At first I didn’t notice who the driver was. But jana it’s you said a familiar voice. Where on earth are you coming from. Noragran. Gunnargran’s wife. Rogergran’s mum. Nicenora. I opened the door on the passenger side. When I saw her kind eyes and picked up her scent of baking and dovesoap I burst into tears. She put her arms around me and I wept against her breast as I had so often wanted to as a child but never dared.

My dear she said as my sobbing ebbed away. You’re frozen. Let’s go home and make ourselves some hot cocoa.

Let’s go home and make ourselves some hot cocoa.

I had no energy left to argue. I ought to have asked her to drive me to the sawmill. Instead we stopped in her yard and I allowed myself to be led into the kitchen with its warmfire. Everything 240looked exactly as it always had. The same yellow and orange patterned wallpaper and kitchen sofa with a thick plastic cover. The same brown leatherclad armchair where gunnargran sat and solved the saturday music crossword.

Nora helped me take off the cape and my jacket. Put a mug of cocoa in front of me. And two cheese sandwiches. After a while gunnargran returned from a day’s hunting.

Got ourselves another bull today he said and patted my arm. It’s a good thing you’re back.

Soon enough he would hear everything from his wife. Just as everyone else in the village would eventually find out what had happened. Or not happened.

We talked about the hunt. He told me in detail about how one of the younger lads it was klasjohansson’s son who had been waiting out a bull he had trailed. A big one with fifteentine antlers. Then a oneyearold suddenly poked its head out from between the pine trunks. That lad has ice in his belly. Just leaned his gun against a fir tree and shot the elk in the neck. Perfect aim.

A couple of hours later I said now I really must go and pick up my car. Noragran had her hands full with making a sponge. Gunnargran offered to drive me to the mill even though it wasn’t that far to walk.

You know best he said before I got out of the car. Still it doesn’t hurt to be canny. John isn’t a bad man. But unreliable. He can’t help himself.

It was already evening. I carried logs inside got the boiler going and put my mobile down to charge. Checked missed calls and returned petra’s. She replied at once.

Christ jana are you ok. I’ve tried to call you. And been round to yours. And dad’s. 241