Tic-Tac was walking back and forth with wires and extension leads for the loudspeakers. I found myself a seat in the back row, in the middle of a group of people I didn’t know. Still, it was awkward and uncomfortable. It felt as if everyone was staring at me. Again I passed the time by looking at my phone. Every single news site was full of stories about Fredheim. I really couldn’t hide from it anywhere.

Soon the principal came in. Mr Brakstad’s dark-grey beard seemed to suit his mood. He was very tall, but now he seemed stooped, as though a heavy weight was pressing him downwards.

I really liked Mr Brakstad. He always made eye contact with me when we met in the corridor. He nodded and smiled and offered me a warm hello and a gentle ‘how are you?’ I always had the feeling that he really cared about us. Now he exchanged a few words with Tic-Tac, before standing behind the microphone, tapping it gently with a finger. A screeching noise ripped through the hall.

Everyone stopped talking and focused on Mr Brakstad.

‘Hello.’

The sound was muffled. Tic-Tac adjusted some knobs on the amplifier.

‘Could everyone find a seat and settle down please?’

The sound was better now. Sharper. Mr Brakstad looked over at Tic-Tac, nodded, and gave him the thumbs-up. Some people shushed others and soon everyone was quiet.

‘Thank you.’

There must have been at least two hundred people in the hall – pupils and journalists. Some parents were there, too, but I couldn’t see Mari’s. I met Oskar’s eyes briefly, before he looked away.

‘I would like to start this memorial with two minutes’ silence,’ Mr Brakstad said. ‘One for our dear pupil and friend, Mari Elisabeth Lindgren. And one for our dear pupil and friend, Johannes Eklund.’

I stared at the floor, at my feet. I’m pretty sure everyone else did the same. I tried to force myself not to think about what had happened, because I knew that if I let my mind wander, I would sob like a baby. I didn’t want to cry, not here. Not in front of everyone.

From time to time I looked at the clock on the wall. I don’t think two minutes have ever gone by so slowly. Around me people were crying, snorting. Coughing. Snorting again. When Mr Brakstad finally said thank you, it sounded like his voice was about to break. There was a heave of relief in the hall. It was almost as though no one had dared to breathe during the silence.

Mr Brakstad said something about how difficult this was, how hard it was to comprehend that an incident like this could happen in our little town.