The sitting-room door was half open and Grete ran in. I heard a Lego brick being kicked across the floor, accompanied by a news programme on the radio.

‘Hang up your coat, Varg,’ Jakob said. ‘Come in.’

I smiled uneasily at him. ‘Has … something happened?’

His smile was unrelenting and he led me into the sitting room.

Rebecca was sitting in the large wing chair with some knitting in her hands, her legs tucked beneath her, looking as if she had never been away. In another chair sat Maria. She had headphones on, listening to a Walkman, and was holding a girl’s magazine in her hands. On the floor in front of her mother Grete was building a house with Lego bricks.

Rebecca looked up as I walked in and our eyes met. I could feel my smile stiffen and turn into a grimace, and I had a sinking feeling inside me, as if I was standing on the edge of a precipice, looking down.

‘Hi, Varg,’ she said, in a tone suggesting I was simply an old friend of the family who had happened to drop by.

‘Hi,’ I said and had to clear my throat. I shifted my gaze from her to Jakob. He looked as if he had won the lottery, and in a way he had.

‘I’d like to have a few words with you,’ I said to him. ‘Alone.’

He nodded. ‘We can go into—’

But Rebecca interrupted him. ‘No, you stay here. I’ve promised the kids we’re going to do some Christmas baking, so we can go to the kitchen.’

Grete jumped into the air with joy, and Maria looked up from her magazine, saw me, blushed becomingly and nodded.370

‘Petter’ll be here soon too,’ Rebecca said, setting down her knitting and standing up.

She strolled past me with a nondescript smile. Grete ran after her while Maria brought up the rear at a far more sedate pace.

‘Are you going to close the door after you?’ Jakob asked.

She nodded.

He turned to me and gestured his delight. ‘Isn’t it brilliant, Varg? She’s come back. And this time it’s for good.’

‘Yes … brilliant,’ I muttered.

‘We’ve talked everything through.’

I was sceptical. ‘Everything? Really?’

‘Yes.’ He picked up on my intonation and came back down to earth with a tiny question mark on his face. ‘What?’

I scanned the room. It was clean and tidy. The piles of newspapers were gone, the books were organised on the shelves and there was a smell of detergents and fresh air.

I sat down on the same sofa where I had made love.

Jakob sat down on the chair Rebecca had vacated, perched on the edge, assuming, I supposed, he would have to get up again quite soon.

‘I know all about what happened in 1975 now, Jakob. On the sixteenth of October. Everything. I’ve spoken to Ruth.’

‘Ruth … Solheim?’

I nodded.

Some of his high spirits drained away; and his eyes became noticeably serious. There was something awkward about his movements as he gesticulated, looked down and said: ‘Well? And?’