‘Hardly. Billy’s, like, half my age. I don’t think we have much in common. But we’d say hi whenever I was over at the studio, of course, and he thanked me for helping him land a dream job, as he put it. And he certainly changed, at least on the outside.’

‘Oh yeah? So he didn’t always wear harem pants?’

Eirik chuckles.

‘More like jeans and a T-shirt. I suppose he finally had a chance to live out his fantasies among musician and other flaky folk. Just look what the industry has done to Kore . . .’

*

Leo doesn’t seem to have anything more to add, either. Billy Formby had turned out to be a rock when it came to keeping track of invoices, booking plane tickets, making coffee, driving people around, and receiving visitors, and he had been the obvious choice to be Luna’s temporary assistant while she was in the country. A rock that kept track of everyone and everything. The problem was, no one seemed to have kept track of Billy Formby.

Karen pours the tea Leo has made and notes that not only did he opt to have water with his dinner, but now he seems intent on foregoing his usual evening whiskey, too.

‘I don’t mind if you drink, even though I can’t,’ she says.

‘I don’t think it’ll do me any harm to skip it just this once. But thanks.’

It’s just the two of them tonight. Sigrid has texted that she’s spending the night at Keris’s. She had hissed like a cat the other day when Leo gently asked if she was on the pill or if they should expect more surprises.

How is this going to work? Karen wonders. A teenager and an infant in the same house. And me, about to hit menopause.

As though he can read her mind, Leo says:

‘I hope it’s a boy. What should we name him, do you think? Leo Junior, maybe.’

Karen flinches. This is the first time they’ve talked about the baby as a real person. Naming it hasn’t even crossed her mind.

‘Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? What’s your middle name?’ she says and blows on her tea before taking a sip.

He pauses briefly and seems to have trouble keeping his face neutral.

‘Leonard Evald Friis,’ he says eventually and watches her struggle to swallow her tea before letting out a snort of laughter. ‘I assume Evald is out of the question?’ he adds with a grin.

‘Definitely. So, Leonard, is it . . . ?’

‘My mum was into Cohen. What about you?’

‘Karen Pauline Eleanor. Think we’re going to have to look elsewhere if it’s a girl.’

The words feel strange in her mouth. A girl. A daughter. Or a son . . .

God, I don’t care, just let it be healthy.