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  Axel looked up and registered that they were just passing Dronning Park. The driver glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. She had heavy bags under her eyes and wore a perfume that smelled like mould.

  – Tough start to the day, she said vaguely, not specifying whether she was referring to her own or her passenger’s day.

  He grunted something or other and closed his eyes again to avoid any further encouragement. Another nine hours and his work day would be over. He would make it through. He’d had his own practice for twelve years. It was like playing the piano. Sometimes he had to improvise, but most of it he knew off by heart, no matter how tired he was. He’d lost count of the number of days he’d worked through with no sleep the night before. He could handle it. But on this morning it was something other than tiredness. Lise’s face. Unscathed at first glance, looking almost as though she were sleeping. Like Marlen’s face when he crept in in the dark and bent over her. Then shining the light, seeing the eyes … Her father had sat bent over on the sofa, staring at the table as Axel explained why he had come. Suddenly he jumped to his feet. Ingrid, should I wake her? Yes, Axel thought, it would be best to wake her. And directly afterwards the scream from the floor above that rose and swelled and filled the whole house and would not end. Ingrid Brodahl, whom he knew from parent–teacher evenings and had talked about school breakfasts with, and celebrations for National Day on 17 May, came rushing down the stairs in her pyjamas. She was still howling, and at that instant Axel regretted having gone there.

  The taxi braked suddenly and he was thrown towards the front seat. The figure that had by the narrowest of margins avoided being tossed up on to the bonnet of the car skipped on across the road. The driver opened her window and gave the man an earful. From the pavement he turned and glared at her.

  – Stop! shouted Axel as the driver started to accelerate through the traffic lights.

  – What do you mean? she protested.

  – Pull in to the side. Wait here.

  He swung the door open, hurried back to the crossing. He saw him making his way down Sporveisgata.

  – Brede! he shouted.

  The man didn’t turn round. Axel started to run. The other man speeded up. There was less than thirty metres between them when he disappeared between two buildings. Axel reached the corner, ran into an empty courtyard. Stood there panting. Calm down, he warned himself. You’ve had one helluva night. No more now. Just get through it.

  6

  FOUR PATIENTS WERE sitting in the waiting room when he arrived, half an hour after he was due to see the first of them. He popped his head into the office. Rita was on the phone but put the call on hold and turned to him.

  – So you’re alive, she exclaimed in the singing tones of her home town in the far north.

  – Hard to say, he sighed. – How does it look?

  – Alas, no cancellations, you’re too popular for that.

  She got up, swayed over to where the coffee was simmering, poured a large mug and handed it to him.

  – I’ve told people we’re going to be delayed. And I asked Inger Beate to take a couple of your patients before lunch if we’re still running late. She gave him a sympathetic maternal pat. – Don’t worry, Axel, we’ll get you through the day all right.

  – What would I do without you? he said, smiling gratefully.

  They weren’t just empty words. Rita looked after everything. She was firm when she had to be, friendly when she could be. Already he was dreading her going on holiday.

  – And don’t forget the student, she chirruped.

  – Damn, was that today?

  Axel had once again agreed to take on a medical student in the practice. He liked being a supervisor, but on this particular morning his patience would probably not extend to pedagogic tribulations.

  – I’ve told her she can use Ola’s room; that’s going to be vacant the whole time she’s here.

  – She? Wasn’t it a male student?

  – Apparently they arranged a swap. I left you a note about it yesterday.

  He took a swig of coffee. Given the shape he was in, he would have preferred it if it had been a young man.

  – Ask her to come in … No, give me five minutes and then ask her.

  He slumped down into the chair, turned on his computer, stretched the skin of his face as far back as he could. He hadn’t seen Brede for twenty years. Didn’t even know if he was still alive. It had been weeks, maybe even months, since he’d last thought about him, not until his mother’s outburst the day before. It couldn’t have been Brede he saw. He’d chased after a guy who looked like him along Sporveisgata … He realised how exhausted he was. Maybe he should drop the duty-doctor stuff for a while. They didn’t need the money.

  The hard disk creaked and whirred and struggled to get going. When the computer’s ready then I’ll be ready too, he thought. He stuffed the need to sleep into a cupboard, locked the door and threw away the key: I am no longer tired. There was a knock on the door. Damn, he’d forgotten already about the student. He jumped up, slapped his cheeks a few times. It’s show time, he said to himself in the mirror and called for her to come in.

  She shut the door behind her. Her hand was narrow and warm. Miriam was the name. He didn’t catch the surname.

  – I’ve met you before, she said.

  He frowned.

  – Just before the summer holidays. You gave lectures on cancer in general medicine. I spoke to you in several of the breaks.

  – That’s right, he said. He’d lectured on the importance of being alert, not missing that one among all those who visited the doctor for some trifle or other who was actually seriously ill. – That’s right. Now let’s see the first patient. You can be a fly on the wall.

  He didn’t like the expression and wrinkled his nose.

  – And in due course, naturally, you’ll be working on your own.

  He skipped the lunch break but managed to catch up with his appointments; no one had to wait more than half an hour. In the afternoon he had time to discuss some of the cases with the student. He was beyond tiredness by this time and just about running on empty. But he knew there was enough there for him to make it through the rest of the day. Fortunately the student turned out to be calm and relaxed. She was also very knowledgeable, and she asked good questions. She even knew a couple of things about leukaemia that he hadn’t caught up with yet, though he was careful not to let her know.

  By quarter to four he was ready for the last patient. She’d been given an immediate emergency appointment. He read what Rita had written. Cecilie Davidsen. Anxious woman with lump in her breast.

  He clicked into her notes. She’d been a patient of his for three years but had only been to the clinic once before, when she had flu and needed a sick note. She was forty-six years old, an air hostess; two grown children and an eight-year-old daughter.

  – A woman who doesn’t go to the doctor about nothing, he said to the student. – All the more reason to be on the alert.

  Cecilie Davidsen was tall and slender, her hair cut short with bleached strips. Axel recalled her at once. She removed her glove, offered him her hand and looked at him with a little smile, as though apologising for bothering him unnecessarily. But somewhere in that look he could see how uneasy she was feeling.

  He asked her all the relevant questions, about breastfeeding and menstruation and when she had first noticed something in her breast.

  – Let’s just have a look, shall we.

  She unbuttoned her blouse. He had deliberately not asked her where she had felt the lump so that he could find it for himself. It was on the right-hand side, directly beneath the nipple. It was the size of an almond, irregular in shape and resistant to movement.

  – Do you mind if the student feels it?

  Though it wasn’t hot in the room, Cecilie Davidsen was sweating under the arms.

  – Nine times out of ten, lumps in the breast are not malignant, Axel told her as the student carried out her examination. S
he had clearly done it before, moving her hands slowly and systematically. – But of course we must take every precaution.

  – Mammography?

  – As soon as practically possible. Something like this needs to be dealt with as quickly as we can.

  After the patient had left, he turned to the student.

  – Anything to worry about there?

  She thought for a moment.

  – It didn’t seem like it to me, but it was a sizeable lump.

  – As a doctor you should always assume the worst, he lectured. – But it isn’t necessary to come out and say the worst. Not until you definitely know something.

  He rubbed his chin.

  – I didn’t like it. And she had three enlarged lymph glands in her armpit.

  He punched out a few lines on the keyboard, printed out a reference to a specialist.

  – This’ll go in the post today. And I’ll call the hospital as well. She’ll have been seen before the week is out, I can promise you that.

  He glanced at his watch.

  – I have to make the four-thirty boat. Tomorrow you can see a couple of patients without me being there.

  He usually waited until the second week before suggesting this, but the student – Miriam, was that her name? – seemed to be ready now to see cases on her own. He was rarely wrong in his judgement on this particular matter.

  – I’ve got a car, she said. – If you like, I can drive you there.

  He looked at her in surprise.

  – Well that’s very kind of you. It sounds as if you know where I’m going.

  She looked down.

  – You said the boat … so maybe you live on Nesodden. Or something like that.

  She drove with the same calmness as he heard in her voice. Not a single jolt when she changed gear, and he sank back in the seat and closed his eyes. It was as though she expected nothing of him. As though it were not the least bit embarrassing that he couldn’t face the thought of talking.

  – You’re worn out.

  Only now did he register what it was he’d been hearing all day: that she spoke with a slight accent. Eastern European maybe. He didn’t ask, wanted to know as little as possible about her.

  – I had to cover for someone last night, he explained. – It wasn’t my turn, but they were in a jam. Something happened, there was an accident …

  Suddenly he found himself describing it. Lise’s face, as though she were lying asleep in the ditch. Her mother, who held on to his arm as he was about to leave and wouldn’t let him go.

  – She was just a year older than the younger of my boys. He knew her.

  The bell on the quay sounded.

  – That idiot jammed behind the steering wheel stinking of booze, he exclaimed suddenly. – I could’ve killed him.

  – Your boat, she said.

  He didn’t move. There wasn’t a drop left in his tank. He looked out into the greyness that thickened over the fjord.

  – Got things to do?

  Without turning, he noticed that she shook her head.

  7

  Wednesday 26 September

  SOLVEIG LUNDWALL PUSHED the half-full shopping trolley in the direction of the frozen goods counter. It was a long way, at least a hundred metres. Rows of kitchen paper and toilet paper to pass. Cat food, dog food. Then the dried food. Porridge oats, muesli, cornflakes, Frosties, Cheerios. She picked up a packet of Honey Corn along the way. When she was little they had Honey Corn every Friday, after dinner. Milk. She must have enough milk. They drank so much milk at home. Four mouths that just drank and drank. A tube of caviar spread maybe, but they already had some. Mackerel in tomato sauce. She had written a list. It was at home somewhere. A man in a grey anorak wearing a cap appeared on her right and swung in front of her. Halted abruptly with his trolley sideways. She wanted to pick up speed and charge into it, stopped herself at the last moment.

  – Oh, sorry, he smirked, pretending to be polite, and wheeled his trolley to one side.

  She smiled back, as friendly as she could manage. It was stiff, she must have looked pretty strange, but she managed to get past the wrinkled and nicotined face. At the end of the row she reached the milk.

  – I must buy enough milk, she muttered. Five litres of semi-skimmed, five litres of skimmed. Ten litres? Back home they drank and drank, you couldn’t get them to stop. Per Olav the most, even though Dr Glenne had told him he should drink less milk. Per Olav listened to Dr Glenne. But he loved milk, got up in the middle of the night to drink it. She could see him in her mind’s eye, standing there swigging drinking yoghurt straight from the carton. His moustache afterwards, clogged with the stuff. It was better for him than sweet milk, Dr Glenne had said. And Per Olav listened to what Dr Glenne said. Solveig never called him Dr Glenne. Axel when she thought of him, but she never said it so Per Olav could hear her. Glenne, she might say, but not Axel.

  The man in the grey anorak appeared by the cheese counter, approaching. He was going to speak to her. Say something that was supposed to be funny. She jerked her trolley the other way, set off full speed in the direction of the crates of mineral water. Wanted to get some Diet Coke but couldn’t stop now. Beer. Per Olav had asked her to buy some for dinner because they were having fish, and she grabbed a couple of bottles without noticing what they were. Per Olav wasn’t particular. Was it fish today? She was the one who had said so. We’ll be having fish for dinner today, she’d announced to Per Olav, standing in the doorway; the kids had already gone out. Fine by me, he’d answered. Fish was fine by Per Olav. She was the one who couldn’t stand it. The smell. Worst of all when preparing it. Cutting through the slimy skin and the greyish flesh with the thin streaks of blood, and the brown stuff that ran out of the backbone. Ask for it ready filleted. They didn’t have a fish counter at Rema. She’d passed the frozen fish counter. If she turned round, the old man in the grey jacket would be there waiting, stinking of roll-up cigarettes and wanting to chat.

  She hurried on towards the checkout. She must have bread. None left in the freezer. She’d written it at the top of the list, in capital letters, with an exclamation mark. Enough for supper and packed lunches. This morning she’d had to send them off with crispbread. It softened inside the wrapping and the kids wouldn’t eat it. Came home hungry. And the teachers would be whispering and gossiping about her, that she didn’t give them enough food. She grabbed a sack of cat food, two big sacks. They had no cat. The trolley was loaded to the brim. Four people queuing at the checkout. The other tills were closed. She swung into the next row, parked the loaded trolley in front of the sweet shelves. There was a smell of chocolate. Jelly babies and liquorice allsorts. She looked the other way as she slipped through the gated checkout, out into the light.

  The tunnel walls whizzed by. There were dark shadows around the reflections in the window. She couldn’t see the eyes, but knew the gaze was evil. She turned and looked quickly behind her. The carriage was nearly empty. Just two kids playing truant and a woman in a headscarf with a pram. Must be a Kurd; one of the mothers in the nursery school wore a headscarf just like that, she was a Kurd.

  Solveig Lundwall read the poem on the poster next to the door. If you turn round, you’re looking forward, it said. She didn’t want to read any more. There was a little box of pastilles in her pocket. There was a note there too, the shopping list. Bread in capital letters with an exclamation mark. After she’d read it, she couldn’t sit still; she dropped it as though she’d burnt herself on it, stood up and hurried to the back of the carriage, sat with her back to the others. There was a newspaper there. Housing market explodes. She turned the pages. Shot down in broad daylight. Yes, because daylight is broad. He who has eyes to see, let him see. Killed in car crash. She stared at the girl’s picture. She had long blond hair and big eyes and a mouth with a pained smile. It was holy. – What is it, little angel? Solveig murmured. On the next page she read: Do you need help? She turned to the evil face in the window. Yes, Solveig, you need help now. And once she
’d realised that, she felt calm. It felt so good she had to laugh. The tears ran until she could taste the salt at the corners of her mouth, but she wasn’t crying; she felt the calmness spreading through her chest.

  – Thank you, Lord Jesus, she whispered. – Thank you, Lord, for seeing me. Though I wander upon dark ways.

  She got off at the Storting. Her jacket was left behind on the seat. She wasn’t cold. She wanted to feel light, unencumbered. She stood on the escalator and was raised up into the light. The sky was bright and shining, and from where she was standing, she felt as though the steps would carry her up above the street and over the rooftops.

  In Bogstadveien, she stood in front of the clinic door and waited. The tram passed on its way down the road. She stood there a long time before another one came. Solveig, you need help, she told herself again. But it didn’t work any more. There was a surging in her chest, but it wasn’t calm, more like a jolting. She started making her way up towards Majorstua. There’s a fishmonger’s there, Solveig; buy five fish and ask to have them filleted. A man on the other side of the road walked by, looking at her. He looked like Pastor Brandberg at the Pentecostal church. Pastor Brandberg is dead, Solveig. She speeded up. The man on the other side of the road did the same. He was wearing a long leather coat, with his hair pulled back and fastened in a ponytail. Pastor Brandberg had baptised her. She remembered his face as she was pulled up out of the water, his eyes as he blessed her. Pastor Brandberg always helped them. He was the one they took her to the first time she got sick. She crossed the road and stood in front of him.