The father came down the stairs, and she could see right away that he hadn’t had enough sleep. He had dark circles under his eyes, and the young nanny didn’t dare meet his gaze. She walked out to the kitchen to make coffee, and the child ran to her father, who picked her up in his arms and tried to smile. ‘So, Kirsten, are you going on a trip with Daddy?’ She was like a living ball of joy as she jumped down, then started running up the stairs, because everything wouldn’t be so wonderful if her Mommy wasn’t part of it. Her father tried to stop her, saying quietly, just like Hansen, ‘Mommy is still sleeping.’ He stood at the base of the stairs, combing his fingers through his hair, perplexed, while the child ran into her mother’s bedroom, where it smelled soothingly of perfume, night, and mother. When she crawled in next to the warm, comforting body, her face got wet, and the delicate, vague anxiety returned for a moment. She said, ‘Why are you crying, Mommy? I’ll come back.’ Her mother didn’t answer, but pulled the little girl closer. They lay together like that, silently: the child confused and impatient, and the mother so distraught by grief and shame that her entire body was trembling like a sapling in a storm. Trembling, but motionless. Between her and the child was an invisible being, an unmerciful power. In a few hours, two strong arms would substitute for the child’s tender, pure embrace. A lover’s voice would comfort and explain. The fine autumn air in the yard, the flowers’ aroma, and the long, happy days would temper the loss, and she knew it, and it made her feel weak and fallible: Dear God, she prayed, let this parting be the last one in my life.

The jumpy little body wriggled itself from her arms. The child wanted to envelop her with her happiness, and she tried to pull her mother out of bed, as she had done so many times before, so everything would be okay. ‘Get up now, Mommy,’ she shouted. ‘You have to see the moving van. You have to wave goodbye to us. I’m going to put on my new coat – it’s winter, Mommy. Do you remember when it was winter, and you went sledding with me and Daddy and Ole?’

She stayed upstairs while her mother dressed. The aroma of coffee rose to the bedroom, and with it a restlessness. The girl’s brother was awake. Soon he would come running to say good morning, and probably be crabby because he wasn’t going with his daddy. Daddy had found work in another city! Children are so willing to be tricked to avoid the truth they don’t want to hear.