Kristoffer clears his throat.

‘I’m allowed to say it,’ I say. ‘I’ve got special permission to make jokes about that sort of thing.’

It’s so tempting, it does Marthe good to be given a kick up the bum every now and then, and it’s so nice to wink at Olea, to make her giggle and watch as her eyes grow wide with glee at how funny I am. We drive along the coastal road, and I tell Kristoffer about the hipster dad and the boy with the iPad at full blast.

‘And people got annoyed with me,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t the one making the racket. The boy’s dad was really grumpy about it.’ 10

Kristoffer has a familiar scent, it’s the cabin, paint, salt water, body.

‘It’s not always easy to calm them down, you know,’ he says.

‘But you didn’t let three-year-old Olea sit on a packed bus with an iPad at full volume,’ I say.

‘Well, no,’ Kristoffer replies. ‘But people get so annoyed at children, they don’t know what it’s like. You have to let kids be kids.’

Kristoffer is always saying things like that, let kids be kids, it’s important to listen to your body, things like that.

‘But there’s a difference between crying and having the volume turned right up,’ I say.

I realise I’m trying too hard; I’m exposing myself now, revealing that this is something I don’t understand, and Kristoffer shrugs and flashes a smile.

‘Having the volume turned right up on a full bus,’ I repeat.

‘Breathe into your belly, Ida,’ he says, patting my thigh.

I open my mouth to speak, but I stop myself, he’ll never get it anyway. I can tell Marthe, she tends to agree with me about things like this, it annoys her when Olea makes a racket. There’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell her too, not as soon as we arrive, but tonight, after we’ve both had a few glasses of wine and Kristoffer is out of the way, when he’s off putting Olea to bed, then I’ll tell her.

Chapter 2