‘You already have a child, a child who has been missing for three years. All our energy should be spent looking for her, don’t you think? Or is this a way for you to move on, get a new child instead of the one you already have?’

Anette’s voice trembled at the other end.

‘I hope you’ll be happy about it one day,’ she said. ‘When you’ve come to your senses.’

Later that morning he got his car back. Hassan was apologetic when he handed over the keys and told him that no human blood had been found. Lelle didn’t make things difficult, he was too keen to get back out on the road.

He set off almost immediately, smoking with the window closed until the air was thick and ash whirled over the dashboard and cup holder. He didn’t care. He thought about the first time Anette had told him she was pregnant, how she very nearly hadn’t said anything at all. They had only recently moved in together and he had boiled some eggs and bought fresh rolls for breakfast. Anette was dead to the world and, when he woke her, she complained that the eggs smelled revolting. Anette, who had always loved eggs. She had sat there in her old dressing gown, saying the coffee was making her heave, and he was worried they had made a mistake, moving in together so soon. She was standing with her head out of the balcony door when he crept up behind her, slipped his hand inside her dressing gown and cupped her right breast. It was merely a playful gesture, with no urgency or desire, but Anette shrieked as if he had stabbed her. Then she started crying. Through the sobs he discovered that an abortion was planned for the following Monday. She had held up the letters from the local surgery. That’s how he found out.

He had insisted on taking her there. He wanted to be with her. Anette’s lips were a tight red line as she sat with her gaze fixed on the passing fir trees to emphasize her need for silence. In Frostkåge she complained of nausea and wanted to get out and be sick. Lelle smoked as she retched into a ditch.

‘And you think you’re ready to be a father,’ she sneered at him. ‘Smoking like a chimney.’

‘I’ll stop smoking right this minute if you keep the child.’

He had held up the cigarette between them. Anette straightened up and walked towards him, bile still running down her chin. She stood so close, the cigarette almost touched the tip of her nose. They had looked at each other in a kind of fury. Eventually, Anette had wiped her mouth and relaxed her shoulders.

‘Stub it out,’ she said. ‘I want to go home.’