At home, I walk from room to room, switching on all the little lamps, humming to myself under my breath. I used to like to sing, and I was pretty good at it – might it be a good idea to return to it, take some lessons, develop my voice? It would be something to do with the little spare time I have. I make a mental note to Google some options on Monday. I pour another glass of wine and sit down on the sofa. In this moment, nothing seems so bad. All the things that bothered me and made me fearful feel dulled by the warm, glowy feeling I have inside.

*

I wake with a start, my heart hammering, the remnants of a bad dream disappearing from my mind. I glance at the time, 5.50 a.m. All the lights are on and I’m still wearing my leather pants and silk blouse from the brunch. My mouth tastes terrible and I feel intensely dehydrated. I get up and stumble woozily toward the kitchen. For a moment, I wonder whether I might actually throw up, but feel better after a large glass of San Pellegrino. I realize that two chunky candles have been left burning on the windowsill, though I can’t remember lighting them. They’re both almost burned out, and one of them has started spitting wax and sending tall flames leaping out of the holder. If I hadn’t noticed when I did, it might have set the curtains on fire.

I blow them out and go back to the sofa to lie down. I’m going to give myself ten minutes of scrolling through Instagram before I go back to bed; I want to make sure the nausea disappears completely while staying close to the bathroom. When I unlock my phone, a series of notifications pop up on the screen. A text message from Elisabeth’s mother, sent last night, thanking me. I hope you know that to Elisabeth, you were an angel, she wrote. Another from my own mother, complaining about my father’s inability to plan for their weekend away. And there is an email from Leah Iverson, sent at 10.31 p.m. with the word ‘Supernova’ in the subject line.

24

Leah, two weeks before

She has the idea one of the many nights when she’s alone. The two of them, at Bekkebu. It would be the only way to paint a full picture. All that space, all the time they would have. She would understand. Or eventually, she would come to understand. Leah smiles to herself in the dark. She knows better than anyone that pain, while difficult, is the catalyst for growth. She’s just the facilitator.