‘I’m good. Better and better,’ says Elisabeth.

‘You look and sound good, sweetie.’ Kristina places a hand on Elisabeth’s and smiles at her. ‘The work you are doing for yourself will serve you for the rest of your life. So many people would have given up, but you’re a fighter.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Elisabeth looks out at the deep-blue water, sunlight trapped on little wavelets.

‘Is everything okay, Elisabeth? You know I can speak to them if there is something you need that you’re not getting here. Are the therapy sessions working out okay? Is it just once a week? Maybe twice would be—’

‘I don’t need any more therapy.’ Elisabeth speaks more firmly than she intended and feels Kristina’s surprise at being cut off. ‘Sorry. Just that I’ve had a lot of it.’

‘Sure.’ Kristina takes a sip of coffee and her eyes follow Elisabeth’s out on the water. She waits for Elisabeth to speak and Elisabeth is envious of her ability to just sit in loaded silence.

‘I was wondering if we could speak about what happened. In Venezuela.’ Elisabeth speaks quickly, then wishes she hadn’t thrown it in there quite so bluntly. She glances quickly at Kristina, who looks as calm and composed as ever, but Elisabeth has known her all her life and can tell by the vein pulsating visibly on Kristina’s neck that she is agitated beneath the surface.

It’s no doubt a surprise to Kristina that Elisabeth has chosen to bring up the shooting. They haven’t spoken about it in over a decade; there didn’t seem like anything more to be said, and Kristina never recovered her full memory and made her peace with that. She moved on. Why would Elisabeth drag the terrible tragedy back out into the light, when it would change nothing? Trine was dead and gone forever. In the last few weeks, since the vernissage and since the meetings with Ella Victor, who has visited twice more, Elisabeth has begun to question her decision to not speak up about certain things. After all, she put an innocent man in prison, where he remains to this day. How is she supposed to carry that for the rest of her life? She is starting to wonder whether by keeping secrets, they are what eat away at her and stop her from being really free.

‘You know you can talk to me about whatever you want, Elisabeth.’ Kristina is looking straight at her now, and her brown eyes don’t flinch or give away even slight anxiety.

‘I suppose I feel that we never talk about it, though.’

‘I suppose we don’t. I’m not sure I personally feel that anything can be gained by going over it again now, but if you need to talk about it, of course we can.’