An overnight flat in town, a place to spend the night after working late, or when she’s snowed in. A place to retreat to on days when the house in Langevik feels crowded. When she needs a break. A place that might make it possible to avoid having to ask Leo to pack up his things and leave. To say the words Sigrid had wanted to hear: ‘Yes, of course you can stay here.’

A safe haven for Aylin for as long as she needs it, but then . . .

Karen regretfully snaps out of her reverie. It’s not possible.

‘I can’t afford it, Marike,’ she says.

‘I don’t want your money.’

‘You could probably earn three, four thousand marks a month renting out that flat.’

Marike pushes her reading glasses down and gives her a weary look over the rims.

‘Seriously, Karen. I have more money than I know what to do with.’

Chapter 55

55

They spend all of Sunday morning getting Aylin settled in the flat above the studio. And after a lot of persuading, she eventually agrees to two things: to tell her parents the truth and to report Bo to the police.

Knowing a skilled defence lawyer would ruthlessly exploit any overlap in her roles, Karen takes no part in the police side of things. Friend or officer of the law, not both at once. Instead, she stays with Tyra and Mikkel in the flat while Marike accompanies Aylin to the station. With the help of sweets, a well-worn book of fairy tales Karen found at her house in Langevik and her mobile phone, she does her best to keep the children occupied and distracted. But their anxiety is palpable. And when she meets Tyra’s mute gaze and sees something in those eyes that shouldn’t be there, she suddenly feels sick. Something stirs restlessly inside her, growling threateningly, tearing at its moorings.

‘Mummy will be back soon. Everything’s going to be all right,’ she tells them.

And when she can tell they no longer believe her, she brings them down to the studio and lets them take their clothes off and go wild. They play with the clay, shrieking with laughter when their little bodies, fingers, hair and faces get covered in blueish-green smears and their worries are briefly forgotten. Even their angry protests half an hour later when Karen makes them get in the shower and pulls their clothes back on are like music to her ears compared to that wide-eyed silence.

But when they get back from the police station, Marike goes straight to the fridge and fetches three glasses, gin, vermouth and olives. Karen can tell she is furious but trying to control herself for Aylin’s sake. Apparently, whoever took down Aylin’s report didn’t live up to Marike’s expectations.

‘I’m driving,’ Karen says and shakes her head when Marike queryingly holds up the bottle of gin. ‘But I made coffee.’

Aylin checks her watch.