‘But she’s gone back to Bergen, hasn’t she.’

He nodded gently, with an impassive face.

‘I gather you got on well with her. Despite her being … How old are you now, Roar?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘Did she say where she’d planned to stay?’

He shook his head.

‘No address?’

He had nothing to give me. His face was like stone, an abandoned child at a funeral.

‘Did you like each other? Did you enjoy being together?’

Finally it appeared he was going to say something. He was searching for the words. ‘She … spoke to me. She was … kind.’

I felt pressure behind my eyes and I had to swallow again before speaking. ‘Had she been a bit restless recently?’

He shrugged, then nodded.

‘Do you know why?’

He shook his head again.

‘Did she have any contacts in Bergen?’

‘Not as far as I know.’

‘Belinda Bruflåt? She came here to visit her.’

‘Yes, she did, but she talks to everyone, she does.’285

‘But before Ruth went to Bergen, didn’t she come here to talk to her?’

‘Yes … I think so.’

‘Maybe she might know where she is?’

‘Maybe,’ he said in a tone that suggested he wasn’t interested.

‘What about her family? Did she have any contact with them? Her mother, for example?’

‘There are no mothers who care about … us,’ he said with sudden passion. ‘But she…’

‘Yes?’

‘Her sister used to ring. Now and then. That was the only contact she had.’

‘Sissel?’

He shrugged, obviously his most frequent gesture.

‘Listen, Roar, one more thing. Last Monday when she ran off. Was there anything in particular that triggered it? Did she tell you anything?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Nothing? Didn’t she even say goodbye to you?’

Again his face was stony. ‘She just left. She … We were sitting together, having a cup of tea, in the kitchen, and she was flicking through the paper. Suddenly she threw down the paper and asked if I’d seen the Saturday edition. I said I thought it was in the TV room and then … she went there. Straight afterwards she came back holding the paper. Her face was ashen and she said: “I’ve got to go, Roar. Right now.” And then she simply … left.’

‘But didn’t she say … Didn’t she say anything about coming back?’

His gaze swept across the bare countryside around us. ‘They never come back.’286

‘And that was all?’

‘That was all.’

‘Which newspaper was it?’

He laughed drily. ‘Bergens Tidende. It’s the only one that reaches us out here.’ He gazed across to the other side of the deserted stretch of fjord and motioned in that direction. ‘Over there … there’s a place called Hosteland. “Coughing land”. It sounds like one of the places you go to in the children’s song “I Travelled over Land and Sea”. That’s how deserted it is here.’

I looked up at him, past the horse’s large head. In a way they had merged into one: the boy and the horse. ‘Would you like … Shall I come and visit you, Roar?’