It doesn’t take her long to locate Thorstein and Solveig Byle a few pews ahead. If she leans slightly to the side, she can just about glimpse Gabriel’s profile in the front row, next to Gertrud Stuub’s slate-grey bob. And, unless she’s mistaken, that’s the back of William Tryste’s shaved head right behind them. Between him and a dark-haired woman Karen assumes is his wife sits a scrawny young man who is just then being admonished by his parents. They probably told him to turn off his phone, Karen thinks as the guy sullenly shoves something into his breast pocket. Alvin? Was that what Tryste had said his name was?

Erlin Arve has climbed into the pulpit now and Karen notes that the inconspicuous dog collar he’d worn at Gertrud’s house has now been replaced with the traditional ruff.

He’s the person she’s here to see. During a brief phone conversation earlier in the morning, Arve had promised to give Karen a few minutes of his time after the funeral service and the rectory is conveniently located right next to the church.

‘I suppose the easiest thing would be to meet outside afterwards, then we can walk over together,’ he’d said, ‘and you can tell me how I did.’

And Karen, who had actually planned to study the arrivals from a safe distance, hadn’t had the heart to tell him she had no intention of attending the funeral. And so, here she sits, listening to words about reflection and forgiveness.

The congregation bow their heads during the first prayer.

Fathur our, thu er i himla

Helgat er namet thit.

Let riket thit kom, let will thin råde

Her på yortha, sum i himla.

Give us bred, okk forgiv os sinnere ore

sum vi forgiver othre sinner.

Okk let us ikke frestes, men thet evle forsake.

For thin er makta okk thet gode, sum i himla okk på yortha.

Amen.1

After a seventy-minute sermon about time without end, atonement and hope in dark times, a few brief remarks about Fredrik’s deep roots on Noorö and his passion for his homeland, a number of feeble attempts to sing along with the hymns selected for the occasion and finally the witnessing of the deceased’s loved ones bowing and curtsying to the coffin, Karen is the first one out of the church doors.

The sun is out and there’s a real nip in the air now. Four below freezing, her car had informed her on the way here and according to the morning news, the temperature is going to plummet further over the next few days.

‘We didn’t get a white Christmas, but it seems we will have a cold and clear New Year’s Eve,’ the meteorologist had announced cheerfully and fired off a freshly bleached smile from the TV screen this morning.