That was what she should have asked Eva Sofie, could she trust the days she had spent at the hospital, the way they were marshalled and presented on the board by the window, she should have gone through them hour by hour, reviewed and scrutinised not only the days on Barrøy that were unaccounted for, but also her body – after she had arrived at the hospital.

She got up and pressed her fingertips on the desk, beneath all manner of pull-down charts on frayed canvasses, the strings dangling around her head, Anja looked at her with questions in her eyes.

Ingrid looked back.

“I can’t go home.”

Anja stood up and took her by the arm. Ingrid repeated the words, tore herself away, went into the kitchen, stood there trembling, grabbed six large tablespoons from the drawer, went back, sat with the children, stuck one spoon in the pot and stirred aimlessly, lifted her catch and blew on it until it was cool enough to put to Ante’s lips, Ante whom she had taken onto her lap without noticing. He opened his mouth, smacked his lips and wanted more, he was the only one with no bruises, his skin was unblemished, and he smiled. Ingrid lowered the spoon again and saw that her hands weren’t trembling, she had a feeling that Anja, too, noticed she wasn’t trembling and that she breathed a sigh of relief, and they smiled at one another.

8

The morning they were to continue their voyage south was clear and windless. An invisible sun spread copper and brass over the snow atop the mountains on the mainland. On board, there was a festive mood without festivities, a muted, dejected and hopeful sense of order, the beginning of a new life, the most fragile of all.

The blacksmith who had sold Ingrid the pork at a steep price came aboard and helped them to seal the scuppers in the bait house, laid the dry reindeer skins over the floor and also gave them three rugs that weren’t new, but were thicker than those they already had. Anja shook his hand and thanked him, and Ingrid said he’d already had his payment.

Magnus came in, muttering that his bait house looked like a boudoir, and said that if the weather held there might be enough room for the older kids here too, the ones who had been in the engine room, did the blacksmith have any more rugs?

The man looked down, didn’t answer, and left.

Magnus shook his head and asked whether Ingrid wanted some coffee:

“We have coffee!”

Ingrid said they would both like some and began to make a barrier against the outer bulkhead using the blue suitcase, the sack of grey woollen yarn and the cake tin she had filled with crispbread, also purchased from the blacksmith, who returned soon after with half a seine net on his back, old, but dry and smelling of tar.