He looked at the piece of paper, took a deep breath, and punched in the number.

They had quarrelled again. For the umpteenth time in a row. Far too many times the quarrels had turned into verbal boxing matches between them. And as usual, each of them had defended her own position. Kerstin wanted them to come out of the closet. Marit still wanted to keep it all secret.

‘Are you ashamed of me – of us?’ Kerstin had yelled. And Marit, like so many times before, had turned away and refused to look her in the eye. Because that was precisely where the problem lay. They loved each other, and Marit was ashamed of it.

At first Kerstin had persuaded herself that it didn’t matter. The important thing was that they had found each other. That the two of them, after being thoroughly knocked about by life and by people who inflicted injuries on their souls, had actually found each other. What did a lover’s gender matter? Who cared what other people said or thought? But Marit hadn’t viewed it that way. She wasn’t ready to subject herself to the opinions and prejudices of people around her, and she wanted everything to remain as it had been for the past four years. They would continue to live together as lovers but outwardly pretend that they were just two friends who for financial reasons and the sake of convenience shared the same apartment.

‘Why do you care so much what people say?’ Kerstin had said when they quarrelled the previous evening. Marit had cried as she always did whenever they had a falling out. And as usual, that made Kerstin madder than ever. The tears were like fuel for the anger that had accumulated behind the wall created by their secret. She hated making Marit cry. Hated that circumstances and other people made her hurt the one she loved most of all.

‘Imagine how it would be for Sofie if it came out.’

‘Sofie is much tougher than you think. Don’t use her as an excuse for your own cowardice.’

‘How tough do you think someone can be when she’s fifteen and kids are taunting her because her mother is a dyke? Do you have any idea how much shit she would get at school? I can’t do that to her!’ Marit’s tears had distorted her face into an ugly mask.

‘Do you honestly think that Sofie hasn’t figured it all out, that we’re fooling her when you move into the guest room during the weeks she visits us and we go about acting out some sort of charade at home? Look, Sofie worked it out long ago. And if I were her I’d be more ashamed of a mum who’s prepared to live a lie just so “people” won’t talk. That’s what I’d be ashamed of!’

By this point Kerstin was yelling so loudly that she could hear her voice cracking. Marit had given her that wounded look that over the years Kerstin had learned to hate, and she also knew from experience what would come next. Sure enough, Marit had leapt up from the table and started putting on her jacket, sobbing.

‘Go ahead and run away. That’s what you always do. Go on! And this time don’t bother coming back!’

When the door slammed behind Marit, Kerstin sat down at the kitchen table. She was breathing hard, and she felt as if she’d been running. And in a way she had been. Running after the life she wanted for the two of them, but which Marit’s fear prevented them from having. And for the first time she had meant what she had said. Something inside her told her that soon she wouldn’t be able to take it any longer.

But now, the morning after, that feeling had been replaced by a deep, consuming worry. She had sat up all night. Waiting for the door to open, waiting to hear the familiar footsteps across the parquet floor, waiting to hug Marit and console her and beg her forgiveness. But she hadn’t come home. And the car keys were gone; Kerstin had checked on that during the night. Where the hell was she? Had something happened? Had she driven to the house of her ex-husband, Sofie’s pappa? Or could she have fled all the way to her mother’s place in Oslo?

With trembling fingers Kerstin picked up the phone to start calling around.

‘What do you think this is going to mean for the tourist trade in Tanum?’ The reporter from Bohusläningen stood ready with notepad and pen, waiting to jot down his reply.

‘Plenty. It’ll be huge. There will be a half-hour show broadcast from Tanumshede on television every day. This area has never seen such a gigantic marketing opportunity.’ Erling beamed. A big crowd had gathered outside the old community centre, waiting for the bus with the participants. It was mostly teenagers who had gathered and could hardly stand still in their eagerness to finally see their idols live.

‘But couldn’t it have the opposite effect? I mean, in previous seasons the show ended up dealing with quarrels, sex, and drunkenness, and that’s hardly what we’d want to present as a message to tourists, is it?’

Erling gave the reporter an annoyed look. Why were people always so damned negative? He’d had enough of that from his own town council, and now the local press was starting to harp on the same thing.

‘Surely you’ve heard the saying, “There’s no such thing as bad publicity”? And let’s face it Tanumshede does have a rather invisible image – nationally, that is. Now that’s all going to change with Sodding Tanum.’

‘Obviously,’ the reporter began, but was cut off by Erling who had lost all patience.

‘Unfortunately I don’t have time to comment further at the moment, I’m here as the welcoming committee.’ He turned on his heel and strode off towards the bus, which had just pulled up. The young people crowded round the door of the bus in anticipation, waiting with excited expressions for the door to open. The sight of the youthful crowd was enough to confirm Erling’s view that this was just what the town needed. Now Tanumshede was going to be put on the map.

When the bus doors swung open with a whooshing sound, it was a man in his forties who got out first. Disappointed murmurs from the teenagers indicated that he was not one of the cast. Erling hadn’t watched any of the many reality shows that had been broadcast, so he had no clue who or what to expect.

‘Erling W. Larson,’ he said, holding out his hand as he switched on his most winning smile. The cameras clicked.

‘Fredrik Rehn,’ said the man, shaking the proffered hand. ‘We spoke on the phone. I’m the producer of this circus.’ Now they both smiled.

‘Well, let me welcome you to Tanumshede. On behalf of the community I’d like to say that we’re extremely happy and proud to have you here, and we look forward to a very exciting season.’

‘Thank you, thank you. Yes, we have high hopes for it. With two hit seasons behind us we’re feeling very optimistic; we know that this is a successful format, and we look forward to working with you. But let’s not keep the fans waiting any longer,’ said Fredrik with a broad smile, flashing his improbably white teeth at the anxious crowd. ‘Here they come. The cast of Sodding Tanum: Barbie from Big Brother, Jonna from Big Brother, Calle from Survivor, Tina from The Bar, Uffe from Survivor and, last but not least, Mehmet from The Farm.’

One by one the participants trooped off the bus, and widespread hysteria ensued. People were shouting and pointing and pushing forward to touch the participants or to ask for autographs. The cameramen had already set up and the filming was in full swing. Pleased but a bit bewildered, Erling watched the frenzied reaction triggered by the arrival of the cast. He couldn’t help wondering why today’s youth were so excited about all this. How could this bunch of snot-nosed kids arouse such hysteria? Well, he didn’t need to understand it – the main thing was to exploit as best he could the attention the programme would bring to Tanumshede.

‘Look, we’re going to have to break this up. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to meet the cast; after all, they’ll be living here for five weeks.’ Fredrik shooed off the fans still crowding around the bus. ‘Right now the cast needs a chance to get settled and rest a bit. But you’ll all turn on the TV next week, right? Monday at seven, that’s when it kicks off!’ He gave a thumbs-up with both hands and fired off one more phoney smile.