It informs him that the law for tampering with a dead body in Norway is seven years in prison. Also a fine, a huge amount of krone – he hasn’t the mental capacity to calculate the sterling equivalent – but that doesn’t matter. It’s the seven-years-in-prison part he is reading, over and over. It won’t matter that Clive was the one who tipped the concrete into the pit. It’s his build. He was present. The men saw the body. They’ll inform the police. Any moment now, he’ll see flashing lights at the window, be dragged from the house in handcuffs. His career over, the business ruined. His children raised by strangers. Seven years in prison.

‘Daaa-ddeee!’ Gaia sings from her bedroom. ‘Come heee-rrree! We need to read about Grete, remember?’

Grete. From Aurelia’s old book of Norse lore. He gives a shiver at the name. That was the other thing. He recalls reading a story to Gaia about a woman who had a pet elk. That was fine. Then there was another story about Grete after she’d died. If the elk story wasn’t weird enough, this one was about Grete in the afterlife being presented with a choice of Underworld tasks. She opted to become a nøkk, one of the supernatural beings whose purpose it was to stand guard at places of water. The nøkken were malicious, mischievous creatures – the picture depicts one as an amphibious female, more troll than mermaid – who warned and punished mortals when they were interfering with nature’s course. Mankind was replaceable, the story stated. The planet wasn’t.

‘Nøkken’ rings a bell … Where has he heard it before? Maren, he remembers. When he asked her if she’d seen a woman outside after the river gripped his hand … No, he thinks firmly, shaking the thought loose. These are just myths. Myths.

He thinks of the body.

He goes outside into the night, shines a torch on the pit. He finds he’s frightened out here, the possibility of another realm taking root in his head. The concrete has begun to set already. It’s not smooth, but the body is concealed. Of course, all it will take is for Erik’s men to tell the police that a body is under there and they’ll break up the concrete.

He lifts a shovel, begins to scoop up earth and throw it down, down on the concrete. Clive comes out of the house. With a grin, he lifts another shovel and joins him.

None of the workers show up the next day. Tom stands at the window of his bedroom, looking down at the roughly concealed pit. He’s loath to go outside. The morning after, he calls Erik, who tells him he’ll come to speak with him in person.