*

Perhaps one day the man in the black jacket will think about this too: why he only wondered if it was Kevin or Amat who was telling the truth. Why Maya’s word wasn’t enough.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

In a rehearsal room in Hed, a boy puts down an instrument to open a door that someone has just knocked on. Benji is standing outside, leaning on his crutches, with a pair of skates in his hand. The bass player bursts out laughing. They go to a small outdoor rink behind Hed’s indoor rink. Benji has better balance on his crutches than the bass player has on the skates. They kiss each other for the first time on that ice.

Bang.

Two girls are walking through a pitch-black forest. They stop in a clearing and switch their flashlights on. Do their secret handshake. Swear loyalty to each other. Then they each raise a shotgun, and fire shot after shot out across the lake.

*

Bang.

*

In the rink in Beartown, a father stands at the center circle. Stares down at the bear painted on it. When he was really small, his first day in skating class, he was terrified of that bear.

*

Sometimes he still is.

Bang-bang-bang.

46

Another morning comes. It always does. Time always moves at the same rate, only feelings have different speeds. Every day can mark a whole lifetime or a single heartbeat, depending on who you spend it with.

*

Hog is standing in his garage, wiping oil from his hands on a cloth, scratching his beard. Bobo is sitting on a chair with a wrench in his hand, staring out into space with his face covered in scabs and bruises. They’re taking him to the dentist tomorrow; hockey has caused gaps before, but this is different. His dad’s breathing sounds strained as he pulls up a stool.

“Talking about feelings doesn’t come naturally to me,” he says, addressing the floor.

“Don’t worry,” his son murmurs.

“I try to show in other ways that I . . . I love you, and your brother and sister.”

“We know, Dad.”

Hog clears his throat, his lips barely moving beneath his beard.

“We need to talk more, you and me. After this business with Kevin . . . I should have talked to you. About . . . girls. You’re seventeen, practically a grown man, and you’re incredibly strong. That brings with it a certain responsibility. You need to . . . behave.”

Bobo nods.

“I’d never, Dad . . . to a girl . . . I’d never . . .”

Hog stops him.

“It’s not just about not hurting anyone. It’s about not keeping your mouth shut too. I’ve been cowardly. I should have stood tall. And you . . . Christ, boy . . .”

He pats his son gently on his bruises. Doesn’t want to say that he’s proud, because Ann-Katrin has forbidden him to be proud of the boy for fighting. As if you could forbid pride.

“What Kevin did, Dad, I’d never . . . ,” Bobo whispers.

“I believe you.”

His son’s voice cracks with embarrassment.

“But you don’t get it . . . With a girl, I mean, I’ve never, you know . . .”

His dad rubs his temples awkwardly.

“I’m not good at this, Bobo. But . . . you mean . . .”

“I’m a virgin.”

His dad massages his beard and tries to look like he wouldn’t rather be hit in the head with a chisel than have this conversation.

“Okay, but you know about, well . . . the birds and the bees and all that crap . . . you know how it all happens?”

“I’ve seen porn, if that’s what you’re asking,” Bobo says, with big, uncomprehending eyes.

His dad makes a restrained cough.

“I need . . . Okay, I don’t even know where to start. It was easier telling you how an engine works.”

Bobo clasps the wrench in his lap in his big hands. His shoulders will soon be as broad as his dad’s, but his voice still sounds young when he asks: “Okay, I . . . Does it make you an idiot if you . . . if you want to get married first? I mean, I’m thinking I want it to be special, the first time . . . I want to be in love with someone, I don’t want to just . . . fuck. Does that make me an idiot?”

His dad’s laughter echoes around the garage so suddenly that Bobo drops the wrench. Laughter isn’t a sound this garage is used to.

“No, boy, no, no, no. Christ. Pull yourself together. Is that what you wanted to know? That doesn’t make you anything. That’s your private life, and it’s no one else’s damn business.”

Bobo nods.

“Can I ask something else, then?”

“Okay.”

“How do you know if you’ve got a nice-looking cock?”

His dad shuts his eyes and rubs his temples.

“I need whisky if I’m going to talk about this.”

*

Ann-Katrin is standing hidden behind one of the doors outside the garage. Hears everything. She’s never been more proud, of either of them. The idiots.

*

Fatima takes the bus through the forest with her son; they are going to Hed. She sits in the next room while he makes his witness statement. She’s never been more scared, for both herself and him. The police ask if he was drunk, if it was dark in the room, if it smelled of marijuana, if he has any particular feelings for the young woman in question. He doesn’t hesitate on a single detail, doesn’t stammer over his answers, his eyes don’t flit about.

*

Kevin is sitting in the same room a couple of hours later. They ask him if he’s sticking to his version of the story, if he still claims that the young woman had sexual intercourse with him entirely voluntarily. Kevin looks at his lawyer. Then he glances at his dad. And then he looks the police officer right in the eye and nods. Promises. Swears. Sticks to his story.

*

All their lives, girls are told that the only thing they need to do is their best. That that will be enough, as long as they give everything they’ve got. When they themselves become mothers, they promise their daughters that it’s true, that if we just do as well as we can, if we’re honest and work hard, look after our family and love each other, then everything will be all right. Everything will be fine, there’s nothing to be frightened of. Children need the lie to be brave enough to sleep in their beds; parents need it to be able to get up the next morning.

Kira is sitting in her office, and stares at her colleague when she comes in. Her colleague is holding her phone in her hand; she’s got a friend in the police station in Hed, and her face is red with sorrow and rage. She can’t bring herself to say the words to Kira. She writes them down on a piece of paper, when Kira takes it her colleague is still holding onto it, and when Kira’s body hits the floor her colleague is there to catch her. Screams with her. There are two sentences on the piece of paper. Six words. Preliminary investigation closed. Lack of evidence.

All our lives we try to protect those we love. It’s not enough. We can’t. Kira stumbles out to the car. Drives straight out into the forest, as far as she can. The snow muffles the sound between the trees as she slams the door so hard that the metal buckles.