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brains, anyway. I think that’s what they said.’
    ‘If it’s good for children, it’s good for us,’ Siiri said, going back to the subject of ageing. If only working-age people understood what a small part of life a career
was. If her own children had worked less, they wouldn’t have been worn out by the time they retired. ‘And the way everybody is a former something,’ she said. ‘Former
printer, former telegraph operator, former copy-editor. I’m not a former anything; my profession doesn’t even exist any more!’
    Irma had always been able to focus on the essential things in life. She had studied to be a nurse, but since she had so many children, she’d mostly stayed home. She also always remembered
to say that of her six children, only her last was planned. Siiri doubted that Irma’s accidental children enjoyed hearing that story, but Irma disagreed.
    ‘The accidental children are the ones you love best!’ Irma shouted shrilly from the bedroom. ‘And anyway, no one had birth control back then. You would have had to go to the
wrong side of the bridge to get it. You just had children. It was the same for everyone. Other people don’t talk about it like I do, because I had one that was on purpose. How did your
children come into the world?’
    Siiri had always wanted a large family. She had been happy to have three healthy children. But Irma was right. Children just came; you didn’t plan those things. People used to be afraid of
getting pregnant, and now they needed expensive fertility drugs because they couldn’t have children, no matter how hard they tried.
    Irma appeared again and twirled in front of the dining table. She had on a stylish black suit which had a beautiful pleated skirt.
    ‘That’s a good one. When did you get that?’
    ‘I bought this for my son-in-law’s funeral. Wait, that was almost five years ago. I must have bought this just last year, but I don’t remember whose funeral it was. Maybe my
brother-in-law’s.’ When you were over ninety, funerals were practically a profession.
    On Friday evening, Siiri and Irma were right on time and everything was ready. The flowers were ordered from the nice girl at the flower shop on Katajanokka, their clothes were
well pressed and Irma’s medicine laid out in the pill counter that she kept next to her bottle of wine. Siiri had put her green cushion on the chair in her hallway that morning so that she
wouldn’t forget to bring it with her, because the chairs at the chapel were so hard. They decided to go to sleep early, or at least go to bed and read, and wished each other goodnight.
    ‘Don’t die tonight. I can’t go to Tero’s funeral without you.’
    ‘
Döden, döden, döden
!’ Irma’s voice boomed down the corridor.

Chapter 6
    On Saturday the liveliest of Sunset Grove’s old folk set out on the tram for Tero Lehtinen’s funeral. The Ambassador took a taxi, and the Hat Lady rode with him,
which no one opposed. There was nothing wrong with the Ambassador’s legs, but he was accustomed to travelling at others’ expense and drinking free wine and he wasn’t going to
change his habits at the age of ninety – everyone understood that. Irma also happened to know that he was a Freemason.
    ‘They have their own doctors; not like us, with our “personal physicians” who are never the same person from one week to the next,’ Irma said as they waited for the tram.
‘They get their pills and taxi coupons without even having to ask.’
    They ended up having to walk a few roads to change from the number 4 to the number 8. The new couple from Spain didn’t like that at all. They both complained loudly when the traffic lights
wasted their valuable time. The woman, whose name was indeed Margit – Margit Partanen – was particularly peevish and vociferous. She was a straight-backed, sizeable woman who still dyed
her hair black, although it didn’t make her look any younger.
    ‘Tickets, please, everyone,’ said