Ingrid says they will have to be getting on their way. Jakob takes them part of the way by tractor, still rambling on about the sea and the years in Lofoten, memories she has no space for. Nor can she bring herself to ask about the ship going down, as if she can’t accommodate that, either, and on the trailer, Fredrik too finds his tongue, as if peace has also had an impact on him, he wants to know where Finnmark is, and Skarsvåg.

Arne tells him and Fredrik asks about the war in the north. Well, there are only ashes left, and Fredrik is eager to know more, while Arne becomes wearier and wearier with every answer he utters. As they walk down to the trading post, they haven’t even bought any provisions, Ingrid forgot, so they go back up and buy what they need, on tick, and as they walk down to the trading post for a second time, Arne tells her they will soon have run out of building materials.

Ingrid was expecting him to say something else, and she answers that she knows.

Three walls, Arne adds, one of them with wood panels as well as the roof trusses, what’s she going to do about it?

Ingrid repeats that she doesn’t know, it depends on him.

He asks her what she thinks.

You boys are leaving, aren’t you?

He says it is obvious what he wants, but she always seems to be the one making the decisions. To which Ingrid says nothing.

On the way home to Barrøy, Fredrik is still talking, now about his own father, whom neither he nor Suzanne has mentioned before; he is clearly still alive and works for a business selling something Fredrik cannot elaborate on, but it transpires that he is seldom or never around.

Arne asks why.

Fredrik says his father is busy. Arne says:

“Doing what?”

Fredrik says it is something important. Arne doesn’t get any further with that, either, and Fredrik starts defending his absent father, who he gathers has fallen into disfavour, until a step-father turns up, he is German and called Armin, he doesn’t see much of him, either.

“Armin?” Arne says.

Sitting on the thwart, Fredrik squirms, and can find no port of refuge, even though Ingrid says she is sure Armin is a nice man.

Fredrik stares imploringly at Arne, who casts himself over the oars, rows on at a back-breaking speed and asks, isn’t it about time the pianist learned to row.

What do you mean, Fredrik already can.

He sits at Arne’s side and they row in zigzag fashion without exchanging a word, through the drizzle that is beginning to fall on the choppy sea, while Ingrid keeps an eye on what is going on between them, counts her money and explores her memories to escape something that is beginning to overwhelm her.