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hovering about in front of the TV, eating small spoonfuls of ice cream. Marjatta suggested making coffee and Johanna followed her in. Aku took advantage of his mother’s absence to pile another helping of ice cream on to his plate.
    ‘Can I?’ he asked.
    Korvensuo nodded.
    Arvi and Pekka went back to where they had been sitting before and watched the screen. The second half of the football match was beginning. The girls went down the slope to the landing stage with a pack of cards.
    Korvensuo saw everything very clearly. His body was full of sand.
    Marjatta poured coffee.
    Arvi and Pekka were cheering a Finnish goal.
    ‘People somehow don’t think such things happen in Finland,’ said Marjatta. Johanna nodded. Arvi and Pekka were concentrating on the game. Korvensuo nodded. Nodded to himself and looked at the screen. He raised the cup to his mouth.
    ‘Do you see what I mean?’ asked Marjatta.
    ‘Of course,’ said Johanna.
    ‘You get bastards everywhere,’ said Arvi, without taking his eyes off the screen.
    ‘That was offside,’ said Pekka.
    Korvensuo felt his wife’s gaze resting on him. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Sure.’ He raised the cup to his mouth again. A shot in slow motion flickered before his eyes. A foul.
    ‘They were saying on the news there was a girl murdered on that very same spot thirty years ago,’ said Johanna.
    ‘Thirty-three years ago,’ Pekka said.
    ‘On that very same spot. The cross beside the bicycle is in memory of the dead girl,’ said Johanna.
    ‘Really weird,’ said Arvi. ‘Whoever murdered the girl back then must be drawing his old-age pension by now.’
    ‘That depends,’ said Pekka.
    ‘I expect it was the girl’s family put the cross up there,’ said Marjatta. ‘And now the place has been … well, kind of desecrated again.’
    ‘Hm, desecrated …’ said Arvi.
    ‘Did you say her family?’ Korvensuo asked.
    ‘Yes. Well, I suppose it was them, anyway, the report didn’t say that in so many words, but it mentioned that the girl lived only a few minutes away from the place. I mean the girl who was murdered all that time ago.’
    ‘Did anyone say how old she was?’ asked Korvensuo.
    ‘The girl back then?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Thirteen,’ said Pekka.
    Korvensuo nodded. Nodded to himself.
    ‘There’s one good thing about it, maybe they’ll catch the man now. Maybe this time he slipped up, made a mistake,’ said Arvi.
    ‘But it can’t be the same man. Not after thirty-three years,’ said Pekka.
    ‘Who else would it be?’ asked Arvi.
    Korvensuo reached for his cup. The flickering in front of his eyes was getting worse. He heard the children laughing. He felt curiously light. The game on TV seemed endless. Marjatta poured more coffee and handed round chocolate biscuits.
    ‘Do you think …’ Korvensuo began. He met Marjatta’s eyes.
    ‘Think what?’ asked Marjatta.
    ‘Oh, nothing.’ He couldn’t remember what he had been going to say. Presumably he’d intended to change the subject, start talking about Finnish football again, but he couldn’t get the words out. He seemed to weigh light, very light, and he had a queasy feeling in his stomach. Marjatta’s gaze was resting on him, and Arvi and Pekka were talking about the missing girl who hadn’t yet been found.
    ‘They’ll find her in the same lake as the other girl all that time ago,’ Arvi was just saying.
    ‘I expect so,’ said Pekka.
    ‘But it’s still odd. I’ve never heard of something like that happening all over again thirty years later, just like that,’ said Arvi.
    Pekka murmured something that Korvensuo couldn’t make out. The footballers on the screen were crowding around the referee.
    ‘Did he blow for a penalty or what?’ asked Arvi.
    ‘Looks like it,’ said Pekka.
    They both leaned forward to hear the commentator’s opinion. Korvensuo watched the screen, saw the penalty kick. The man taking it tricked the goalkeeper, the ball flew low into the left-hand corner of the net.