Emma Ramm let herself in, stowed her bike in the hallway and slipped off her shoes. She was exhausted from her ride, but she still managed to complete her exercise routine with some pushups. She went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, taking a long sip as she picked up her phone and checked the American celebrity websites to see if anything noteworthy had happened overnight. TMZ had a story about a break-in at Mariah Carey’s house in Bel Air. People magazine was reporting an apparent quarrel between Pink and Christina Aguilera; this was coverage she could lift. Before she put down her phone, she checked news.no and saw that her story about Vendela Kirsebom had pride of place on the front page.
Yet another day with people who’d gained fame for a variety of reasons. Some valid, others not.
How long could she bear working on all this? She dreamed of having something more substantial to sink her teeth into. Something that would show that she really was a competent journalist, not simply a celebrity blogger.
It was eight o’clock. She gulped down another glass of water and switched on the TV. The news headlines rolled across the screen. There had been another suicide bombing in Kabul. A gang fight in Malmö had ended with fatal consequences. New statistics showed unemployment in Spain was at an all-time high. And the weather forecast predicted a cold, clear day in Norway’s capital city.
While Emma did some stretches, the hosts of Good Morning, Norway welcomed viewers back to another twenty minutes of easily digested output. One of them – a man with a round face, glasses and curly hair – leaned forwards restlessly. He glanced at his colleague before adjusting his glasses and saying: ‘Well, viewers, this is what we should have been discussing for the next few minutes.’ He held up a book Emma recognised immediately: Forever Number One by Sonja 10Nordstrøm. ‘But the author, who should have been with us in the studio, seems to have been delayed.’
Emma smiled. This was typical of Nordstrøm: she always did exactly what suited her. Not for nothing did Anita Grønvold, Emma’s boss at news.no, consistently call Nordstrøm a superbitch.
‘So we’ll have to wait a while before we hear more about the autobiography that is already the talk of the town before it’s even been published – even though no one has any idea exactly which beans Nordstrøm has chosen to spill.’
The other presenter now took over – a woman with long blonde hair, looking incredibly sharp and alert despite the early hour.
‘Yes, there’s been a great deal of secrecy surrounding this publication,’ she said, her eyes searching for the right camera. ‘There’s no doubt that Sonja Nordstrøm has lived an exciting life. She’s won everything that’s possible to win in … when you … have done all the things she’s done.’
Emma sniggered at the presenter’s obvious ignorance, and filled her glass again.
‘This is indeed a very special day for Sonja Nordstrøm,’ the other presenter interjected. ‘It’s her fiftieth birthday, and she’s decided to mark this milestone by publishing a book.’
‘We can only hope she turns up,’ the female presenter said with an exaggerated smile. ‘In the meantime, we can welcome into the studio Petter Due-Eriksen, producer of this channel’s hottest show – Worthy Winner.’
A burly man in his fifties sat down on the sofa, a microphone attached to a shirt that was rather too tight.
‘Petter, we’re nearing the end of the show now, aren’t we? There are only four contestants left, and this evening they’ll be whittled down to three, is that right?’
‘Yes, now it really starts to get interesting.’
Emma turned down the volume and took off her training jacket. She had written about this new reality-show concept nearly every day, and was sick of the whole thing. Ten contestants were locked 11inside a house together with cameras everywhere. There was really nothing new to say about it.
She picked up her mobile and wondered whether to call Nordstrøm, but instantly gave up on the idea. The superbitch would never answer so early in the day. Anyway, Emma had an appointment with the woman’s publisher in an hour.
Stripping off the rest of her clothes, she headed for the bathroom, carefully locking the door behind her, even though she lived on her own.