At any rate, both girls looked at him, and Ragnhild’s gestures indicated that she was talking to him. He made some reply and waved her over. Neither of the girls went towards him. Instead, Ragnhild took a step back.
Johanne ran.
She raced through the apartment, out of the living room, along the hallway, out through the extension that had become the girls’ playroom, she ran, half-stumbled down the stairs and hurtled out into the cold wearing neither shoes nor slippers.
‘Kristiane!’ she shouted, trying to inject a calm, everyday tone into her voice. ‘Ragnhild! Are you there?’
As she came around the corner of the house she saw them.
Ragnhild was once again crouching down in front of the little snowman. Kristiane had spotted a bird or a plane. She was gazing up at the sky and without taking any notice of her mother she stuck out her tongue to catch the feather-light flakes that had begun to fall.
There was no sign of the man.
‘Mummy,’ Ragnhild said sternly. ‘You are not allowed outside in your stocking feet!’
Johanne looked down at her feet.
‘Goodness me,’ she said with a smile. ‘What a silly mummy you have!’
Ragnhild laughed and pointed at her with a toy spade.
Kristiane carried on catching snowflakes.
‘Who was that man?’ Johanne asked casually.
‘What man?’
Ragnhild licked the snot trickling from her nose.
‘The man who was talking to you. The man who-’
‘Don’t know him,’ said Ragnhild. ‘Look what a brilliant snowman we’ve made! And without any snow!’
‘It’s lovely. But now it’s time to come in. We’re going to a Christmas party, remember. What did he ask you?’
‘Dam-di-rum-ram,’ said Kristiane, smiling up at the sky.
‘Nothing,’ said Ragnhild. ‘Are we going to a party? Is Daddy coming?’
‘No, he’s in Bergen, isn’t he? But that man must have said something. I mean, I saw him-’
‘He just asked if we’d had a nice Christmas,’ said Ragnhild. ‘Aren’t your feet cold, Mummy?’
‘Yes, they are. Come along, both of you. Time to go inside.’
Amazingly, Kristiane started to walk. Johanne took Ragnhild by the hand and followed her.
‘And what did you tell him?’
‘I said it was absolutely the best Christmas ever – with bells on!’
‘Did he want… did he try to get you to go over to him?’
They reached the gravel path and walked along by the building towards the stairs. Kristiane was talking to herself, but seemed happy and contented.
‘Yeees…’
Ragnhild was taking her time.
‘But we know we mustn’t go up to strangers. Or go off with them or anything like that.’
‘Quite right. Good girl.’
Johanne’s toes felt as if they were about to drop off with the cold. She pulled a face as she left the gravel and put her foot on the ice-cold stone staircase.
‘He asked if I’d got any nice Christmas presents,’ Kristiane said suddenly as she opened the outside door, which had blown shut behind Johanne. ‘Just me, not Ragnhild.’
‘Oh? And how do you know he was only asking you?’
‘Because he said so. He said-’
All three of them stopped. Kristiane had that strange look on her face, as if it were turned inward, as if she were searching an archive inside her head.
‘
Her voice was expressionless, and was followed by complete silence.
‘I see,’ said Johanne, forcing a smile. ‘That was nice of him. And now we need to put on our best clothes as quickly as we can. We’re going to see Grandma and Grandpa, Kristiane. Daddy will soon be here to pick us up.’
‘Oh…’
Ragnhild immediately sat down and started whining.
‘Why does Kristiane get to have her daddy when I can’t have mine?’
‘Your daddy has to work, I told you that. And you always have a lovely time when we go to see Kristiane’s grandma and grandad.’
‘Don’t want to.
The child pulled back and started to slide down the stairs head first, her arms stretched out in front of her as if she were swimming. Johanne grabbed her arm and pulled her up, slightly more firmly than she had intended. Ragnhild let out a howl.
The only explanation Johanne could cope with was that Kristiane must have remembered wrongly.
‘I want my own daddy!’ Ragnhild screamed, trying to twist free of her mother’s grasp. ‘Daddy!
‘We do not say that kind of thing in our family,’ Johanne hissed, nudging Kristiane in through the door while dragging the little one behind her. ‘Do you understand?’
Ragnhild immediately stopped crying, stunned by her mother’s fury. She started laughing instead.
But Johanne had only one thought in her head: Kristiane never, ever remembered wrongly.
‘We all make mistakes. Don’t get so cross about it.’
Marcus Koll Junior smiled at his son, who was studying the instructions.
‘Come over here and we can work it out together.’
The boy sulked for a little while, but eventually stomped over and threw the little booklet on the coffee table. The helicopter was still on the dining table, only half-completed.
‘Rolf promised to help me,’ the boy said, pushing out his lower lip.
‘You know what Rolf’s clients can be like.’
‘They’re rich, stupid and they have ugly dogs.’
His father tried to hide a smile.
‘Yes, well. When an English bulldog decides that her puppies are coming out on Christmas Day, then out they have to come. Ugly or not.’
‘Rolf says that bulldogs have been totally overbred. That they can’t even feed properly. Shouldn’t be allowed. Animal cruelty.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. Now, let’s have a look at this!’
He picked up the booklet and leafed through it as he walked over to the imposing dining table. He had had the instructions translated by an authorized technical translator in order to make it easier for the boy to build the helicopter. The model in front of him was so big that he now regretted his purchase. Even if the boy had an unusual talent for mechanics, this was a little over the top. The man in the shop in Boston had stressed that the toy wasn’t suitable for children under the age of sixteen, not least because it weighed almost a kilo and would constitute a risk to anyone around it the moment it rose in the air.
‘Hm,’ said his father, scratching his stubble. ‘I don’t really get it.’
‘It’s the rotor blades that are the problem,’ said the boy. ‘Look here, Dad!’
The eager fingers tried to put the blades together, but something wasn’t right. The boy soon gave up and put down the pieces with a groan. His father ruffled his hair.
‘A bit more patience, little Marcus. Patience! That’s what you should have got for Christmas.’
‘I’ve told you, don’t call me that. And I’m not doing anything wrong, there’s something the matter with the instructions.’
