Child Missing

Adam Stubo had been so tired when he woke up that he had wondered for a while whether he ought to be driving. He wasn’t under the influence of alcohol, having restricted himself to just one decent drink. And yet he felt a heaviness in his body, a stubborn sleepiness that made it difficult to get out of bed. Perhaps he was coming down with something.

But after three cups of coffee, two portions of scrambled eggs and bacon and a freshly baked croissant, everything felt much easier.

He had almost reached Os.

He had decided against warning the family in advance. It was a risk, of course, since there was no guarantee Lukas Lysgaard would be at home, but Adam wanted to maintain the psychological upper hand by making an unannounced visit. He had never been to Lukas’s house, and when the mechanical voice of the satnav kept on telling him to turn right when he was passing a field with not so much as a logging track visible, he decided it would be better to ask the way. A woman in her sixties hurrying along a cycle track looked as if she knew where she was going.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, pressing the button to open the side window. ‘Do you know this area?’

She nodded, her expression dubious.

He mentioned the address, but this didn’t make her any more inclined to talk.

‘Lukas Lysgaard,’ he said quickly as she was about to set off again. ‘I’m looking for Lukas Lysgaard!’

‘Oh, I see,’ said the woman, with a sad smile. ‘Poor boy. Third street on the right. Carry on for about three hundred metres. Turn left by a dilapidated little red house, then go straight on. When you see a white house on a bend, carry straight on up to the top of the hill, and there you are. It’s a yellow house with a double garage.’

Adam repeated the directions, and received a nod of confirmation. He thanked the woman politely and put the car into gear.

As he approached the house he glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 8.10. Perhaps he was too late.

Lukas worked in Bergen, so he probably left home early. Adam didn’t know much about the infrastructure in this part of the country, but when he was here after Christmas he had realized that the rush-hour traffic heading into Bergen from the south could lead to a complete standstill all the way from Flesland into the centre. Admittedly, Flesland lay to the north-west of Os, but as far as he could tell, you ended up in the same stationary queue as you drew closer to the city.

He stopped in front of a typical eighties house, large and painted yellow, with bay windows, small panes and every other characteristic of a practical and utterly unattractive dwelling.

He parked by the gate and walked up to the front door.

From inside he could hear the sound of a child crying, followed by an exhausted groan from someone he assumed to be Lukas’s wife. A pathetic little miaow made him move back at the bottom of the stone steps and look up. On the porch roof sat a small tabby. When he met its green eyes, the cat crept silently over to the drainpipe, down the wall, and managed to slide into the house just as the door opened.

‘Good morning,’ said Adam, holding out his hand as he climbed the three steps.

Astrid Tomte Lysgaard stared at him in surprise.

‘Morning,’ she said uncertainly, shaking his hand.

‘Adam Stubo. From NCIS. I’m working on the investigation into your mother-in-law’s murder and—’

‘I know who you are,’ said Astrid, making no move to let him in. ‘But Lukas isn’t here.’

‘Oh. Has he already left for work?’

‘Possibly. He spent the night at his father’s house.’

‘I see.’

Adam smiled. Astrid Tomte Lysgaard wasn’t yet dressed for the day. Her dressing gown was too big, and the milk-white legs revealed that she was as thin as a rake. Her eyes were surrounded by dry wrinkles, and the bags under her eyes were all too evident for a woman of her age.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, spreading her hands wide in a weary gesture. ‘We’re running a bit late this morning, so if there’s nothing else …’

A three-year-old stuck his head out from behind her.

‘Hello,’ the boy said in a friendly tone of voice. ‘My name is William, and Grandma is all dead.’

‘My name is Adam. I’m a policeman. Was that your cat I saw just now?’

‘Yes. Her name is Borghild.’

The boy couldn’t pronounce the name properly, and said ‘Boygil’.

Adam’s smile grew even wider.

‘That’s a good name for a beautiful fat cat,’ he nodded. ‘I think you’d better go and get dressed now. You’ll be off to nursery soon, won’t you?’

‘Did you hear that?’ Astrid gave a wan smile and ruffled her son’s hair. ‘The policeman says you have to go and get dressed. We have to do what a policeman tells us, don’t we?’

The boy turned and scampered away at once.

‘How are you doing?’ Adam asked quietly.

She still made no move to let him in, but nor did she close the door.

‘Oh, you know.’ The tears were threatening to spill over. ‘It’s hard for Lukas,’ she said, wiping her left eye with a rapid movement. ‘Losing Eva Karin is one thing. But it’s almost as bad seeing Erik so …’

Her hands were slender, with long, thin fingers. Her arms were wrapped around her upper body, and she kept tucking her hair behind one ear over and over again with a nervous movement.

‘And Lukas has got it into his head that …’

A car sounded its horn on the street. Adam turned and saw a car pulling out of next-door’s drive with the back seat full of children; the driver was waving to Astrid, who raised her hand slightly in response.

‘What has Lukas got into his head?’ Adam asked when she didn’t go on.

‘I … I don’t really know.’

Borghild appeared in the doorway, rubbing around her bare legs.

‘I really do have to go,’ she said, taking a step back. ‘I’ve got to get the kids ready for school and nursery. I’m sorry you’ve come all the way out here for nothing.’

‘It’s not your fault!’ Adam walked backwards down the steps. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you,’ he said. ‘I know exactly what these mornings are like.’

Astrid closed the door without another word. Adam walked back to the hire car and unlocked it with the remote. He got in and fiddled with the idiotic card Renault had decided was better than an ignition key. He inserted it into the slot and pressed the start button. Nothing happened.

Work, you bastard!

He snatched out the card and banged it hard against the dashboard before repeating the entire procedure. The engine started.

After he had been driving for five minutes with the intention of going back to Bergen, he changed his mind and decided to head over to Nubbebakken instead. Seeking Lukas out at the university would seem too dramatic. Astrid had made it clear that Erik’s condition was deteriorating, so Lukas might have decided to stay with his father rather than go to work.

He increased his speed.

It had started to rain, and behind the heavy cloud cover the sun had just started to colour the world grey.

*

Lukas was woken by the fact that the roof light was no longer black, but a sooty grey. His right arm was completely numb. He had twisted and turned in the armchair and fallen asleep on it. When the circulation returned it was as if he had stuck his hand in a wasps’ nest. It stung and ached, and he pulled a face as he stood up and started to shake his arm so violently that his shoulder protested.

It was already ten past nine in the morning, on Tuesday 13 January.

He should have been at a departmental meeting at nine o’clock. When he checked the display on his mobile, there were five missed calls: three from a colleague who would be at the same meeting, and two from Astrid.

He just hoped she hadn’t tried calling his father’s landline as well. It was unlikely; she couldn’t stand talking to her father-in-law at the moment.

He quickly stretched his body from side to side to shake off the aches and pains of the night.

There wasn’t a sound from downstairs. Perhaps his father was still asleep.

The photograph of his sister was still safe inside his shirt. It was bent, but not creased. He tightened his belt in order to keep the photograph in place before climbing the ladder and opening the roof light.

It was a miserable January morning.

Everything was wet. All the colours were in hibernation. The oak tree stood out, a black relief against the grey. Lukas wriggled through the narrow opening and pulled the rest of his body up using his arms. Once he was on the roof, he sat there for a few moments gasping for breath. He pushed his heels well in between the rungs of the chimney sweep’s ladder and felt significantly more frightened than he had done when he was a boy. When he was halfway down to the gutter, he heard a car approaching. He stiffened.

The engine was switched off and a car door opened and closed.

The gate squealed and Lukas could clearly hear footsteps approaching his father’s front door.

Someone rang the bell. He heard the sound from below, muted and distorted through two floors, but still clear. So far he hadn’t even dared to move his eyes, but eventually he looked down. From where he was sitting he could just see the little porch and the stone steps, with the metal grille at the bottom for wiping shoes.

He immediately saw who it was.

At last the door opened.

Lukas held his breath, his eyes firmly fixed on the man down below. If Adam Stubo should look up, he would see him at once.

The voices were crystal-clear.

‘Good morning,’ said the police officer. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m trying to get hold of Lukas. I just wanted to go over a couple of points with him. Is he here?’

As usual his father’s voice was expressionless and uninterested.

‘No.’

‘No? It’s just that I spoke to his wife and …’

Stubo took a step back. Lukas closed his eyes.

‘I do apologize,’ said the big man down below. ‘I could have phoned, of course. How are you? Is there anything we can—?’

‘I’m fine,’ his father interrupted, then the door slammed shut.

Lukas was already soaked to the skin. He had left his outdoor clothes in the car, and the ice-cold rain was hitting the nape of his neck and running down his back. Instinctively, he leaned forward to protect the photograph. He opened his eyes again.

Adam Stubo was standing five metres from the wall with his head tilted to one side. When their eyes met he beckoned several times with his right index finger. He smiled and shook his head, then pointed to the gate.

Lukas swallowed, then went hot and cold.

It would take him three minutes to get down from the roof, during which time he was going to have to come up with a bloody good explanation. He must also make sure his father didn’t see him. Having to explain himself to Adam Stubo was more than enough.

When he reached the ground after jumping two metres from a thick branch, he still hadn’t come up with anything to say.

The truth, perhaps, he thought for a moment before dismissing the idea. He crept around the house to meet Stubo, who was waiting by the gate.

*

Johanne had realized long ago that the truth was the first victim of every war. And yet it was still difficult to accept that reality could be distorted to the degree that was evident in the article she was trying to read as Ragnhild gave her teddy bear his breakfast.

‘Look,’ her daughter said delightedly, pointing at the bear’s nose, which was covered in a sticky mess. ‘Bamse loves his porridge!’

‘Don’t do that,’ Johanne mumbled. ‘Eat your breakfast.’

She took a sip of coffee. Her body still felt heavy and sluggish from the sleeping tablets, and she was short of time, yet she couldn’t tear herself away from the newspaper.

‘What are you reading, Mummy?’

Ragnhild had pushed the bear’s nose into the bowl of porridge, milk and strawberry jam. Johanne didn’t even look up. She didn’t know how to explain the war over the Gaza strip to a five-year-old.

‘I’m reading about some silly people,’ she said vaguely.

‘Silly people go to prison,’ Ragnhild said cheerfully. ‘Daddy takes them and puts them in the slammer!’

‘The slammer?’ Johanne peered at her daughter over the newspaper. ‘Where did you get that word from?’

‘Slammer, clink, jail, prison. They all mean the same thing. And then there’s something called custard.’

‘Custody,’ Johanne corrected her. ‘Did Kristiane teach you that?’

‘Mm,’ said Ragnhild, licking the bear’s nose. ‘Why are the silly people in the paper?’

‘It’s an interview,’ said Johanne. ‘With a man called …’

She looked at the picture of Ehud Olmert, and quickly turned the page.

‘We haven’t got time for this,’ she said with a smile. ‘Can you go and start cleaning your teeth, please? Then I’ll come and finish off.’

Ragnhild tucked her teddy bear under her arm and disappeared into the bathroom. Johanne was just about to fold up the newspaper when a brief item on the front page caught her eye; reluctantly she turned to page five.

MARIANNE CASE STILL A MYSTERY – OVER 300 WITNESSES INTERVIEWED SO FAR.

If there was one thing she didn’t need at this time in the morning, it was yet another terrible murder to think about, but she couldn’t help skimming through the article. The police still had no firm leads in the case, or at least nothing they wanted to reveal at this stage, but they were able to confirm that the murder had taken place at the hotel. There was nothing to indicate the body had been moved. Detective Inspector Silje Sørensen assured the public that the murder of the 42-year-old nursery school teacher Marianne Kleive was being treated as a matter of the highest priority, and that the investigation would be stepped up over the next few days. She had every confidence that the case would be solved, but she wanted to make it clear that this could take time. A long time.

Johanne had consciously avoided reading about the murder. Since the discovery of the body she had quickly flicked past the sensational headlines in the tabloid press and the more measured articles in Aftenposten. Her sister’s wedding reception had been bad enough without the burden of knowing that a murder had been committed in close proximity to Kristiane.

She didn’t really know what had made her turn to the article today. Crossly she tossed the paper aside.

A thought, a tiny little thought crossed her mind. She didn’t want anything to do with it.

Suddenly she got to her feet.

‘No,’ she said, clenching her fists. ‘No.’

Without clearing the table she marched into the bathroom, as if the sound of her footsteps on the parquet floor might chase away the terrifying seed of awareness that was making its presence felt.

‘Right, let’s get these teeth cleaned,’ she said unnecessarily loudly, and grabbed the toothbrush so briskly that Ragnhild burst into tears. ‘There’s no need to start crying, Ragnhild. Open wide.’

The lady was dead.

Johanne could hear Kristiane’s voice as clearly as if she were standing next to her.

‘Albertine,’ Johanne said out loud. ‘She meant Albertine.’

‘I don’t want a babysitter!’ Ragnhild yelled, clamping her teeth around the toothbrush.

The lady was dead, Mummy.

That’s what Kristiane had said, several times, when she was brought in from Stortingsgaten during her aunt’s wedding reception, frozen and confused.

‘Mummy!’ Ragnhild complained through clenched teeth. ‘You’re hurting me!’

‘Sorry,’ said Johanne, letting go of the toothbrush as if it were redhot. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. Silly Mummy!’

She dropped to her knees and flung her arms around her daughter, then pressed her face against Ragnhild’s neck and hugged her tightly.

‘Now you’re suffocating me! I can’t breathe, Mummy!’

Johanne let go and took hold of Ragnhild’s shoulders with both hands. She looked her right in the eye and forced a smile.

‘I need you to help me,’ she said, swallowing hard. ‘Do you think you can help Mummy?’

‘Yeees …’ Ragnhild frowned, as if someone were about to trick her into doing something she wasn’t going to like.

‘Who does Kristiane call “the lady”?’ Johanne asked, trying to smile even more broadly.

‘Everybody she doesn’t know,’ said Ragnhild. ‘Unless they’re men, of course.’

‘And people she doesn’t know all that well?’

‘No …’

‘Yes – people like Albertine, for example. She’s only looked after you five or six times. Kristiane might call Albertine “the lady” sometimes, mightn’t she?’

Ragnhild laughed out loud. The tears on her eyelashes sparkled in the bright light in the bathroom.

‘Silly Mummy! Kristiane calls Albertine Albertine, of course. But we don’t need a babysitter today, do we Mummy? You’re going to be here and—’

The lady was dead.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Johanne. ‘I’m going to look after you today.’

She was no longer there.

It wasn’t Johanne who took out a fluoride tablet and popped it in Ragnhild’s mouth. It wasn’t Johanne Vik who walked calmly into the kitchen to pick up the lunch boxes without even glancing at the newspaper. As she approached the stairs leading down to the outside door, she could hardly feel the soft little hand in hers.

The soul. You can’t see it leaving.

Christmas dinner.

Kristiane’s words when they were talking about death.

‘Mummy,’ said Ragnhild when she had put her boots on. ‘I think you’re being really, really funny.’

Johanne couldn’t bring herself to reply.

Couldn’t even manage a smile.

*

Adam had always thought of Lukas Lysgaard as an extremely serious young man. Perhaps that wasn’t so strange; after all they had met in tragic circumstances. And yet he still thought he could detect something brooding, almost melancholy in Lukas’s demeanour. Something not necessarily related to his mother’s death.

He had never seen Lukas smile.

At the moment the man looked like a drowned cat, and the crooked smile seemed foolish.

‘Morning,’ he said, holding out his hand before changing his mind and withdrawing it. ‘Cold and soaking wet. I do apologize.’

‘We can go and sit in my car. It’s warm in there.’

Lukas obediently followed.

‘So,’ said Adam, sliding into the driver’s seat and placing his hands on the wheel without starting the car. ‘What was all that about?’

Lukas was still wearing the same expression, a silly teenager’s grin which suggested he hadn’t a clue what he was going to say.

‘Well,’ he said, taking his time. ‘I just wanted to … When I was little … before we moved to Stavanger, I used to do that sometimes. Climb across the roof. Playing the tough guy, perhaps. My mother was terrified when she caught me once. It was … cool.’

‘Mm,’ Adam nodded. ‘I’m sure it was.’ He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘And that’s why you decided to do the same thing again just before you turn thirty, in the pouring rain in January, a couple of weeks after your mother’s death, while your father is in the process of having some kind of breakdown?’

A sudden burst of hail rattled against the roof of the car. The noise was deafening. Adam took advantage of the pause in the conversation to start the car and turn the heating on full. He hadn’t really paid much attention to how the handbrake worked when the man at Avis was trying to explain, so he sat there with his foot on the brake pedal and the car in neutral.

‘Lukas, I have no intention of …’

Lukas snivelled and half-turned in the cramped seat.

‘I have no intention of handling you with kid gloves any more, OK?’ He looked the other man straight in the eye. ‘You’re an adult, a well-educated father of three children. It’s a little while now since your mother died. To be perfectly honest, I’m getting rather tired of the fact that you won’t answer my questions.’

‘But I’ve answered everything you’ve—’

‘Shut up!’ Adam snapped, leaning towards him. ‘A great deal has been said about my patience, Lukas. Some people say I’m too nice. Too nice for my own good, they sometimes maintain. But if you think for one moment that I’m going to let you leave here before you’ve explained to me what that performance up on the roof was all about, then you’re wrong. Completely, totally and utterly bloody wrong.’

The windows steamed up. Lukas didn’t speak.

‘What were you doing on the roof ?’ Adam persisted.

‘I was coming down from the attic.’

Adam banged his fists on the steering wheel so hard that it shook.

‘What the hell were you doing in the attic, and why couldn’t you come down the stairs like a normal person?’

‘This has nothing to do with my mother’s death,’ Lukas mumbled, looking away. ‘It’s to do with something else. Something … personal.’

His teeth had begun to chatter, and he wrapped his arms around his body.

‘I’ll decide whether it’s personal or not,’ Adam hissed. ‘And you have exactly twenty seconds from now to come up with some satisfactory answers. Otherwise I promise you I’ll bloody well lock you up until you start cooperating.’

Lukas stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and something that was beginning to resemble fear.

‘I was looking for something,’ he whispered almost inaudibly.

‘What?’

‘Something quite … something that …’

He put his face in his hands.

‘A photo,’ said Adam. It was more of a statement than a question. ‘A photograph.’

Lukas stopped breathing.

‘The one that was in your mother’s bedroom,’ said Adam. ‘The one that was there when I came to see you the day after the murder, but then disappeared.’

The shower of hail had turned into torrential rain, huge drops exploding against the windscreen. The world outside the car was blurred and undefined. It was as if they were sitting inside a cocoon, and Adam could feel the unfamiliar, peculiar fury ebbing away as quickly as it had come.

‘How did you know?’ asked Lukas, his hands dropping to his knee.

‘I didn’t know. I guessed. Did you find it?’

‘No.’

Adam sighed and tried once more to find a comfortable sitting position in which he could relax.

‘Who is the photo of ?’

‘I don’t know. Honestly. I really don’t know.’

‘But you have a theory,’ said Adam.

Once again silence fell. A car came towards them, its headlights transforming the windscreen into a kaleidoscope of yellow and pale grey, before leaving the interior in semi-darkness once more.

Lukas didn’t speak.

‘I’m perfectly serious,’ Adam said quietly. ‘I will do everything in my power to make life difficult for you unless you start communicating right now.’

‘I think I might have a sister somewhere. The photograph might be of my sister. My older sister.’

A child, thought Adam. The same idea had occurred to him several days ago.

A child that had disappeared. A child that perhaps hadn’t disappeared after all.

‘Thank you,’ he said almost inaudibly. ‘I just wish you’d found the photo.’

‘But I didn’t. Presumably my father got rid of it. What would you have done with it? If I’d found it, I mean?’

Adam smiled for the first time since Lukas came down from the roof. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head slightly.

‘If we had a photograph, Lukas, we’d find your sister in no time. If she’s still alive, and doesn’t live too far from Norway. If she is your sister, that is. We don’t know. We don’t know whether that photograph has anything whatsoever to do with the murder of your mother. But I can assure you that I would have devoted some time to finding out!’

‘But what would you … ? How could you use an anonymous photograph to … ?’

‘We have huge databases. Comprehensive computer programs. And if all the technology in the world wasn’t enough, then …’

The foot on the brake pedal was going to sleep, so he put the car in first gear and switched off the engine.

‘If I had to knock on every door in Bergen myself, if I had to put up posters with my own hands all over the country, ring round every single TV station and newspaper, I would find her. You can rest assured of that.’

Lukas nodded.

‘That’s what I thought,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly what I thought you’d say. Can I go now? My car’s parked just up the road.’

Adam’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Lukas.

‘Yes. But don’t forget what I’ve said to you today. From now on it’s zero tolerance as far as I’m concerned when it comes to keeping secrets. OK?’

‘OK,’ Lukas nodded, opening the door. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

Once outside the car, he turned and leaned in.

‘Thank you for not saying anything to my father,’ he said.

‘No problem,’ said Adam, waving as he started the engine, indicated and pulled away.

Lukas scurried to his own car, keeping one hand on his stomach where he could feel the outline of a photograph he had no intention of sharing with anyone.

Not yet, anyway.

*

‘School isn’t over yet,’ said Kristiane for at least the fiftieth time when they eventually got home. ‘School isn’t over yet.’

‘No,’ Johanne said calmly. ‘But I want to talk to you about something really important, sweetheart. That’s why I had to pick you up early today.’

‘School isn’t over yet,’ Kristiane repeated, walking up the stairs like a mechanical doll. ‘School finishes at four o’clock, and then I’m going to Daddy’s. I’m staying at Daddy’s today. School finishes at four o’clock.’

Johanne followed her without saying any more. Only when they were in the living room did she spread her hands encouragingly and confess: ‘We’re going to have a duvet day today, Kristiane! Just the two of us! Would you like some hot chocolate with whipped cream?’

‘Dam-di-rum-ram,’ said Kristiane as she slowly began rocking from side to side on the sofa.

Johanne went over to her daughter and sat down beside her. She pulled Kristiane’s sweater and vest out of the waistband of her trousers and allowed her fingers to dance gently over her daughter’s slender young back. Kristiane smiled and lay down across her knee. They sat there for several minutes until Kristiane began to sing a folk song.

‘Bind deg ein blomekrans, kom so til leik og dans, fela ho let no så vakkert i lund.’

‘That’s a lovely song,’ whispered Johanne.

‘Sit ikkje stur og tung, syn at du óg er ung …’

Kristiane stopped singing.

‘A lovely spring song,’ Johanne said. ‘A spring song in January. What a clever girl you are.’

‘If you sing about the spring, it will come.’

Kristiane’s laughter was as fragile as glass. Johanne ran her forefinger along the contours of her spine, all the way down from the nape of her neck.

‘That tickles,’ Kristiane smiled.

‘Do it again.’ ‘Do you remember Aunt Marie’s wedding?’

‘Of course. Where’s Sulamit, anyway?’

‘Sulamit was worn out, sweetheart. You remember that, don’t you?’

When she was one year old, Kristiane had been given a little red fire engine. She decided it was actually a cat, and called it Sulamit. It had been her faithful companion for more than eight years. The wheels had fallen off one by one, the colours had faded. The ladder on the roof was long gone. The eyes on the headlights were blind, and little Sulamit looked like neither a fire engine nor a cat when Adam reversed over it by mistake on the drive one day.

Kristiane had been inconsolable.

‘Sulamit was a wonderful cat,’ she said now. ‘Can I have another cat, Mum?’

‘But we’ve got Jack,’ said Johanne. ‘He’s not all that keen on cats, as you well know.’

‘I am the invisible child,’ said Kristiane.

Johanne’s fingers hovered like butterflies over the thin skin on her back.

‘Sometimes no one can see me.’

‘When?’ whispered Johanne.

‘Sulamit, sulamat, sulatullamit on the mat.’

‘Was it at Marie’s wedding that no one could see you?’

‘More. Tickle more, Mum.’

‘Did you see anyone? Even if they couldn’t see you?’

Johanne was desperately trying to remember what Kristiane had actually said that night at the hotel, when she herself had been terrified, furious and in no state to take in anything at all.

‘A lady was murdered there,’ said Kristiane, suddenly sitting up next to her mother. ‘Marianne Kleive. Nursery school teacher. Married to the noted award-winning documentary film-maker Synnøve Hessel! Women can marry each other in Norway. So can men.’

Her voice had suddenly reverted to a monotonous chant.

‘You read too many newspapers,’ smiled Johanne, putting her arm around her daughter and drawing her close.

‘Dearly loved, sadly missed.’

‘Have you started reading the death notices?’

‘A cross means the dead person was a Christian. A Star of David means the deceased was Jewish. What does the bird mean, Mum?’

At last Kristiane’s eyes met her mother’s gaze for a fleeting moment.

‘That you hope the dead person will rest in peace,’ Johanne whispered.

‘I want a bird in my death notice.’

‘You’re not going to die.’

‘I’m going to die one day.’

‘We’re all going to die one day.’

‘You too, Mum.’

‘Yes, me too. But not for a long time.’

‘You can’t know that.’

Silence. They were only whispering, sitting close together on the sofa, Johanne with her arm around the slender fourteen-year-old like a safety belt as the daylight poured in across the living-room floor, almost dazzling them. She could feel the budding breasts, the unavoidable signs that Kristiane, too, would become an adult, even if puberty had come late.

‘No,’ Johanne said eventually. ‘I can’t know that. But I don’t think it will happen for a long time. I’m healthy, Kristiane, and not so very old. Have you ever seen a dead person?’

‘You’ll die before me, Mum.’

‘I hope I do. No parent wants their child to die before them.’

‘Who will look after me when you die?’

Johanne had been asking herself that same question, over and over again, ever since Kristiane was just a few hours old, and Johanne was the only one who realized there was something wrong with her child.

‘You’ll be an adult by then, sweetheart. You’ll be able to look after yourself.’

‘I’ll never be able to look after myself. I’m not like other children. I go to a special school. I’m autistic.’

‘You’re not autistic, you’re …’

Johanne quickly sat up straight and placed her hand beneath Kristiane’s chin.

‘You’re not like other children. That’s quite true. You are just yourself. And I love you so much, just for being you. And you know what, Kristiane?’

Kristiane responded to her smile, her eyes focusing on Johanne.

‘I’m not exactly like other people either. Actually, I think we all feel that way. None of us feels exactly like other people. And there will always be someone to look after you. Ragnhild, for example. And Amund, too. He’s your nephew, after all!’

Kristiane’s laughter was brittle and as clear as a bell.

‘They’re younger than me!’

‘Yes, but by the time I die they’ll be grown up. And then they can look after you.’

‘I’ve seen a dead person. The soul weighs twenty-one grams. But you can’t see it leaving.’

Johanne said nothing. She still had her hand under Kristiane’s chin, but her daughter’s gaze was turned inward again, focused on a place no one else could reach, and her voice was expressionless and mechanical once more as she went on: ‘Marianne Kleive, forty-two years old, died 19 December 2008. Bishop Eva Karin Lysgaard, dearly loved, sadly missed, unexpectedly taken from us on Christmas Eve 2008. Funeral arrangements to be notified at a later date. The cross means she was a Christian.’

‘Stop,’ Johanne whispered, quickly drawing the girl close. ‘Stop now.’

It was exactly twelve o’clock, and a cloud drifted across the unforgiving January sun. A pleasant darkness filled the living room. Johanne closed her eyes as she held her daughter tightly, rocking her from side to side.

‘I am the invisible child,’ Kristiane whispered.