The next day Tom asked me calmly to have a meeting with him in his office. I felt sick. No one had ever, not ever, asked to have a quiet word or a meeting without it turning out very badly.

This time was no different.

‘I’m not angry,’ he said calmly, once the door was shut. Oh, good. Because any time someone says that, I totally believe it. ‘I’m disappointed.’

I nodded and looked at the floor.

‘Your job is to take care of the children, and that includes making sure they are safe.’

I went to speak, but he cut me off.

‘It’s your responsibility to ensure they aren’t able to get outside.’ He looked outside. ‘If anything like this happens again, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to seek a replacement. Understood?’

I promised him there wouldn’t be a next time. He nodded, stood up. We were done.

   29   

THE DISCOVERY

Now

Clive was right: the diggers have saved an enormous amount of time. Tom wishes he’d done this sooner. He’s even managed to avoid damaging the older trees, despite the roots spreading so wide. The diggers have some kind of new technology that allows the builders to work around the roots. It’s impressive. They keep well away from the old site, where the river-infused earth gave way so easily, and from the resurrected river, which has returned to a triumphant zigzag down the hill through the trees and over the lips of the cliff.

Tom stands with a hand in his pocket, the other holding a cup of tea, as the diggers scoop up black clods of earth and dump it to one side. In an hour they’ve already dug a clean trench fifteen foot deep.

‘Good day,’ a voice says.

He turns to find Erik standing there. He swallows hard. ‘Erik,’ he says, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re here. I thought you’d be at home?’

Erik cocks his head, gives a small, modest smile that says, my job is here. This is what Tom admires about Norwegians – they’re made of the toughest human material. Built to endure both hard weather and hard times with grace. Even Dag has surprised Tom with his resilience. That blow he took should have knocked his head clean off his shoulders, or left him with horrific brain damage. One doctor said he should be a vegetable. Yet he’s recovering at home, sending cocky text messages and photos of his house plans. The one he’ll build for himself once he’s well. Tom has promised he’ll do all the drilling. It’s even become a bit of banter.

‘I see things have moved on a little since …’ Erik says, looking over at the diggers.