Úrsúla nodded and they sat in silence for a while. Nonni took a long swallow of beer, which emptied half his glass.

He was probably right. She hadn’t been happy since they had 7come home; she felt out of touch – in a daze while life passed her by. This wasn’t the way she had foreseen things unfolding. She had expected to spend her whole life in charity work, somewhere sandy and hot, where the burning heat on her body would show her that she was making a difference.

‘What about the children?’ Úrsúla asked, although she didn’t expect anything would change for them, whether she became a minister or not. Nonni had looked after them mostly and would continue to do so.

‘I’m only teaching part-time and I can arrange my hours so I can do more preparation at home, so this isn’t a bad time.’

‘I should be able to help people out there,’ Úrsúla said and looked absently out of the window. It was snowing again, and a fresh layer of white was covering the grey that already lay on the ground. That was what she desperately wanted: to make a difference. To turn chaos into order, to make a difference to someone’s life, somewhere. Nonni reached across the table and laid a hand on hers.

‘It’ll be good for us as well,’ he said quietly, looking into her eyes. The argument in the counsellor’s office just now was already forgotten and the sparkle of humour had returned to his gaze. ‘A happy Úrsúla means happy kids and a happy Nonni.’

‘You’re sure about that?’ she asked. She wanted to hear his words of encouragement said out loud, to hear him speak his mind, to voice his decision to support her. She wanted to be reassured that things wouldn’t go back to the way they had been, with him criticising her decision to take on a demanding role, feeling sorry for himself for getting too little of her attention, turning his back on her.

‘Quite sure,’ he said. ‘It’s no coincidence that an opportunity like this should pop up right now. This is supposed to happen. I’m a hundred per cent behind you, my love.’

Úrsúla squeezed his hand in return. It was a relief to hear his unequivocal support, although it didn’t affect her decision. She 8had already made up her mind. She had done that before the conversation with the PM had ended. This was what she had been waiting for, something that sparked a desire inside her. This would be something that would wrench her out of the daze she had been in since she had left Liberia, on her way to the refugee camps in Syria.

3

The meeting with Óðinn, the permanent secretary, was a relief after the stiff formality of that morning’s State Council session. She had struggled to sit still while one minister after another had got to his feet to list his achievements in parliament to the president, who had been surprisingly successful in feigning a real interest in these long lists. Úrsúla had been badly nicotine starved and puffed the smoke of two cigarettes out of the car window as she hurtled back to the ministry to meet Óðinn.