Two people in the other lane looked across at us. I didn’t care for this, and turned away so all they could see was my back. We were speaking Norwegian, that must have been it. Unless they happened to think we were a pair of gay men out with our surrogate child. Or our niece. Weren’t gay men often close to their nieces? “Thank you,” said the assistant. Why on earth would they think that? It was enough me looking like an idiot, with the beard and the long hair. I looked like a has-been heavy-metal musician rapidly heading for his fiftieth birthday. Oh, the fleshy face, the chubby cheeks, the
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