And then a second’s free fall as she remembers a time almost eleven years ago when she said those exact words to someone else, before she lost the two most important people in her life. She sinks, flailing. Far beyond the static, she hears Leo’s grumbling protests as she opens the driver’s side door.

She resurfaces.

‘Fine,’ she says quickly and steps aside. ‘But no speeding, I don’t want to talk to any of my colleagues today.’

‘You really think there are traffic coppers out and about at this hour? On a Sunday?’

Leo’s probably right; the traffic unit has had its hands full two nights in a row and are probably on well-deserved leave. Any stops made today were probably done before lunch. It’s 7 p.m. now.

The decision to humour Kore was based on equal parts irritation and guilt. Despite her best intentions, Karen had been unable to stop herself from nagging Sigrid about at least texting if she planned to spend the night elsewhere. Didn’t she get that they worried?

‘Don’t drag me into this,’ Leo’s back had virtually screamed. He had got up when Sigrid entered the kitchen and gone over to the sink to boil more water.

‘I spent the night at a friend’s house.’

‘Klara, was it?’

‘No, a guy, since you’re asking.’

‘What guy?’

‘A . . . bloke from the club. He’s friends with the owner.’

‘A “bloke”? Does he have a name, this bloke?’

‘Yes, Keris, why? Keris Gudmundson.’

‘And what does Keris do for a living? Assuming he has a job, that is.’

‘He’s a chef. He cooks. Bloody good food, actually.’

‘At the club? I thought you only served . . .’

‘No, at P27 on Parkvej. He has worked there for years.’

Karen had been left momentarily speechless. P27 wasn’t some grimy dive. Quite the opposite; there was speculation the renowned restaurant might become the first in the country to land a Michelin star. And this Keris Sigrid had spent the night with had apparently been a chef there for several years.

Several years . . .

Don’t stick your nose in, she had remonstrated with herself. Just back off, you’re not her mother. Keep your mouth shut.

But of course, she hadn’t.

‘Chef,’ she’d said. ‘Well, that’s a solid career. So, how old is he?’ she’d added with feigned casualness.

‘Twenty-seven, I think. Why?’

And just as Karen had taken a deep breath to launch into a speech about the inappropriateness of the age difference, Sigrid had calmly leaned back in her chair. Looked from Karen to Leo and back again.

‘Eight years,’ she’d said with a wry smile. ‘Outrageous, isn’t it?’

That was when Kore had called.