‘I was delayed. There’s something I want to ask you-’

‘She said more. She said you had proposed.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, in your way, of course.’

‘Well-’

‘And she said she’d thought about it.’

Harry held up a hand. He didn’t want to hear the rest.

‘The conclusion of her thoughts was no, Harry.’

Harry breathed out. ‘Good.’

‘So she’d stopped thinking about it, she said. And started feeling instead.’

‘Hans Christian-’

‘Her answer’s yes, Harry.’

‘Listen to me, Hans Christian-’

‘Didn’t you hear? She wants to marry you, Harry. Lucky bastard.’ Hans Christian’s face beamed as if with happiness, but Harry knew it was the glow of despair. ‘She said she wanted to be with you until the end of your days.’ His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and his voice alternated between falsetto and husky. ‘She said she would have a terrible and nothing short of catastrophic time with you. She would have a fair-to-middling time with you. And she would have a fantastic time with you.’

Harry knew he was quoting her verbatim. And he knew why he was doing it. Because every word was seared into his heart.

‘How much do you love her?’ Harry asked.

‘I…’

‘Do you love her enough to take care of her and Oleg for the rest of her life?’

‘What?’

‘Answer me.’

‘Yes, of course, but-’

‘Swear.’

‘Harry.’

‘Swear, I said.’

‘I… I swear. But that doesn’t change anything.’

Harry smiled wryly. ‘You’re right. Nothing changes. Nothing can change. It can’t ever change. The river flows along the same damned course.’

‘This makes no sense. I don’t understand.’

‘You will,’ Harry said. ‘And she will, too.’

‘But… you love each other. She said that straight out. You’re the love of her life, Harry.’

‘And she mine. Always has been. Always will be.’

Hans Christian regarded Harry with a mixture of bewilderment and something that resembled sympathy. ‘And yet you don’t want her?’

‘There is nothing I would rather have than her. But it’s not certain I’ll be here for much longer. And if I’m not, you’ve made me a promise.’

Hans Christian snorted. ‘Aren’t you being a trifle melodramatic, Harry? I don’t even know if she’ll have me.’

‘Convince her.’ The pains in his neck seemed to be making it more difficult for him to breathe. ‘Do you promise?’

Hans Christian nodded, and said, ‘I’ll try.’

Harry hesitated. Then he proffered his hand.

They shook.

‘You’re a good man, Hans Christian. I’ve got you saved under H.’ He lifted his mobile phone. ‘You’ve replaced Halvorsen.’

‘Who?’

‘Just a former colleague I hope to see again. I have to go now.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Meet Gusto’s murderer.’

Harry rose, turned to the counter and saluted to Rita, who waved back.

Once outside and striding across the road between cars, there was an explosion behind his eyes, and his throat felt as if it would be torn apart. And in Dovregata came the gall. He stood bent double by the wall in the middle of the quiet street and brought up Rita’s bacon, eggs and coffee. Then he straightened and walked on down Hausmanns gate.

In the end it had been a simple decision, despite everything.

I was sitting on a filthy mattress and felt my petrified heart throbbing as I rang. I hoped he would pick up the phone, and I hoped he wouldn’t.

I was about to hang up when he answered, and there was my foster-brother’s voice, lifeless and clear.

‘Stein.’

I have occasionally considered how apt that name is. Stone. An impenetrable surface with a rock-hard centre. Impassive, bleak, heavy. But even rocks have a weak point, a place where a soft blow from a sledgehammer can make them split. In Stein’s case it was easy.

I cleared my throat. ‘It’s Gusto. I know where Irene is.’

I heard light breathing. Stein’s breathing was always light.

He could run and run for hours, needed almost no oxygen. Or a reason to run.

‘Where?’

‘That’s the thing,’ I said. ‘I know where, but it’ll cost you to find out.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I need it.’

It was like a wave of heat. No, of cold. I could feel his hatred. Heard him swallow.

‘How mu-’

‘Five thousand.’

‘Fine.’

‘I mean ten.’

‘You said five.’

Fuck.

‘But it’s urgent,’ I said, even though I knew he was already on his feet.

‘Fine. Where are you?’

‘Hausmanns gate 92. The lock on the door’s broken. Second floor.’

‘I’m on my way. Don’t go anywhere.’

Go anywhere? I took a couple of dog-ends from the ashtray in the sitting room and lit up in the kitchen amid the deafening afternoon silence. Shit, it was so hot in here. Something rustled. I followed the noise. The rat again, scurrying along by the wall.

It came from behind the stove. Had a nice hiding place there.

I smoked dog-end number two.

Then I jumped up.

The stove weighed a bloody ton, until I discovered it had two wheels at the back.

The rathole was bigger than it ought to have been.

Oleg, Oleg, my dear friend. You’re smart, but this particular ruse you learned from me.

I fell on my knees. I was on a high even while working with the wire. My fingers shook so much I felt like biting them off. I could feel I had it, but then I lost it. It had to be violin. Had to be!

Then at long last I got a nibble, and it was a big ’un. I reeled it in. A large, heavy cloth bag. I opened it. It had to be, had to be!

A rubber tube, a spoon, a syringe. And three small transparent packages. The white powder inside was flecked with brown. My heart sang. I was reunited with the only friend and lover I have always been able to rely on.

I stuffed two of the packages in my pocket and opened the third. Now I had enough for a week if I was frugal, I just had to shoot up and vamoose before Stein or anyone else came. I sprinkled some powder onto the spoon, flicked my lighter. I usually added a few drops of lemon, the kind you buy in bottles and people put in tea. The lemon juice prevented the powder from going clumpy and you got all of it in the syringe. But I had neither the lemon nor the patience, now there was only one thing that mattered: getting the shit into my bloodstream.

I wrapped the tube round the top of my arm, put the end between my teeth and pulled. Found a big blue vein. Angled the syringe to give myself the biggest target and reduce the shaking. Because I was shaking. Shaking like hell.

I missed.

Once. Twice. Breathed in. Don’t think too much now, don’t be too keen, don’t panic.

The needle wobbled. I took a stab at the blue worm.

Missed again.

I fought against my despair. Thought I might smoke a bit of it first, to compose myself. But it was the rush I wanted, the kick you get when the whole dose hits the blood, goes straight to the brain, the orgasm, the free fall!

The heat and the sunlight, they were blinding me. I moved to the sitting room, sat in the shadow by the wall. Shit, now I couldn’t even see the sodding vein! Take it easy. I waited for my pupils to dilate. Luckily my forearms were as white as cinema screens. The vein looked like a river on a map of Greenland. Now.

Missed.

I didn’t have the energy for this, felt tears coming. A shoe creaked.

I had been concentrating so hard that I hadn’t heard him come in.

And when I looked up my eyes were so full of tears that shapes were distorted, like in a fricking fairground mirror.

‘Hi, Thief.’

I hadn’t heard anyone call me that for ages.

I blinked away the tears. And the shapes became familiar. Yes, now I recognised everything. Even the gun. It hadn’t been nicked from the rehearsal room by passing burglars, as I had thought.

The weird thing was I wasn’t frightened. Not at all. All of a sudden I was quite calm.

I looked down at the vein again.