Why did we say mother instead of mummy mum mumsie or possibly siri. I vaguely remembered it had started with a norwegian tv soap but after all these years it’s impossible to call her anything else. It followed that dad became father on the rare occasions we mentioned him at all. 24

Bror got up and asked if I wanted something to eat or drink. Then went down to his room.

I undressed. Crawled under the shiny red padded quilt and wanted to think about the night in the pullout bed at eskilbrännström’s but instead I thought about mother and that she had never turned off the radiator. Now I was back in my warm girl’s room and meanwhile our mother was lying confined in her carehome bed after a stroke. Maybe sometime I said to myself and turned on my mobile. The lists of calls and messages were both empty.

That jana might phone of course. Or send a text. But what could she say. Hi for instance. Or maybe hi good to meet up thanks for yesterday great paintings hope we meet again.

On the other hand, jana might decide to do nothing of the sort. Especially since she didn’t have his number.

At breakfast the house was still silent and the door to bror’s bedroom stayed closed even though I busied myself with putting food on the table and brewing coffee. I turned up the volume on the weather forecast monotone. It was going to be a nice day. The wind had died down. The dripping roof was a hint of spring.

I found an anorak in the cupboard under the stairs. Then a pair of mother’s handknitted gloves and better still a pair of reindeerskin boots that more or less fitted me. I considered borrowing bror’s tegsnäs crosscountry skis. They were leaning against the veranda rail. The snow was still deep and walking would be tiresome.

The key to the gun cupboard hung on its usual hook. Mostly out of curiosity I unlocked it. Obviously my brother’s fascination with weapons had not cooled. I examined the guns one by one. Weighed them in my hand and touched them. Tested the rifle sights and could not resist a newlooking .22.

I took it with me outside placed the rifle on my shoulder and 25aimed at a fieldfare. My hands were a little shaky but the stock felt just right and so did the weight of the gun.

Crow is the only thing you can hunt for now. Bror was standing on the veranda.

He kept shifting from one leg to the other. His eyes wouldn’t quite open to the early spring sunshine. There were puffs of stale booze on his breath.

Though there are hardly any crows left either. Not in the forest anyway.

It’s a good gun is it new I asked and he nodded. I thought you liked wooden stocks better.