When I got to their house, I could see that Frode’s car wasn’t there. I leaned my bike against the fence and tried to muster up some courage, before walking slowly to the front door and ringing the bell. I heard footsteps inside, a slow shuffling that made my heart beat faster. The door opened and Cecilie Lindgren looked at me. She didn’t appear to be angry or upset. She just stared squarely at me, waiting for me to speak.

‘Please,’ I said, holding up my hands. ‘Don’t … chase me off. Please, just … I need to talk to you.’

It was as if the person in front of me didn’t have the energy to even speak. She just held on to the door handle and looked at me with empty eyes. It looked like she hadn’t showered or slept for days. She was thin and feeble, a bit like Mum.

‘Why do you want to talk to me?’ she asked finally, in a flat voice.

‘I just … want to try and understand a few things,’ I said.

‘Sorry,’ Cecilie said – she sounded utterly exhausted. ‘I don’t know if I can bear to talk to you, Even.’

‘Please,’ I begged. ‘I’ve been through a lot in the past few days too. It might do us both some good if we talk.’

I was afraid that my psycho-babble might upset her again, but instead of sending me on my way, her shoulders dropped and she let out a heavy sigh.

‘Do you drink coffee, Even?’ she asked me.

‘Not often,’ I said with a small smile. ‘And not a lot. But I’ll be happy to have some now.’

As soon as I entered the house, my eyes searched for Mari’s things. Her shoes. Her jacket. A hairband lying on a dresser. A glass she had used. But I saw nothing. I wondered if Cecilie had cleared out all her daughter’s belongings already. Whether that was how she’d managed to get through the past few days.

Cecilie indicated the living room and pointed to the sofa, and I went in and sat down. Shortly after, she came in with a coffee pot and two cups. She poured a cup for me, but only helped herself to a few drops.

‘Put plenty of sugar in,’ she said. ‘It helps.’

We sat there for a little while, just feeling the silence between us. I’d always felt a bit awkward around Cecilie. Like she really didn’t like me. There had always been a certain distance or a coldness in her gaze. Like she was suspicious of me or something. I had even asked Mari about it, but she had just dismissed it. ‘You’ll win her over,’ she’d said. ‘Just act normally, and she will love you just as much as I do.’