Jo Nesbo - Midnight Sun

I nodded. ‘Why did the hearse have Oslo number plates?’

‘Oh, that’s just Aronsen, he’s a proper show-off. He bought it down there, I daresay he thinks that makes it look smarter.’

Lea was standing on the church steps with a tall, fair-haired man. The queue of people wishing to convey their condolences had been quickly dealt with. Just before the car was out of sight she called: ‘Well, you’re all welcome to come to ours for coffee. Thank you all for coming, and safe journey home to those not joining us.’

It struck me that there was something strangely familiar about the image of her standing next to that man, as if I had seen it before. There was a gust of wind and the tall man swayed slightly.

‘Who’s that standing next to the widow?’ I asked.

‘Ove? He’s the deceased’s brother.’

Of course. The wedding photograph. That must have been taken in exactly the same place, on the steps of the church.

‘Twin brother?’

‘Twins in every way,’ the old man said. ‘So, shall we go and have coffee and cake, then?’

‘Have you seen Mattis?’

‘Which Mattis?’

So there was more than one.

‘Do you mean Drink-Mattis?’

Only one of them, then.

‘He’s probably at Migal’s wedding down in Ceavccageadge today.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Transteinsletta — down by the cod-liver-oil stone.’ He pointed towards the sea, where I remembered seeing the jetty. ‘The heathens worship their false idols down there.’ He shuddered. ‘Shall we go, then?’

In the silence that followed I thought I could hear the distant sound of drums, music. Hubbub. Drinking. Women.

I turned round and saw Lea from behind as she was heading up towards the house. She was clasping Knut’s hand in hers. The dead man’s brother and the others followed at a distance, in a silent procession. I ran my tongue round my mouth, which still felt dry from my nap. From having been so frightened. From all the drinking, perhaps.

‘Some coffee would be good,’ I said.

The house seemed so different when it was full of people.

I nodded my way past people I didn’t know, who followed me with their eyes and unspoken questions. Everyone else seemed to know each other. I found her in the kitchen, where she was slicing cake.

‘Condolences,’ I said.

She looked at my outstretched hand and switched the knife to her left hand. Sun-warmed stones. Firm gaze. ‘Thanks. How are you getting on in the cabin?’

‘Fine, thanks, I’m on my way there now. I just wanted to pass on my sympathies seeing as I didn’t manage to at the church.’

‘You don’t have to leave straight away, Ulf. Have a bit of cake.’

I looked at the cake. I didn’t like cake. Never had. My mother used to say I was an unusual child.

‘Yes, well,’ I said, ‘thanks very much.’

People had started to pour in behind us, so I took the plate and cake into the living room. I ended up over by the window, where, overwhelmed by the intense, silent scrutiny, I peered up at the sky, as if I were worried it was going to start raining.

‘The peace of God.’

I turned round. Apart from a splash of grey at the temples, the man in front of me had her black hair. And her direct, courageous gaze. I didn’t know what to reply. Simply repeating ‘The peace of God’ would have been fake, but ‘Hello’ felt far too informal, almost a bit cheeky. So I ended up with a stiff ‘Good day’, even if it was an unsuitable greeting for such an occasion.

‘I’m Jakob Sara.’

‘Iulf... Er, Ulf Hansen.’

‘My grandson says you tell jokes.’

‘He does?’

‘But he wasn’t able to tell me what your profession is. Or what you’re doing here in Kåsund. Just that you’ve got my son-in-law’s rifle. And that you’re not a man of faith.’

I nodded blandly, the sort of nod that is neither confirmation nor denial, but which merely acknowledges that you’ve heard what is being said, then stuffed a large piece of cake into my mouth to give myself a few seconds to think. I went on chewing and nodding.

‘And that’s none of my business either,’ the man continued. ‘Not that, and not how long you’re thinking of staying here. But I can see for myself that you like almond cake.’

He looked me hard in the eye as I struggled to swallow. Then he put a hand on my bad shoulder. ‘Remember, young man, that God’s mercy is boundless.’ He paused, and I felt the warmth of his hand spread through the fabric and into my skin. ‘Almost.’

He smiled and walked away, moving on to another of the mourners, and I heard their muttered exchange of ‘The peace of God’.

‘Ulf?’

I didn’t have to turn round to know who it was.

‘Shall we play secret hiding?’ He was looking up at me with a serious face.

‘Knut, I’m—’

‘Please!’

‘Hmm.’ I looked down at the remnants of the cake. ‘What’s secret hiding?’

‘Hiding so that no grown-ups know you’re hiding. You’re not allowed to run or shout or laugh, and you’re not allowed to hide in silly places. We play it when we’re at parish meetings. It’s good fun. I’ll look first.’

I looked around. There were no other children here, just Knut. Alone at his father’s funeral. Secret hiding. Why not?

‘I’ll count to thirty-three,’ he whispered. ‘From now.’

He turned to face the wall, as if he were looking at his parents’ wedding picture, while I put my plate down and discreetly made my way out of the living room and through the corridor. I glanced in the kitchen, but she was no longer there. I went outside. The wind was getting up. I walked round the old car. A few raindrops hit the windscreen as the wind gusted past. I carried on round the back of the house. I leaned against the wall beneath the open window of the workroom. Lit a cigarette.

It was only when the wind died down that I heard the voices in the workroom:

‘Let go, Ove! You’ve been drinking, you don’t know what you’re saying.’

‘Don’t struggle, Lea. You shouldn’t mourn too long, Hugo wouldn’t want that.’

‘You don’t know what Hugo would want!’

‘Well, I know what I want. And always have wanted. And so do you.’

‘Let go now, Ove. Or I’ll shout.’

‘The way you shouted that night with Hugo?’ Hoarse, drunken laughter. ‘You argue a lot, Lea, but in the end you back down and obey your menfolk. Like you obeyed Hugo, and like you obeyed your father. And like you’re going to obey me.’

‘Never!’

‘That’s the way we do it in our family, Lea. Hugo was my brother, now he’s gone, and you and Knut are my responsibility.’

‘Ove, that’s enough now.’

‘Just ask your father.’

In the silence that followed, I wondered if I should move.

I stayed where I was.

‘You’re a widow and a mother, Lea. Be sensible. Hugo and I shared everything — this is what he would have wanted, I promise you. And it’s what I want. Now, come here, let me just... ow! Fucking women!’

A door slammed.

I heard more muttered cursing. Something fell to the floor. Just then Knut came round the corner of the house. He opened his mouth wide to shout, and I steeled myself for the cry that would give me away.

But it didn’t come, just the silent-movie version.

Secret hiding.

I tossed the cigarette away, hurried towards him and threw out my arms in resignation. I led him towards the garage.

‘I’ll count to thirty-three,’ I said, then turned to face his mother’s red Volkswagen. I heard his footsteps run off, then the front door open.

When I finished counting, I went back inside.

She was standing on her own in the kitchen again, peeling potatoes.