I’d always liked it here. It was where I was born and lived for the first seven years of my life. Then Dad had died, and Mum didn’t want to hang around – seeing things that reminded her of him and everybody feeling sorry for her – so we moved to Solstad, another small town about thirty kilometres away. Imo, my uncle, stayed where he was because of his pig farm, but he still came to see us almost every day in his old, green Mercedes.

I liked it at Solstad, too, but Tobias got into some trouble at his school, so last year Mum decided it was time to move back. I don’t know if she had finally come to terms with what happened to Dad, or whether it was because she’d inherited my grandmother’s big house. Maybe it was because part of Mum had never really left Fredheim.

At first I really didn’t like being back. I missed my friends. And it was so much easier to get to football training from Solstad. But Mum was intent on making this work, and it didn’t take me long to make new friends. Now, just a little over a year later, it felt like I knew every inch of the place. Fredheim has a small-town cosiness, I supposed you’d call it. No tall buildings. Small shops in the centre. Cobblestones that make the cars drive slowly. Nice cafés that are always full in the summer. Forest surrounds the town on all sides. If you flew over it, it would look as if someone had carved a big, round circle out of the woods. And the smell: the whole town smells of sawdust, especially when the wind is coming from the east.

I had pulled my hood so tight around my face, the sounds around me were muffled. And in the rain, I could hardly see anything; only the sharpest colours stood out. That was probably why I stopped a few hundred metres away from the school. From a distance it looked as if someone had painted the clouds above it in deep, dark blue. Beyond the trees that separated the car park from the school, lights were flashing. Behind me I heard an urgent wailing – it was coming closer and closer.

I cycled up the hill that led to the school, but when I reached the forecourt in front of the main entrance, I had to get off my bike – the whole area was filled with people. Pupils crying, teachers with grimlooking faces. Uniformed police, ambulance men and women. The entrance itself was cordoned off with red-and-white tape. Something heavy pressed down on my chest, and I could feel the queasiness I’d felt when I first woke up return with full force. Everyone was staring at me. At least, that’s how it felt.