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She looked at the clock practically every quarter of an hour.

When it was approaching 6:00 P.M. she got into her car and drove the twenty-five kilometers out to her father’s. He’d seen the car a long way off and was standing on the steps as she arrived, wearing a frown. What odd clothes the girl had on, as if she was going on a forest hike, or worse. He shook his head.

“Are you going to rob a bank?”

“That’s the idea. Perhaps you could drive the getaway car?”

“You forgot your wallet,” he said.

“I know, that’s why I’ve come.”

She patted his cheek and went inside, throwing a quick glance at the door of his workroom, where he kept the phone. It stood ajar. The phone almost never rang. She darted a glance at the time again, thought that he might not phone at all, or perhaps not until late in the evening. But men and their cars was a subject she understood. Boasting about them, discussing road-holding and construction, horsepower, braking effect, and German thoroughness as they drooled like small boys and nodded knowingly, this was a man’s greatest weakness. The vague impression she had should prove to be correct. This car was important to him. His wife and child took second place. It wasn’t certain he would sell, but then she didn’t intend to buy. When he realized she was a woman, he’d be even more intrigued. He, a man who went to prostitutes, a deceiver who used his wages to buy pleasure from other women when he was married and had a child. A heel. A shady customer. Perhaps a bit of a drinker and obviously psychologically unstable. A real turd, a...

“Why are you so red in the face?”

She started and pulled herself together. “I’ve got things to think about.”

“Well, you don’t say. Have you heard anything from Emma?”

“She’ll be coming soon. D’you think I’m a bad mother?”

He spluttered a bit. “You’re not so bad. You do the best you can. No one is good enough really, not for Emma at least.” He hobbled after her, heading toward the kitchen.

“My God, you’re more concerned about that girl than you ever were about me.”

“Naturally. Just wait till you’re a grandmother. It’s a sort of second chance, you see, to make a better job than you did the first time around.”

“You were good enough for me.”

“Even though we moved?”

She turned with the bag of coffee in her hand. “Oh yes.”

“I thought you hadn’t forgiven me.”

“Well, perhaps not. But everyone’s allowed a certain quota of mistakes, even you.”

“Wasn’t it because of your best friend, you lost your best friend — that must have been hard. What was her name again?” His voice was perfectly innocent.

“Er... May Britt.”

“May Britt? Was that her name?”

She shook coffee into the paper filter and held her breath. Fortunately he was an old man now, his memory wasn’t what it had been. But she felt a louse. Lies flew from lips like flies.

“You’re missing Emma too, that’s why you’ve started coming over here all the time. If she stays at Jostein’s for too long you’ll have to make a contribution to her keep, did you know that?”

“He’d never even dream of it. Don’t be unfair.”

“I’m only saying you should be careful. This woman of his, how well do you really know her?”

“Not at all. I’m not interested. But she’s blond with big tits.”

“Be careful, she might get up to something.”

“Dad!” Eva turned and groaned. “Don’t add to the worries I’ve already got!”

He stared ruefully at the floor. “Sorry. I’m only trying to find out what’s up with you.”

“Thanks, but I’m in complete control, I really am. Sit down. You ought to keep your legs raised, you’re being careless. Are you using the electric blanket I gave you?”

“I forget to plug it in. I’m an old man, I can’t remember every little thing. Anyway, I’m always frightened it’s going to short-circuit.”

“We’ll have to organize a time switch or something.”

“Have you come into money?”

It went deathly quiet. The first drops of boiling water dripped into the filter and the smell of coffee spread through the kitchen.

“No,” she said quietly. “But I’m not letting lack of money take all the pleasure out of my life any more.”

“Ah, you’ve got yourself a printing press! I thought as much.” He sat down contented. “I’d like a Tia Maria as well.”

“I know.”

“So you remembered? That today’s the fourth of October?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t forget this date, I won’t ever forget it. You’ll have a Tia Maria for Mom just as she asked you to.”

“You don’t need to make it too small, either.”

“I never do, I know you.”

He got his liqueur, they had their coffee and sat looking out of the window. It wasn’t hard for the two of them to sit in silence, they’d done it so often. Now they gazed at his neighbor’s barn, at the maple tree, which was blood-red and yellow, and they noticed that the bark was loosening from one side of its trunk.

“He’ll be taking that tree down soon,” her father said softly. “Look. Hardly any branches left on one side.”

“But it’s beautiful for all that. It’ll be very bare without that tree.”

“It’s diseased, you know. The tree will die anyway.”

“Should we cut down big trees just because they’re not perfect anymore?”

“No. But because they’re ill. He’s already planted a replacement, on the left there.”

“That tiny sprig?”

“That’s how they begin. They get bigger gradually, but it takes forty to fifty years.”

Eva slurped her coffee and glanced clandestinely at the time. He’d certainly be at home by now, he’d have read her note, perhaps he was talking to his wife about whether they ought to think about selling. No he wasn’t, he’d decide without asking her. But maybe he was phoning a mate for advice about what he could ask for a well-maintained Manta. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her to make an offer. She hadn’t a clue. She could say that she’d need to make some inquiries herself. Perhaps he was washing it at this very moment, and going over it with the vacuum cleaner. Or perhaps he’d read the note, snorted with contempt, and thrown it away; possibly the wind had torn it from under the windshield wiper and he’d never even read it at all. Maybe he was just sitting watching television, a beer at his side and his feet on the table, while his wife minced around telling the boy to be quiet, at least while Dad was watching the news. Or perhaps he’d gone into town with the lads for a bowling session. She thought about all of this and went on sipping her coffee, there were thousands of possible reasons why he might not phone. But there was also a reason why he might: money. She’d find out if he was as greedy as her, and she believed he was. It would be an opportunity to rid himself of something that could link him to the murder as well. Her cup was just on its way to her lips and her gaze was fixed on the dying tree outside, when suddenly the phone rang. Coffee sloshed down her chin as she jumped up.