She’d been in contact with Ella again by email just days before about the book. Elisabeth found it easier to talk that way, and Ella had been so pleased to hear that Elisabeth would be willing to take part in the project and her preliminary thoughts. She glances at Kristina, who is placing pieces of cheese and fat olives and serrano ham on a metal Alessi tray. She feels momentarily guilty for having agreed to do the book and for having decided that the only way she can really move on is to deal with the full truth in the only way she knows how – through her art, and with real honesty. Kristina was very clear about her feelings when they spoke on the beach below Villa Vinternatt, and while Elisabeth understands and wants to protect her and please her, she can’t do it forever at such a high cost.

She watches Kristina pour two large glasses from the bottle – strange: she knows Elisabeth is required to stay totally sober at all times, including when on leave like now, to continue to be eligible for Villa Vinternatt’s residency program. Elisabeth remembers how angry Kristina was last winter when she was caught drinking smuggled whiskey with Joel and one of the other guys. I put my professional reputation on the fucking line for you, she said, a vivid red stress rash appearing on her neck.

‘Is Eirik home?’ she asks, looking around as though he might suddenly appear. Elisabeth assumed he wouldn’t be; in the past five years she’s only seen him a handful of times as his political career has skyrocketed. It’s strange to her that the undeniably charismatic but rather immature man Kristina met at university has morphed into this political powerhouse often on the cover of Norway’s major newspapers.

‘No.’

‘Oh. Yeah, I thought you said he was traveling for work. Is someone else joining us?’

‘No.’ Kristina smiles, a warm, carefully honed smile, the kind Elisabeth imagines she gives her clients when they say something particularly disturbing and she wants to make them feel secure. She slides one glass across the countertop to where Elisabeth sits on a bar stool.

‘But… You know I can’t drink. Obviously.’

‘Well, I was thinking to myself this morning how far you’ve come. It isn’t at all obvious, actually, at this point, that you shouldn’t be allowed to unwind and have some fun with your best friend.’ Fun, that word again. Light. Dangerous.

‘I…’ Elisabeth begins to respond but is so surprised she actually has no words.