I tell them I’ll do the washing-up if someone gives me a hand, and Marthe very quickly replies that she and Kristoffer will do it, I can stay where I am, I’m a guest here after all. I borrow her blanket and wrap myself up to stop the mosquitoes from getting at me, only my hands are poking out. It could be nice sitting like this, I could enjoy it. If everything were different, I could be content here; the half-breeze of a summer evening at the cabin, wrapped up in a blanket, dinner and wine with my sister and her boyfriend, Mum arriving tomorrow.

I don’t want it. I feel my airways tighten, I don’t want it to take so little to make me feel happy, it’s not fair, that I should have to make do with this. I see them through the window. The kitchen is half in darkness; the small lamp mounted on the wall shines a ring of light onto the worktop. I can see Marthe washing up while Kristoffer dries, since he’s tall and can reach the highest shelves. She looks up at him and says something before smiling, and he looks at her and smiles back, stroking her hair with one hand, something 57inside me plummets, something like disappointment. I turn away and pour myself more wine.

It’s not right. That it should be so easy for others and so hard for me, I don’t get it, as if there’s some sort of formula, a code that others know about, one they’ve known since they were young but which I’ve never quite grasped.

Kristoffer and I have some more wine later, Marthe drinks apple juice, we recline the garden chairs and fetch more blankets, it’s almost dark now and we watch the boats out on the fjord.

‘Mum will be moaning tomorrow about all the people from Bærum who’ve come to ruin the peace and quiet with their noisy speedboats,’ Marthe says.

‘And Stein will tell her that lots of people from Bærum are perfectly lovely,’ I reply.

‘Oh, do you know what,’ Marthe says, looking at me, clapping her hands. ‘I’ve learnt to drive the big boat. I thought I’d surprise Mum with a trip tomorrow.’

‘Have you?’ I ask her.

The big boat is twenty feet, not all that big, really, but we still call it that since it’s bigger than the rowing boat we use for fishing trips. Mum and Kristoffer and I can drive it, but Marthe has never shown any interest, she’s always chosen to stay by the bathing spot or in the garden, reading a magazine.

‘She’s good,’ Kristoffer says. ‘A natural.’

‘I felt like I ought to be able to do it,’ Marthe says. ‘It gives you a certain number of grown-up points.’ 58