The Dinosaur Feather

eyes.’
    Anna looked into his bright blue eyes.
    ‘His fear is killing him. And you’re probably just as terrifying.’ Karen’s eyes flashed. ‘If you’re a wimp, I mean.’
    Anna mulled it over. Then she started to laugh.
    ‘What are you laughing at?’
    ‘At you,’ Anna replied. ‘At your ability to wave your wand and put everything into perspective. By the way, what on earth were you thinking, calling Troels after we spoke last night, you dimwit. Are you trying to save the world?’
    ‘How do you know about that?’ Karen asked, not looking the least bit embarrassed.
    ‘I met him today.’ Anna was serious now. ‘It was really weird. It started off all right. In fact, I was pleased to see him. But then it went wrong, somehow. There was something . . . strange about him.’
    Karen looked at Anna for a long time. Her gaze was warm. Then she said, ‘I really wanted us to be friends again. All three of us. Like in the old days. It was the best time of my life. The years with you. I want more.’
    Anna hugged her.
    ‘You hopeless romantic,’ she said into Karen’s hair. The ice was broken, it had melted and the water was warm. They drank all the wine and ate all the crisps. They put the world to rights. Anna found she couldn’t stop talking and Karen laughed at everything she said. If only Søren could see me now, Anna thought triumphantly. Anna in her living room, relaxed, tipsy on red wine, in the company of a good friend. She began to cry. Karen gave her a worried look and took her hand.
    ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ she wanted to know.
    ‘Do you know who Sara is?’ Anna said, looking straight at Karen. Karen’s mother had been Cecilie’s best friend. Always and for ever. And Karen and her mother were close and shared everything. What if everyone knew who Sara was? Everyone except Anna?
    ‘Nope,’ Karen replied. ‘I don’t know anyone called Sara. Who is she?’
    An idea occurred to Anna. The photograph. It hung to the right of the stove, in its lacquered wooden frame, looking at her, like a face. She got up.
    ‘What is it?’ This unexpected shift in mood mystified Karen who straightened up in the sofa.
    ‘Hang on.’ Anna wiped her eyes and took down the picture.
    ‘How old am I here?’ she asked.
    ‘I don’t know . . . two years? I don’t know anything about children,’ Karen said, apologetically.
    ‘It’s summer in this photo. I’m wearing a vest. Cecilie is in a bikini. So I must be between eighteen months and two and a half. And I don’t think it’s the latter. I still have those chubby breastfeeding cheeks. So my guess is eighteen months. Do you agree?’
    ‘Er, all right.’ Karen scratched her head. Anna fetched her handbag and took out Ulla’s photograph. She showed it to Karen.
    ‘That’s you and Jens, right?’ Karen said. ‘Gosh, Lily looks so much like you!’
    ‘This photo was taken in August 1978. I’m roughly eight months old in that photo. So I’m eighteen months in one picture and eight months in another, do you follow?’
    Karen nodded. Anna fetched a letter opener from her desk and placed the framed photograph face down.
    ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘My parents are lying,’ she snorted. The old frame was an obstinate devil. The small brackets had practically rusted into the cardboard backing.
    ‘About what?’ Karen was completely lost.
    ‘Turn that photo over.’ Anna nodded in the direction of Ulla’s photograph on the table while she struggled on. By now, she didn’t care if she broke the stupid frame. Karen sat diagonally behind her, curled up in the sofa and Anna sat on the edge, using the coffee table as her workspace. Finally, the stubborn brackets started flying.
    ‘Sara Bella and Jens, August 1978,’ Karen read out loud. ‘I still don’t get who Sara is?’
    ‘Don’t ask me.’
    Anna slipped the letter opener under the cardboard backing.
    ‘Spooky,’ Karen mused. ‘Perhaps you had a twin sister who died?’ Anna stopped in her tracks. This was an explanation she hadn’t even considered. She examined it quickly.
    ‘That baby,’ she pointed the letter opener at Ulla Bodelsen’sphotograph, ‘is me. And this baby,’ now indicating the picture she was easing out, ‘is me as well. The girls are identical.’
    ‘Identical twins,’ Karen whispered, dramatically.
    ‘It makes no sense, Karen. Why would my parents keep it a secret that I had a twin sister who died? Anyway, that can’t be it. Ulla, the health visitor I