Perhaps once was enough.

Perhaps I should ring Karin Bjørge, invite myself to tea and hope for a reprise of the previous day’s kiss.

Perhaps I should contact Laila Mongstad, ask if I might accompany her to the rehab collective in Lindås, perhaps blag my way to a glass of red wine and a hope that our six-year foreplay would find its natural conclusion in bed.

If I didn’t drive to C. Sundts gate, rent myself a street girl and let emotions be emotions and physical needs be physical needs.

I decided on Belinda Bruflåt, after all. I stopped by a telephone box, used the directory as a guide and found out where she lived.

Before leaving the telephone box I called Laila. She was the 258only person I knew who responded with total enthusiasm whenever I called. It never ceased to amaze me.

I explained the situation to her and we agreed to go together to Lindås early the next day.

‘This is not a nuisance, is it?’ I asked.

‘No, no, no,’ she said. But she didn’t invite me to a glass of red wine and the conclusion was as open as ever.

We said goodbye and I was on the road again.

Belinda Bruflåt lived in Åsane and the way there was one long building site. From the early seventies the traffic queues had been a standing joke in Bergen. Now tunnels with two lanes in each direction were promised, to put an end to the congestion and move the joke to other parts of town. But that was years away and had it not been so late in the evening it would have taken me considerably longer to arrive.

Going to Åsane felt like passing a border. Whenever I reached the top of Åsaveien and gazed across Midtbygda I imagined that actually I ought to be speaking Swedish. This was where EPA and IKEA traded and the built-up area looked like a suburb of Gothenburg.

In Åsane Mr and Mrs Average Norwegian had found their home. Here, the average Gallup poll percentage voted for the right-wing Progress Party and they had the regional average proportion of immigrants. They played fourth Division football, organised public running events and dog displays, and dressed according to the relevant year’s H&M catalogue. Åsane was a comforting place to live.

Belinda Bruflåt had an address in a terraced block of flats in Flaktveit with a view of the town’s ugliest industrial area and a lake stocked with exiled trout, abandoned for years.

After parking the car and locking it, I had the sudden feeling that I was being observed.259

I pocketed the car key and slowly turned around.

A handful of young people of both sexes were standing around by some steps, the boys with their hands in their pockets, the girls pulling bubble gum out of their mouths and then chewing it again. None of them was looking in my direction though.

I couldn’t see anyone else. It was quite a large car park, but I didn’t notice anyone sitting in a car for no apparent purpose. But some of the cars were partially hidden behind others and I had often used the trick of sliding down in the front seat myself.