Then she shakes herself, as though waking up, picks up her glass and takes a long drink of her wine.

‘Can we please talk about something else?’ she says.

And they do. They carry on slurping and chewing, talk about everything except men who hate women. Karen turns her gaze towards the sea. A car ferry is puffing along the short shuttle route across the sound to Frisel. Some of the bonfires have burnt down and the racket is fading into the distance.

She shudders; there’s a hint of cold in the evening breeze blowing around her bare arms.

Chapter 19

19

‘At work? On a Sunday when you could be outside, getting fresh air?’

Eleanor Eiken sounds genuinely surprised. They were almost twenty minutes into their conversation when Karen made the mistake of mentioning where she was.

‘Well, it’s not like the police close shop just because it’s the weekend.’

‘But I read in the papers that you’re having a heatwave over there. Almost warmer than here.’

‘It’s bound to turn soon. It can’t go on like this much longer.’

‘Well, all the more reason to seize the moment, then! Get out in the sunshine, you. Harry told me he thought you looked particularly tired the last time we were there. Although, I suppose it’s no wonder, considering what they’ve put you through. Let me tell you that if I’d known half of it, I would never—’

‘Have talked to Wilhelm Kaste,’ Karen finishes for her.

It’s not the first time her mother has cursed herself for asking a favour of her old classmate, the then-Head of the Doggerland CID, ten years ago. Did the police maybe have an open position for her daughter who had just moved back home from abroad?

So unlike her to meddle. So necessary at the time.

Eleanor Eiken had instinctively known that her daughter would let grief devour her unless she was forced out of isolation.

Now, that seems forgotten.

Their regular Sunday call is usually devoid of reproaches and nagging. Instead, Eleanor Eiken likes to take the opportunity to heap praise on the weather on Spain’s Costa del Sol, compared to that in Doggerland, and to tell her what she and Harry have been up to. And over time, Karen has grown used to her mother’s habit of calling Harry Lampard her new ‘boyfriend’ and the thought of what that means in practice. Almost used to it.

‘Yes, yes, I will,’ she says, noting the unflattering hint of teenage whine in her tone. ‘I’ll probably head over to Frisel with Marike for a bit this afternoon.’

‘No swimming, my little lambkin. Just because the air is warm, doesn’t mean—’

‘Look, I should probably go if I want to get out of here.’