Olea passes me two horses and starts telling me about them, they both have names, one likes to fly. I’m bored by it all, I want to find a magazine to leaf through, a beer, there’s a smell of mildew in here. A long time passes before Kristoffer knocks on the open playhouse door to say that it’s time for Olea to get ready for bed.

‘Maybe you could read to her while she’s having her supper,’ he says.

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Let’s read something together, eh Olea?’

‘Are you and Aunt Ida good friends now, Olea?’ he asks.

Olea says nothing, I can see that she’s thinking about something else, but I feel proud, I understand children, I know what you’re supposed to do.

I make up a voice for Karsten and another for Petra as Olea sits in my lap in her pyjamas, she’s eating a sandwich from one of the old buttercup-patterned plates. Marthe is lying in a hammock with a magazine, I hear her giggling all of a sudden.

‘What is it?’ I ask.

‘That doesn’t come very naturally to you, does it?’ she says.

‘What do you mean?’ I ask her.

‘You’re a bit OTT. Lion Cub and Miss Rabbit can come along too!’ she says, imitating my intonation, making a thing of it.

My cheeks grow warm and I stop reading.

‘Don’t stop on my account,’ Marthe says. 44

She lies there, stroking her belly in lazy circular motions. I look at her, want to say something mean, but I just smile, I’m not going to let her get to me. I speak again, using my normal voice, doing my best to maintain it until Marthe goes back inside. Olea stops following along after just a few pages anyway, her body grows tired and feels heavier and heavier against my own, and something good and warm and calm filters through me as she sinks back. It’s unfamiliar having someone so close to me, her tiny body against mine, the warmth of her head and her stomach, so soft; it makes me wrap my arms around her and cuddle her tight.

‘Ouch,’ she says.

‘Sorry,’ I reply, but she doesn’t leave my lap, and I place the book down and rock her and sing quietly as the sun moves and we find ourselves sitting in the shade. Across the fjord, the sun is still out, Mum always says it’d be nice to have a cabin across the water.