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smiles, her whole face explodes, it widens, and you have to smile with her. Change is weird, he thinks. Once, he couldn’t imagine life without her. Now, it would be hard to live with her.
    “You’re here?” he says, failing to disguise his nerves, which choke him.
    Nora simply replies: “Yes.”
    “Had enough of business?”
    She tilts her head to the left, then to the right.
    “I needed a change after—”
    She breaks off. He is relieved that she doesn’t finish the sentence. He has an overwhelming urge to go to her, to embrace her, but turning thought into action is out of the question. There is an invisible wall between them and only Nora can break it down.
    “So . . . so you’re back then?” she says.
    “My first day today,” he says and tries to smile. She studies his face. It’s as if she focuses on the areas where the flames did their worst, but doesn’t think it’s bad enough. He sees Corduroy behind her. He is watching them. I hope you’re jealous, you fool.
    “How are you, Nora,” Henning says, though he doesn’t actually want to know. He doesn’t want to hear that she is happy again, that, at last, she can face the future with hope. He knows he can never win her back or that That Which He Doesn’t Think About will go away. All the same, he doesn’t want her to be lost to him.
    “I’m good,” she says.
    “You still living in Sagene?”
    She hesitates. Then she says, “Yes.”
    He nods, sensing she is trying to protect him against something. He doesn’t want to know what it is, though he has an inkling. And then it comes.
    “You might as well know now, and it’s best that you hear it from me,” she starts. He takes a deep breath, puts up a steel barrier, which melts the moment, she says:
    “I’m seeing someone.”
    He looks at her and nods. He thinks that it ought not to hurt, but he can feel his stomach lurch.
    “We’ve been together for six months now.”
    “Mm.”
    She looks at him again. For the first time in a long time, there is warmth in her eyes. But it’s the wrong kind. It’s the warmth of pity.
    “We’re thinking of moving in together.”
    He says “Mm” again.
    “I hope you’re okay,” he then adds.
    She doesn’t reply, all she gives him is a cautious nod. It’s good to see her smile, but he realizes he can’t take much more of this, so he employs the only defense mechanism he has and changes the subject.
    “You wouldn’t happen to know who Iver Gundersen is?” he says. “I’ve never met the man, but I think we’ll be working together.”
    Nora looks away.
    He should have guessed it when he saw how awkward it was for her to tell him she had met a new man. But why should it? She has moved on, slammed the lid on their shared past. The future is where it’s happening. She sighs and he realizes why when she turns to Corduroy.
    “Iver Gundersen is my new boyfriend.”

10
    He glares at Corduroy, whose eyes flicker around the room during an absentminded conversation with a fellow reporter. Henning imagines Nora’s fingers running though Corduroy’s revolting hair, gently caressing his stubble, tender lips against lips.
    He remembers how she used to snuggle up to him at night, when they had turned off the light, how she put her arms around him, eager to spoon. And now it’s Corduroy who enjoys her small, loving hands.
    “Right,” Henning says, and instantly hears how defeated he must sound. This was the moment he should have flown into a rage, scolded her, left her with the certain knowledge of having trampled on his heart, torpedoed it, chewed it up and spat it out again. He should have called her a heartless bitch, insensitive, the definition of selfishness, but he didn’t. All he said was:
    “Right.”
    Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.
    He can’t bear to look at her. And now he has to work with Iver.
    A cruel twist of fate, he thinks; it has to be.
    He goes over to Gundersen. He hears Nora asking him not to, “Please don’t—,” but he