I line the prawns up on a slice of bread and squeeze a Z-shape on top in mayonnaise, then drizzle lemon juice over them and rub my fingers with the wedge of lemon so 117they won’t smell, but I can only manage half of my open sandwich, I leave the rest uneaten. I recall all the times we’ve eaten prawns here, thinking back to when I was a little girl and Dad would peel them for me, we would make a little pile in the middle of my slice of bread, the memory is painful.

I tap my glass with my knife and stand up, I’m forced to do it once more to be heard over Olea and Stein, who are chatting about Peppa Pig at full volume, Kristoffer shushes them. Mum rests her hands in her lap and smiles, thrusting her chin out in anticipation. It’s strange to be standing less than a metre away from the table to say a few words, it feels far too formal to be faced with the expressions they all assume, polite and interested, as you should be when you’re listening to someone giving a speech, even though it’s just me and the six of us here.

‘Dear Mum,’ I say, rustling the sheet of paper on which I’ve jotted down a few keywords. ‘It’s funny to think that you’re sixty-five. Marthe and I are always hearing that we must have good genes, given our mother’s youthful appearance.’

I almost sound normal, my cheeks are warm again. Kristoffer smiles and Stein glances over at Mum with pride. Marthe peels prawns for Olea and lays them on her plate as I’m speaking, one and two and three and four.

‘It’s a funny thing, age,’ I say. ‘I remember when you were given the card that said “Life begins at forty”, that was the kind of thing people found funny back in the Eighties. Do you remember it?’ 118

‘Not entirely,’ Mum says.

‘There were pictures of rockets on it, that sort of thing,’ I say. ‘No? Well, I guess not, not that it matters that much. But either way, when I was little, that card had me convinced that it would be exciting to turn forty.’