Olea sits on the little deck at the prow, holding on tight. Kristoffer asks her to come down, and she sits beside me. I smile at her, she flashes a toothless grin back at me, I place an arm around her slender shoulders and tug gently on one pigtail, she pretends that it tickles and squirms. Aunt Ida. Her life vest is dark blue and pink, it doesn’t look anything like the orange ones I remember from when I was young. Am I going to be one of those people who talks about the good old days, back in my day, are Marthe and Kristoffer going to roll their eyes behind my back, maybe I’ll wear sunglasses that make me look bug-eyed and a hat that I refuse to take off when I’m on the boat, but I can do this, I coax a smile from Olea, and I hope Marthe sees it, hope that she’s watching. But Mum and Marthe are looking out towards land and Mum is pointing, I think she’s saying something about the people out on Storsund having an extension done. Marthe does a good job steering the boat when we find ourselves in the wake of a relatively large boat; I see Kristoffer give her a wink and she grins back at him. I can do that too, I think to myself, I know I can, I took a long trip just this morning when none of you were even awake, it’s no big deal.

On the way back across the fjord as we’re heading home, the boat begins to splutter. We hear it hawking hoarsely, then we bob there in silence.

‘Shit, no, it can’t be,’ Marthe says. 80

She’s got up from her seat and is standing with her arms by her side, Kristoffer is checking the fuel. There’s nothing left in the tank, I took it so far out this morning that I practically emptied it.

‘Haven’t you brought the reserve?’ Mum asks.

‘I used it,’ Marthe says. ‘But I was sure we had a full tank, I checked it just yesterday.’

‘Is it Marthe’s fault that the boat has stopped?’ Olea asks.

‘Olea,’ Mum says. ‘It’s nobody’s fault.’

I could have intervened at this moment to say that it had been me who hadn’t refuelled, but I say nothing, several seconds pass, I could speak up but I hold my tongue, there’s something so perfect about their expressions as they look at Marthe, somewhat resigned, slightly scornful.

The boat rocks on the strong waves. We’re not all that far from land, but the wind is beginning to pick up.

‘Is something bad going to happen?’ Olea asks, becoming childish and cuddling up to Kristoffer.