I was a little taken aback.

‘Where’s Ole?’ I asked.

Imo didn’t answer, he just closed his eyes, as though he was enjoying his own music. His fingers danced back and forth, up and down the strings.

‘What do you need my help for?’ I asked.

‘Your mum’s choir sang this back in the day.’ Imo still had his eyes shut – as though he hadn’t even heard my question.

I looked out of the window to see if there were any signs of Ole. ‘Imo, where’s—?’

‘Shhh,’ he interrupted. ‘This is the best part.’ Then he started on the chorus. His voice was a bit louder.

When the chorus was finished, he stopped and opened his eyes. ‘Your mother had a great voice,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if you remember. Don’t think she’s sung much in recent years.’

Imo looked at me. For a long time. He seemed … tired. Sad, even. I had never seen my uncle like this before. It worried me.

‘You know all this will be yours one day, right?’ He threw his arms wide.

‘Mine?’ I asked. ‘How do you mean?’

‘The studio, the house, the farm. Your brother’s not really the type to look after pigs. Or a house, for that matter. Who knows what will become of that kid.’

I didn’t know what to say. It certainly wasn’t like Imo to be talking like this. Was he dying or something?

He stood up and put down his guitar. ‘I wrote that song for your mother,’ he said. ‘Not long before she met your dad.’

I stared at him. ‘You wrote it for Mum?’

He nodded.

‘But…’ My thoughts went off in all kinds of directions. The lyrics of the song were bouncing back and forth in my head. Everyone had thought the song was a declaration of love for Fredheim.

Imo took a step closer. I thought of the talk we’d had a couple of days before, when I’d asked him if there had ever been a special someone in his life.

Of course there has.

So what happened?

Nothing. That was the problem. She didn’t want me, so…

It was Mum who’d been Imo’s great love. I couldn’t believe it.

‘She didn’t want you after Dad died either?’ I asked with a wobble in my voice. I couldn’t breathe properly.

Imo didn’t answer immediately. Then he shook his head.

‘Did you ever tell her?’

‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Several times. Maybe not straight to her face, but … I’m sure she knew.’

I didn’t know what to make of all this. It was too much in one day.

‘Jimmy wasn’t particularly nice to your mother, Even.’

‘No, I know that now,’ I said. ‘I’ve…’

I stopped. Should I say it? I had to. It was killing me to keep this secret to myself.