She’d tried, even though she usually doesn’t bother anymore. Stupid, of course, perhaps she hadn’t been completely sober herself. That was probably why. She’d said it was a party, that it was just one dance, that she had tried to decline, but that she hadn’t wanted to cause a scene and ruin the mood. Not at Kore and Eirik’s. Not on New Year’s Eve when everyone was having a good time, when everyone else was dancing. That’s what she’d said.

So stupid.

He hadn’t been able to control himself long enough to get her up to the bedroom. There had been no music to drown out the sound this time. Fear that the children might wake up had made the pain feel remote as she strained to detect sounds from upstairs. She’d barely felt the blows, just distractedly noted when he entered her and the relief when it was over.

The kids don’t know, she tells herself and fills a glass of water from the tap. She drinks slowly to ease the constriction in her throat. They’re too young to know what’s happening. And then she tells herself she has to rinse off, quietly, quietly, so as not to wake him. Has to lie down next to him in the bedroom, be there when he wakes up. Comfort him when he’s overcome with regret, prove that she’s not thinking any silly thoughts.

Aylin Ramnes carefully puts the glass down in the sink and walks into the hallway. Before she can take two steps up the stairs, she knows everything has changed.

The white sheepskin teddy with red footpads and blue dungarees is propped against the banister. It almost looks like he ambled over there by himself and sat down. Tyra’s teddy, which she would never leave behind, not for anything. Except maybe if she’d seen something so terrifying she forgot him . . . Aylin knows what happened even before she discovers the small puddle of urine on the top step.

Chapter 33

33

‘Bloody hell,’ Marike groans and puts her head down on the table.

Karen pours them each a cup of coffee, turns the coffee machine off with a click and puts the pot back.

‘Drink this,’ she says and drops a fizzy tablet of paracetamol into a glass of water. ‘You’re going to feel a lot better after you’ve had a slice of toast and some coffee.’

‘I’m never drinking again,’ Marike says darkly and downs the glass in four gulps.

‘Of course you aren’t,’ Karen says and drops another fizzy tablet into a glass for herself. Then she downs the contents and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, wincing at the bitter taste.

‘What time is it?’

‘Half past nine.’

Marike groans and reaches for the milk.