Ingrid saw herself walking down to the dory at the landing stage through a veil of dry snow, led like a lamb to slaughter between Hargel and Henriksen, with a blanket over her shoulders, sobbing and shaking, and being shipped on a December day over to the trading post, where Jenny was summoned, Jenny, who the following morning took her on board the steamer, where she was cared for by another woman; the damp heat of the smoke-filled lounge, the first encounter with Dr Erik Falc Johannesen, who held his head at an odd angle and showed no interest in her at all until she took off three layers of clothing and refused to speak.

Why didn’t she speak?

Ingrid wondered if they were her own clothes.

Then she saw that the woman who accompanied her was Eva Sofie, who had been down south to collect two other patients: Eva Sofie had held her hand in the lounge on the steamer, had slept in the same cabin as her, given her fish balls in a white curry sauce and floury potatoes with red skins, thickly piled open sandwiches, the smell of fried onions, the engine shaking every bolt in the hull . . . Eva Sofie had known Ingrid for five weeks, Ingrid had known her for three.

She wanted to get to her feet on the back of the lorry, but Barbro held her down – and Ingrid heard Hargel and Henriksen arguing about whether she was worth sparing as she wouldn’t tell them anything, Hargel had eventually lost his temper and hit Henriksen on the cheekbone with his black rubber cosh, Hargel had saved her life.

Ingrid asked Jenny why she hadn’t given her some decent clothes to wear before she put her on board the steamer, just before Christmas. Jenny smiled:

“We couldn’t git th’ clout off tha, doesn’t tha remember?”

Yes, she did. Ingrid remembered, but:

“War the’ mine?”

“Ya . . .”

“Hvur did A look?”

“Not a pretty seit, the’ must a thrash’d tha . . .”

Eva Sofie got her down the icy gangplank in the unfamiliar town and into the vehicle that took her to the hospital, where, with two others, whom she still couldn’t see, she was registered under her correct name, which she spelled out herself, before being led into a hot shower and afterwards put between white sheets, the others were Ada and Signy, the two old women with the same grey hair, they, too, had been stricken by the war.

6

They stood outside the store watching the scales being carried in by Markus and two counter-jumpers. The other women said goodbye and went their separate ways. Ingrid stayed where she was and looked around. Barbro eyed her, wondering. Ingrid said:

“A have t’ write a letter.”

“Has tha . . . ?”