Then she spots him at one of the window tables at the back of the room. Judging by the contents of his glass, he hasn’t been here long, she thinks. Or he’s on his second pint.

One last moment of hesitation. Then she walks up to the bar where Jaap Kloes, Egil Jenssen, and Odd Marklund are still screwed to their respective stools.

‘Hello, men,’ she says and nods as usual when Arild holds up a pint glass with a questioning wave in the direction of the Spitfire tap.

Anything other than ‘The usual, please’ would raise eyebrows and cause looks to be exchanged.

‘Your boyfriend’s waiting for you over there,’ Jaap Kloes says without turning around.

‘You mean my lodger,’ Karen replies. ‘We’re about to discuss a serious rent hike.’

‘Well, he looks glum already – I take it it’s about to get worse, then,’ Egil Jenssen chuckles, sounding pleased.

‘Go easy on the menfolk, Karen,’ Odd Marklund puts in. ‘Don’t forget that we’re made of less sturdy stuff than you.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she replies as Arild Rasmussen puts her pint down on the bar mat in front of her.

Then she picks up her beer, takes a deep breath, and walks towards the conversation she would do anything to avoid.

*

Leo watches in silence while she sits down, puts her handbag on the chair next to her, and fastidiously slides a cardboard coaster under her glass.

‘What would you like to discuss first?’ she asks. ‘That I’m nasty or that I’m pregnant?’

‘The first I’ve known for a long time, the second I’ve recently puzzled out. I’m actually more interested in why you asked if I’ve seen Luna.’

She freezes mid-motion. That’s what he wants to discuss? Now?

‘You’re not going to drop it, are you?’ she snaps. ‘I’ve already said I shouldn’t have. I guess I’ll have to blame my hormones.’

She can’t bring herself to look him in the eye.

‘But I bet she wouldn’t love this,’ she adds.

He stares at her, as though trying to process what she just said.

‘What the fuck does Luna have to do with anything? I assume she’s back in the US by now.’

He says it with palpable disinterest. Feigned or genuine.

A tiny flame. Faint and flickering, barely visible.

No. I can’t.

‘Anyway, don’t worry about it,’ she says. ‘Whatever I decide to do, I’ll take care of it myself. Unless you tell people, no one needs to know.’

He leans back with a groan and turns his eyes to the ceiling.

‘You’re a fucking nutcase.’

‘Fine, what do you want me to say? It’s not like I planned this. You think I wanted this to happen? That I’m trying to entrap you by getting knocked up?’