On the other hand, it was possible that the ointment could get Hege off the hook. Maggi knew a fair amount about skiing after all these years in the timber house in Vettakollen. She was less certain about the anti-doping regulations. They couldn’t possibly be downright unfair. Regulations usually weren’t. If it turned out that Hege had ingested that blasted substance by some demonstrable accident, then the punishment would surely be reduced. Maggi had Googled the difficult name of the cream, Trofodermin.

It was quite simply an ointment for cold sores.

No one would improve at skiing through using a cold sore ointment.

Everyone would understand that.

She tossed and turned fitfully in the bed. It was nearly midnight, and Jan had, as usual, asked for a very early breakfast. The room was too warm, she felt, and got up to open the window.

She could tell Hege what she had found. Convince her to talk to Jan. Get Jan to sort it all out, the way he always sorted everything out. Except for now, as he didn’t know about the ointment. And therefore didn’t understand any of it. He was even more silent than usual. When she observed him without his knowledge, he had an expression in his eyes that she couldn’t recall ever seeing since she had first moved in and everything had been impacted by the death in the family.

Maggi opened the window slightly and switched on the bedside lamp before moving the pillows and sitting up in bed. She took out a book and reading glasses, but her brain refused to cooperate. The letters turned into meaningless codes she couldn’t crack. It was as if the tube of ointment, which now lay in a plastic bag at the bottom of her underwear drawer, was sending out an annoying, high frequency sound that only she could hear.

It would be difficult to talk to Hege.

Years ago, when her diary used to be hidden in there, Maggi realized that Hege had no idea that the cleaning routines also included the air vent. There was no reason to enlighten her. Young girls often wrote diaries, and Maggi had never succumbed to the temptation to read it. From that point of view, the air vent was a good hiding place. The book was allowed to rest in peace.

Nevertheless, Hege would have been terribly embarrassed.

On the other hand …

Maggi put aside her book, but left the light on. All this nonsense about drugs, suspension, punishment and the secret ointment was far worse than an old diary written by a teenager who, strictly speaking, had never done anything wrong. Hege was sensible.

But maybe she wanted to back off, anyway. To start with, Hege had hidden this ointment. That must mean she had done something she didn’t want other people to know about. A slip-up, certainly a mistake, an easily explained misunderstanding that could possibly get the punishment reduced, but which in a panic she had chosen to keep hidden.