I saw Tom relax the further north we went. He had been on the phone to Erik and Clive every day, getting updates about Dag. He was now conscious and the doctors were over the moon with how the surgery went. I was glad to hear this. For a while it looked as though he might not make it at all. But beyond these phone calls, I noticed Tom didn’t seem so glued to his phone. He ignored calls if they weren’t from Erik and Clive. He spent his evenings reading, or standing at the balcony with a cigarette, staring out at the mountains crowning the city. Occasionally he’d sit down with Gaia and help her improve her drawings. I found he had no notion of preparing Christmas dinner, so I improvised. What was intended to be a sophisticated mushroom and lentil nut roast with caramelized onion turned into an unguent compost with an aftertaste of peanuts. When Coco gagged after a few mouthfuls I replaced it hastily with bowls of cornflakes with almond milk.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Tom said, pouring himself a beer to accompany said cornflakes.

‘I feel like Tiny Tim,’ Gaia observed happily.

I was still wary of Tom, particularly about being alone with him. There was an awkward moment when someone on the train thought we were husband and wife. In Bergen, I spotted some police officers and the thought had crossed my mind of rushing up to them and trying to tell them about what I’d read in the diary. But who would believe me? I was just the nanny, and a false one at that. Tom was a highly regarded, internationally-recognized architect.

And something about his manner caught me off guard. On Christmas Eve, he took me aside and handed me an envelope. ‘Go get your family some presents,’ he said. I looked from the envelope to him with confusion. He seemed embarrassed. ‘It was very good of you to stay with the girls over Christmas. I appreciate it enormously. You’re the best nanny we’ve ever had.’ His eyes were glistening with tears. A head cold, I thought, until his voice broke. ‘I really appreciate what you’ve done, and so I’d really like it if you’d accept this and go get some presents for your family. Please, I insist.’

I went out to the shops with the envelope. I had no one to buy for. Not a single person. No one had emailed me to see how I was. No one had called. The only people I really wanted to buy for were the children I was with right then – well, not right then, but at that moment in my life. I saw a toy shop. They had sketchpads and an art set, and an orange octopus – not a real one, a soft toy – with a smiley face and surprisingly realistic tentacles. I bought them both and had them gift-wrapped for the girls.