‘Well, yes,’ I said. ‘It’s a pretty big company, most of our work is focused on public buildings and that kind of thing, town planning.’ I stopped myself, I was meandering into a lengthy explanation of who designed what, but it felt pointless as I lay there, legs spread, apparatus inside me. As I was on my way out the door to have blood tests done, still slimy and cold inside from the ultrasound jelly he’d used, he said that we’d speak again in two weeks’ time, once the results were in, and that we’d make a plan about when to begin, when everything would begin.

Chapter 3

I check my phone, no missed calls from any Swedish numbers. Kristoffer takes the bends at high speed, I feel slightly queasy and try to avert my gaze from a half-full bottle of Fanta and an empty crisp packet lying at my feet. He’s grown stouter, his cheeks rounder, I wonder if he and Olea sit in the car and secretly make their way through snacks and soft drinks together when Marthe isn’t around. His arms are tanned. Marthe told me they had a few nice days to begin with, they’d ventured out to the little islands and had been swimming several times, but it’s been changeable since then, so I’ve packed both my swimsuit and my woollen jumper.

‘When are Mum and Stein coming?’ I ask.

‘Tomorrow,’ he says. ‘It’ll be nice to have an evening to ourselves tonight. Marthe’s not quite herself.’

‘Oh joy,’ I reply.

‘You know how it is,’ Kristoffer says, scratching at his beard. ‘Hormones.’

He says it in a way that suggests I understand, you know how it is; he knows perfectly well that I’ve got no idea what it’s like, but still I nod, sure, I get it. 16

‘Poor Marthe,’ I say, crossing my arms so my fingertips reach my sweaty armpits. I try to work out if I smell.

They’ve been trying for three years straight, ever since they got together. Marthe has had two miscarriages. She can’t keep it to herself, I know as much as she does about the whole thing, when she’s got her period, when she’s ovulating. It’s all we talk about whenever we’re together, whenever we see Mum, Marthe talking and crying, telling us she can’t take it anymore, that she doesn’t just want to be a stepmother, but nobody says stepmother anymore, Marthe, Mum says, stroking her back, you’re part of a big bonus family, that’s what they call it these days, bonus family, Marthe repeats, where’s my bonus, it’ll work itself out eventually, I say, stroking her back too, Mum and I both telling her it’ll work itself out eventually, the same thing every time, but when exactly, Marthe shouts.