‘Hi, Karen. Yes, I’m just fine, thanks for asking. Aren’t you happy to see me?’

Karen makes no reply and Sigrid adopts an offended expression.

‘No? Well that’s extremely disappointing,’ she says with a pout. ‘After I drove all this way . . .’

Then she bends down and pulls a large overnight bag out from under the table. She picks it up with both hands and drops it next to her pint glass with a thud.

‘How about now? I bet you’re happy to see this, at least?’

Again without replying, Karen opens the zipper and starts rummaging through the contents, finding clean T-shirts, a pair of navy trousers, underwear, socks, her winter coat, her tartan scarf and her fur-lined hat with ear flaps. Hideous, but warm. At the bottom, she discovers her toiletry kit and black winter boots. Speechless, she pulls out a chair, sits down across from Sigrid and stares at her, shaking her head slowly.

‘But, how the hell . . . how did you know?’

‘Marike called. Said you’d probably die of exposure or get fired unless you could get your hands on some appropriate clothes.’

‘And you drove all the way up here in this weather. Which is actually an idiotic thing to do when you know we’re about to be snowed in.’

Sigrid’s raised eyebrows and affronted silence makes Karen aware of her admonishing tone.

‘But thank you!’ she adds. ‘You’re a lifesaver, Sigrid.’

‘No worries. You can buy me another a pint to show your gratitude. And get one for yourself, too. You look like you need it.’

*

Karl is standing by the bar, punching in the pin to his bank card.

‘Did you get a room?’ Karen asks.

‘A closet. Apparently, it was all she had. She warned me she only rents it out in emergencies. Would you mind telling me what the boss’s daughter is doing here?’

‘She drove up with a bag of clothes for me.’

‘She must like you.’

Karen orders two pints of ale without commenting and Karl shoots her a look.

‘It’s OK, you know. Having people like you.’

‘So now you’re a psychologist.’

‘I’m a man of many talents. And I can read you like an open book by now.’

‘Then please close it. I’m not in the mood for therapy tonight.’

They get their pints and sit down at Sigrid’s table. Karen takes a sip of her ale and gazes silently out the window, listening to the other two making small talk about the state of the roads. The snow has stopped and the lights from the ferry port look like the last safe outpost against the dark sea beyond it. As a wave of relaxation and weariness surges through her, she sluggishly tries to sum up her day. As recently as this morning, she’d woken up in Marike’s studio in Dunker – it feels like a week ago.

Then Sigrid’s voice breaks through.