I say nothing, it’s easy for him to say, what would he do if he were me, and he looks up from the pan and in my direction.

‘That’s easy for me to say, of course,’ he adds, patting my shoulder.

‘It’ll be all right,’ I say, wasting no time in following up with a laugh.

I chop fennel and carrots. He’s nice, Kristoffer, I think to myself. He’s a nice guy. As I slide the vegetables into the oven with the potato wedges, I hear a thump, then Olea, wailing from the bathroom. She comes running into the kitchen and throws herself into Kristoffer’s arms. Just behind her is Marthe, red-faced.

‘She slammed the door on my head,’ Olea shouts.

‘I was on the loo, and she just barged in,’ Marthe says. ‘I was only trying to close it, Olea, you know that.’

‘Couldn’t you be a bit more careful?’ Kristoffer says, loud and angry. ‘Fucking hell.’

He lifts Olea up with one arm, as if she were a much smaller child. Olea hides her face, nuzzling against his shoulder and sobbing, loud and over-the-top as he strokes the back of her head. It’s embarrassing but also not entirely unpleasant hearing her cry like that, Marthe rolls her eyes at me, but I don’t return the look. I pick up the knife and rinse it under the tap just to give myself something to do, my pulse is racing.

‘You’re stupid,’ Olea says.

Marthe opens her mouth and closes it again, she strokes 39her belly, barely there.

‘Olea,’ Kristoffer says. ‘Stop that. We don’t say things like that.’

‘I didn’t mean it,’ Marthe says. ‘Olea.’

‘Could you say sorry?’ Kristoffer says, I can’t tell initially whether he’s talking to Marthe or Olea. Olea shakes her head.

‘How about if Marthe does the same?’ Kristoffer suggests. Marthe looks at him.

‘But it was an accident,’ she says.

‘I know, but still,’ Kristoffer says, gesturing at Olea’s back.

I place the knife down and move over to Olea, stroking her back.

‘Want to come out into the garden, Olea?’ I ask. ‘You and I can find something to do outside.’

I feel a flicker of delight when Olea nods and slides out of Kristoffer’s arms, taking my hand, sullen and stand-offish as she continues to refuse to look at Marthe. Kristoffer looks grateful. As I close the door behind us, I hear raised voices once again in the wake of the brief silence.

41

Chapter 6