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his scent as deeply as I could, embracing his pillow, burying my face deeper and deeper. ‘Halland,’ I breathed. And again, louder this time. To no avail.

10
    The landscape is of no consequence to us. We are not poets; our delight is in consistent activity.
     
    Peter Seeberg, THE SPY
    I awoke to the sound of rain falling, saw light coming through the window and felt relieved. With no dreams to digest, I simply listened and savoured the peace.
    The next moment something was wrong. After my divorce I used to wake in the mornings heavy with grief, as if someone had died. But when I saw Halland lying next to me, I realized no one had died. He was there. But Abby was gone. Now I turned and saw my empty side of the bed. I lay on Halland’s side. He was dead. And a pregnant woman was sleeping in the bedroom upstairs.
    The last night we spent here together, I slept well until I awoke suddenly. The room was dark and silent. I switched on the lamp and checked the clock.
    ‘What’s the time?’ he asked.
    ‘Half-past three. Why are we awake?’
    But he was already asleep again. A night like any other, with a waking moment.
    ‘It’s raining outside!’ Penille announced when she finally came tripping into the kitchen, looking for breakfast.
    ‘Where else would it be raining?’ I slammed the bread basket down on the table. She was about to laugh but caught herself when she saw my expression.
    ‘There’s crispbread and toast, and no milk for your coffee,’ I said. ‘I haven’t done any shopping. There’s been a death in the family.’
    Turning back to the cooker, I listened for sniffling sounds. There they were. Good.
    ‘I’ll run you to the station,’ I said, sitting down at the table. ‘I can’t have you here. You’re taking my grief away.’ I actually said that.
    ‘You don’t seem very sad.’
    ‘That’s exactly what I mean! I won’t have you sitting here wailing – I’m the one who’s lost him, not you!’
    ‘I have too!’ How hurt she looked.
    I crunched furiously on some crispbread until I realized that something was wrong. I spat the whole lot out in my hand, crispbread and spit and half a molar. ‘Oh no,’ I cried. ‘Who do you think you are anyway, coming here?’
    ‘I’ll get my things,’ she said quietly, and disappeared.
    I stared at the fragment of tooth. My tongue probed the empty space. My eyes filled with tears.
     
    I was on my way out to the car when I saw Funder coming towards me. He held a folded newspaper over his head as though that would prevent him from getting wet.
    ‘I was just going out,’ I said, trying to draw his attention away from Pernille.
    ‘I need to look through Halland’s belongings. His desk, his computer.’
    I darted back to the house and inserted my key in the lock, picturing Halland’s empty desk. Where was his laptop?
    ‘I’ve got a spare house key in the car. Halland’s office is upstairs. Please don’t disturb my papers. I know it looks a mess, but there’s a system…’
    Funder nodded, scrutinizing me closely. I talked too fast. I wanted to avoid getting wet but that didn’t explain my odd behaviour. I reached into my pocket and wrapped my hand around Halland’s mysterious keys.
    ‘Just pop the house key through the letter box when you’re finished,’ I said.
    ‘Don’t you want an update on our progress?’
    ‘Must I?’ Was I actually flirting? Couldn’t I give the policeman a straight answer? Why did Funder have such a deep tan in the middle of May? He smiled. The rain dripped slowly from his hair. Did I look like someone in mourning? Was I mourning? I didn’t really care what he thought. No, actually, I did.
    I only returned to the car after he had gone inside and shut the door behind him. Pernille, holding an umbrella, stood impatiently next to the car.
    ‘If you miss the train, there’ll be another one in an hour,’ I told her. Reversing the car, I added, ‘So, tell me about this room.’ Another car approached. I waited