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ready. He was already laughing at an as yet undelivered punch line. A grin was straining, held in by tensed cheek muscles.
    And I’m sitting here, he thought, as the tip of Yttergjerde’s chin impatiently bobbed up and down, waiting for the gag, for the twist, the final quip which would justify the release of his laughter. What am I doing?
    ‘And the course director says we have to show what we have learned and there I am, sitting there, having sussed out the top guide dog in all of Norway, right, and I put out my hand, don’t I …’
    ‘Yes?’ More laughter, more bobbing chin.
    ‘And I get up …’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Go over to the dogs, the dog, the Alsatian in the middle …’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Stick out my hand …’
    ‘Yes?’ Yttergjerde’s laughter was on its way up his throat, it was already in the man’s mouth.
    ‘Then the dog snaps at my hand and I topple over backwards!’
    He sat watching Yttergjerde, who had released his laughter.
    Is this what I want? Is this what is known as social competence? Is this what defines me as a successful person? Is this the moment I might jeopardize by making a false move? Is this the moment I’m risking? A moment I’m not even sure I enjoy.
    Yttergjerde wiped the tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. ‘Oh shit,’ he sighed. ‘That’s so bloody typical, oh shit …’
    ‘The rumour’s true,’ Frølich said abruptly.
    Yttergjerde, who didn’t know what he was talking about, said: ‘What rumour?’
    ‘About me and this woman, Jonny Faremo’s sister.’
    Yttergjerde’s face was in flux, a laughing mask stiffening into a gentle gape. Yttergjerde was shaken, as they say in boxing circles. He was at that stage when the shock has had its physical effect, but he still hasn’t begun to comprehend that he has been struck.
    ‘So now you know,’ said Frølich grimly. ‘Everything the lads say is true. I’ve got together with Jonny Faremo’s sister — the same Jonny Faremo who served three years for armed robbery.’
    He grabbed hold of his jacket and left.

5
     
    Simple Minds were on the stereo. The voice was singing ‘You Turned Me On’ and a little later ‘Alive and Kicking’. As soon as the voice finished, the CD player went back to the beginning and a song called ‘Hypnotized’.
    She wanted to have music on when they made love. She wanted precisely this music. But that was fine by him. There were two of them now; he was in her and she was in him. Her eyes betrayed no uncertainty, no pretence, no dissimulation. So the noise around them was of no significance; the music simply completed the picture, in the same way that on-shore breezes emphasize that air is something you breathe, that moisture states that water is matter in which you can swim. But he wasn’t listening to the words of the songs, he didn’t hear the drum rolls, or the backing vocals; his body was simply dancing with hers, he was focused on two lights quite close and at the same time far away, her blue eyes.
    When he came in from the bathroom, she was lying on the bed reading. ‘Is that the same book?’ he asked.
    ‘The same?’
    ‘You always seem to be reading the same book.’
    She put it down on the bedside table. ‘Have you ever heard anyone say that you can never go into the same river twice?’
    ‘Greek philosophy?’
    She shrugged. ‘Maybe. But I don’t believe it’s possible to read the same book twice.’
    She made room for him under the duvet.
    A little later she asked him: ‘Why did you become a cop?’
    ‘I just did.’
    ‘You don’t even believe that yourself.’
    He turned his head and looked into her face. Smiled instead of answering.
    ‘Are we in a private domain?’ she asked. ‘Keep off! Danger! Beware of the dog?’
    ‘I applied to Police College when I finished studying law and I got in.’
    ‘After law? You could have started in a solicitor’s office. You could have been a practising solicitor and earned millions. Instead of that, you run