of leaving now.’

Vanja Vegge put her hand, rattling with five bracelets and huge rings on all her fingers, on top of Selma’s.

‘What’s going on with you? What’s actually happened?’

Selma pulled her arm away and camouflaged the dismissive gesture by picking up the napkin and wiping her mouth.

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for a week! Your office says you’ve left. Left! Sure enough, your secretary gave me the run-around, but in the end it seemed as if she was saying that you’re ill. Seriously ill, Selma! Is that true? You don’t look even the slightest ill to me, but it’s …’

‘I’m not ill, Vanja. I’d be grateful if you could spread that news. It’s all due to a misunderstanding, OK?’

‘That’s great, then! But all the same … Jesso is grumpy and won’t say anything at all. I’ve tried to contact Anine for three days now, but all your only daughter has said by way of reply is a text message asking me to tell you to go to hell if I find you. What …’

Selma put down her knife and fork.

Don’t think of Anine. Nor of Johannes. Don’t think about your children.

‘Selma, you’re crying!’

Vanja’s voice dropped a notch and her words came more slowly.

‘You can’t cry, Selma. That should be physiologically impossible. What’s happened?’

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m not actually crying. Look!’

She leaned forward and opened her eyes wide. Vanja mumbled something inaudible. Selma forced a smile and blinked quickly.

‘There really are no tears. Just a bit moist, which is fine.’