The tiny woman who opened the door seemed to jump at the sight of him. She said ‘hi’ in a voice that was a little too loud – as if she was happy to see him. She introduced herself as Kari-Mette Bjerkaas, Mari’s aunt, Cecilie Lindgren’s sister. She had a small mouth with thin lips. And she was so lean, she reminded Yngve of a long-distance runner.

‘Come on in,’ she said with a low voice, as if she didn’t want to wake someone.

Yngve entered and untidied his shoes. ‘How are they doing?’ he asked, even though he knew the question was silly.

‘Cecilie won’t come out of Mari’s room,’ Bjerkaas said. ‘She hardly speaks. Frode is out on the veranda.’

She led Yngve into the living room.

‘Can you please ask your sister whether she could speak to me for a few minutes? It would be really helpful.’

‘I’ll try.’

Bjerkaas offered him a thin smile, before quietly ascending the stairs. Yngve took a look around while he was waiting. He noticed some photos of Mari on the wall – one in which she was wearing a swimsuit with a medal hanging from her neck. There were trophies on the mantel. A drawing of a house and a sun. It said Mari, 8 years in the bottom right-hand corner. Her confirmation photo was also there, right next to a picture of the family on a hillside somewhere, with fjords and clouds in the background. Another photo showed Mari when she couldn’t have been more than a few months old, but Yngve could easily recognise her features. She was lying on her stomach, head slightly tilted from the floor. Hairless. Smiling. Beautiful.

At that moment, Yngve was glad he and Åse had never managed to have kids. If they had, he wouldn’t be the only one grieving like he was right now. He would have needed to consider, to take care of someone else, too. It was more than enough to look after himself.

Not that they hadn’t tried for children. Åse just couldn’t get pregnant. At one point they discussed IVF treatment, and even adoption, but in the end they just decided that it wasn’t meant to be. A silly thing to say, maybe, but it was like they somehow were going to war with nature. Maybe there was a reason why they shouldn’t have children.

A draught from an open door made Yngve turn to the veranda. He could see the back of a man sitting out there. He wandered outside and found Frode Lindgren sitting on the stairs that led down to the lawn. His face was ash grey, and his eyes were red and swollen. His feet extended out from the stairs and onto the grass. His feet were getting wet, but he didn’t seem to care. When he saw Yngve he stood up and began to remove his drenched socks.