‘Oh my God! What is that? Where did you get it?’ The woman stood upright and held the offending buzzing item aloft. It was the electric-blue vibrator and the woman stared at it in horror as the tip twirled round and round, flashing like the lights on a police car. She scanned the toilets and her eyes landed on Frankie. ‘Is this yours?’
Frankie swiftly kicked the tote bag further under the sink unit.
‘No.’ She squinted in the woman’s direction. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s…’ the woman lowered her voice, ‘it’s a vibrator.’
‘Oh! No! That’s definitely not mine. Never seen it before in my life.’
‘I have no idea where she got it from.’ The woman’s face dropped. ‘Oh shit! It could be… dirty!’ She flung it into the nearest sink where it continued to buzz and rotate, then grabbed her daughter and doused her hands with liquid soap from the dispenser before scrubbing them thoroughly.
Frankie dashed out of the toilets, taking only her handbag and her suitcase. That was close and she knew that she didn’t want a repeat performance, so she left the tote bag and its variety of erotic delights behind. Right where it belonged. She just hoped that whoever found it wasn’t too shocked and that it didn’t spark a security alert.
Chapter 5
In the airport cafe, Frankie tucked her suitcase under the table then wrapped her hands around the mug of coffee. She could see the entrance to the toilets from here and winced every time someone went in or came out, wondering if she’d see someone emerge carrying the tote bag of treats. The light was fading outside and she realized she had no idea what time it was or how long she’d been sitting there, lost in her thoughts.
Her bones ached and she wished she could curl up under the table and sleep. Instead, she picked up the almond croissant she’d purchased and ate it quickly, washing each mouthful down with coffee, aware that she needed to put something into her empty belly.
Soon, the croissant and coffee raised her blood sugar and the headache she’d blamed the tiara for began to fade. But there was still a question burning inside her: what was she going to do now?
‘What time’s your flight?’ The woman at the next table spoke into her mobile. ‘Uh… aha… right. Well, see you when we get there.’
She cut the call then looked at Frankie.
‘My brother.’ She waved the mobile. ‘He’s getting married in Cuba next week, so we’re heading out there early to take in some of the sights first.’
‘Cuba?’
‘Yes and I’m so excited. It’s my first holiday with my boyfriend too.’ Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were rosy, presumably with the first flush of love.
‘That’s nice. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.’
‘Thank you. Where are you going?’ The woman’s eyes flickered over Frankie’s tiara and she touched it self-consciously. It probably did look strange with her casual attire.
Frankie opened her mouth to answer, hoping something would spring to mind, but a tall sandy-haired man arrived at the woman’s table and she jumped up and hugged him, so Frankie was spared the embarrassment of admitting she had no idea. The couple gathered their bags then left the cafe arm in arm, leaving Frankie staring at the table they’d vacated. It must be wonderful to truly love someone. Sure, she’d enjoyed spending time with Rolo in the early days and they’d had some fun – in fact, she’d hoped it was love that she felt for him – but she’d never experienced a burning need to see him, to touch him and to be close to him. In reality, they’d been a lot more like polite acquaintances than lovers about to marry. Perhaps that had been because she’d known she didn’t really love him and had been holding back. And what had been holding her back? Not just a lack of love and desire but her need for independence. Her need to experience freedom, to know what it was like to be happy with who she was and what she was doing. Had she ever really had that sense of personal satisfaction?
No.
Not in her job. Not in her relationship. And certainly not in her home life, where even though her father had tried hard to fill the gap left by her mother, it had been there… a chasm of emptiness and sadness, a constant awareness that the woman who should have loved her more than anyone else had walked away from her and not cared whether she lived or died. It had also, unsurprisingly, been laced with a bitter anger.
Until she dealt with that, Frankie realized, she would never be able to move on and be happy.
She drained her coffee then opened her bag and pulled out her purse. She had a variety of credit cards and some cash, so she could easily book a flight. At the back of her purse, folded over, was something she carried with her. Always. She pulled it out and unfolded it, then pressed it flat on the table and gazed at the image of a snow-covered landscape. It was dark and the trees cast bushy shadows across the ground. It made Frankie shiver just imagining how cold it must be there. But above the snow, brightening the dark sky with swathes of luminous green, blue and purple, were the northern lights.
Every time Frankie had looked at this postcard over the years since she’d turned eighteen, something had tugged at her heart and made her yearn to see these lights in person. They were beautiful, mystical, magical. Even though she’d read about them and knew their true cause, Frankie still believed that there was magic in nature if it could create such beauty. And, of course, she wondered if her mother had seen these lights… if she had thought of her daughter as she watched the shimmering display.
Her mother had sent cards every year on birthdays and at Christmas when she was growing up. They had been pretty cards featuring beautiful paintings but the messages inside had been brief, almost impersonal, as if her mother had either not cared to write more or had been holding back. However, now that she thought about it and tried to rationalize it, perhaps her mother had cared if she was alive and well. She’d noted every changing of the year in her daughter’s life, hadn’t she? And yet… how much did sending a card really prove? Was her mother actually just assuaging her conscience and nothing more?
Frankie wanted to believe that it was more than just that but what proof did she have other than cards?
She turned the card over and ran her eyes over the familiar words, words she knew without needing to read them, but still, looking at them again helped her confirm that they were real and not a figment of her imagination.
Dear Frances,
Happy 18th Birthday. I knew this day would come and yet, I cannot believe how the years have flown. Now that you are an adult, I feel able to give you my address. Please know that you are welcome to come and visit me anytime you wish. I would love to see you. However, I understand if you do not want to come. I will not contact you again unless I hear from you, because I don’t want to trouble you if you would prefer not to hear from me.
Yours truly,
Freya X
The postcard had arrived in a sealed envelope, presumably to prevent Grandma from reading the message, and Freya’s address was printed in the top-right corner, leaving her to make the decision. She had not gone when she was eighteen, nor when she was twenty-one, nor when she turned twenty-nine. It had seemed better to leave things as they were, to build her own life and not rake up the past. She didn’t want to hurt her father or upset her grandmother, and knew that visiting her mother could well do both. Her grandmother was a stern, aloof woman, but she had always been around – she had not left Frankie behind – and because of that, Frankie owed her loyalty – although her behaviour earlier today had made Frankie question her grandmother’s motives. Her father had been a kind and caring parent, but he had a haunted quality about him, as if he’d never recovered from losing his wife. Frankie had felt protective of him, even though he had been the adult and she the child.
But now, she couldn’t deny that the loss of her mother had impacted upon her whole life. Had Freya passed away instead of leaving her, then she would have suffered, but it would have been a different kind of pain enforced upon them both. As it was, Freya had chosen to leave h
er, and that cut Frankie deeply. It had influenced all her decisions, affected all her relationships and now she could see clearly that the life she had created wasn’t fulfilling at all. Her job paid well but it didn’t excite her. Her home, where she still lived with her grandmother and father – although she and Rolo had been about to move into a large apartment in Kensington that they had been in the process of renovating – was warm and luxurious, safe and familiar. Her fiancé was… well, he was Rolo, and she already knew how she felt about him. Finding a suitable apartment then renovating it, a process that had taken a considerable amount of time, had given them both some breathing space and – Frankie could see now – an excuse not to move in together until after the wedding. And seeing as how that apartment had been Rolo’s choice, Frankie realized she would need to consider where she would live from this point on too.
She turned the card back over and ran a finger over the swirls of colour in the Norwegian sky. Such beauty, such purity, such a perfect escape…
She had some freedom over the next few weeks, as she had told her clients she’d be off for six weeks because of the wedding and honeymoon, then Christmas would soon be upon them, so apart from a few meetings and emails, she hadn’t been expecting to do much until the new year rolled in. The admin staff that she and her colleagues employed at the rented offices they shared could deal with any emergencies. It was easier to have a London base for work and for clients, and sharing the costs had seemed like a good plan, and it also meant that whenever she or her colleagues wanted a break, someone else would be available for their clients.
Frankie knew where she was going. She would head to Norway and try to find her mother. She had no idea if Freya would be at the same address, as she’d heard nothing from her after she turned eighteen. Freya had left the snowball well and truly in Frankie’s court and she had not picked it up or thrown it; she had left it there to melt. Eleven years had passed and with each changing season it had seemed harder and harder to do something.
Now, however, it was time.
Chapter 6
Frankie spent the early morning flight to Norway wriggling in her seat. She was aching all over from trying to sleep on the hard plastic airport chairs and all she wanted was a hot bubble bath and her own bed. But that wasn’t possible and she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to go home again.
The man to her right flashed her a few irritated glances and she tried not to look at his laptop screen to see what he was typing. He was likely a businessman heading to an important meeting and trying to use the flight time to prepare. She imagined that he was a successful CEO of a big company or a human rights lawyer on his way to support an international client. Did he have a wife and children at home and two loving parents who’d retired to a cosy cottage in Cornwall or a retirement complex in Florida? Was his life perfect in ways Frankie could only imagine? Peace of mind was such a precious thing to have and she wondered if she’d ever achieve it.
She gazed out of the window but the clouds limited what she could see, so instead she flicked through a magazine that she found in the pocket of the seat in front of her. It featured images of glamorous models advertising perfumes that would make her life successful and happy, if only she spent the three hundred pounds that each one cost. There was an article about an author who’d found overnight fame when she’d written about her backpacking adventures and wedding under a waterfall in Thailand. And there were lots more adverts for all sorts of products and gadgets, and as she scanned them, Frankie felt emptier than ever. She’d tried to fill the space left by her mother with things, and she knew her grandmother and father had done the same. She’d had every material comfort and luxury she could have asked for, and Grandma had certainly kept her busy, filling her time with ballet and piano lessons, tutoring during the school holidays – when she came home from boarding school – and exotic breaks that included yachts, secluded villas and hot lazy days spent in the company of other people with money. But through it all, through every single cocktail party, gala and polo match, Frankie had felt as if she didn’t quite belong. In fact, sometimes she’d had to sneak off and spend time alone, trying to fill her lungs with fresh air because they’d constricted so much that it actually felt as if she was suffocating. When she’d gone to see the family GP about these episodes, he’d diagnosed mild depression and anxiety disorder and said it was quite normal in this day and age, so he’d prescribed a course of mild antidepressants to help her through. Frankie had accepted the prescription but never taken the tablets. Leaving the doctor’s surgery, she’d been lower than ever, aware that she’d wanted him to tell her why she was unhappy and why she didn’t fit in, not to give her something to blur the edges and make her accept her life without question.
Then there was the guilt. She had so much to be grateful for and knew many people would love access to the lifestyle she had. What they didn’t know was just how lonely it could be.
When she landed, Gardermoen airport in Oslo was the same as any other, with people bustling about as they prepared for flights as well as those arriving and keen to get home. It was filled with the scents of coffee and pastries from Starbucks, cleaning products and people’s colognes. High heels clicked across the floor tiles and new loafers squeaked, as people surged all around her, carrying their bags or dragging their luggage behind them like ants returning to their nest.
In spite of the thoughts she’d had on the flight, Frankie actually felt a flicker of excitement. She was doing something she’d never done before, stepping out of her comfort zone and about to embark upon an adventure. Of course, there was nothing to say that she would find her mother and there were no guarantees if she tracked her down that her mother would want anything to do with her now. But what she did know for sure was that she wanted answers and she wanted them in person, so she would try to get them.
At last.
The single terminal made it easy for Frankie to find her way around. She was, she admitted as she claimed her suitcase then dragged it out of the airport, also curious about the woman who’d carried her in her womb, given birth to her then walked away before she could even crawl. What made a woman leave her husband and child behind? What kind of woman would she find when, or if, she finally located her mother?
*
The Flytoget train was incredibly convenient and Frankie boarded it to get to the centre of Oslo. The train was clean, sleek and silver, and the journey only took twenty minutes. From her seat, she watched as the landscape outside flew past, a mixture of trees, fields and patches of snow. She’d expected to see more snow but when she checked her mobile phone, using the train’s wi-fi, she read that it was possible to see some snow in Norway in November but it wasn’t guaranteed.
Oslo city centre train station was a light, bright hive of activity. As Frankie wandered through the cavernous building, she heard a variety of accents and languages, and wasn’t able to identify them all. It was a cosmopolitan centre and the excitement that had flickered earlier, now fizzed inside her.
She left the station and stepped out into a cold grey afternoon. She’d brought up a map of Oslo on her mobile during the train journey and taken a screenshot, so now she peered at it again to get her bearings. According to the map, it would take her about nine minutes to walk to the First Hotel Grims Grenka, the hotel that had appealed to her when she’d researched places to stay in Oslo, during her wait at Heathrow.
She walked through streets that consisted of a mixture of old and new architecture. There were lots of trees and the pavements were impressively free of chewing gum and litter. When she reached the hotel, the building’s red-brick façade and square shiny windows loomed above her and her stomach fluttered. She was really going to do this, to stay in Oslo alone, and possibly meet her birth mother.
She took a deep breath then headed up the stone steps and into the hotel. The lobby was predominantly grey and cream, with square lines and minimal decor. It reminded her a bit of a private hospital where everything was hushed and c
alm, creating a serene atmosphere for visitors and patients alike.
Frankie booked a room for four nights, with the possibility of extending her stay if need be, then followed the directions – from the incredibly friendly receptionist with impeccable English – to her floor. Her room was light and airy with lots of wood and large square windows with a view of the buildings on the opposite side of the street. The white and green bedspread continued the forest theme. She parked her suitcase next to the bed and kicked off her shoes then wandered through to the bathroom and sighed. Because there, taking pride of place in the bathroom, was a huge bath. Just what she needed to ease her aches and pains!
She turned on the taps, poured some of the hotel-issued bubble bath under the flow, then went to see what she could find in her case to pull on after a long soak in hot soapy water.
Five minutes later, Frankie sat in front of her empty suitcase. She’d gone through the contents and tears stung her eyes. Although back in the Heathrow toilets she’d managed to find the outfit she was wearing, once she’d pulled everything out, she realized how little she had in there that was actually practical for her current circumstances. If she was going to manage at all, she’d need to go shopping for some clothes to tide her over. Luckily, she’d noticed there was a boutique next door to the hotel, so she’d pop in there in the morning and see what she could find.
For now, she’d take a bath, get into the fluffy white hotel robe, then take a nap. The events of the past twenty-four hours, along with the travelling, had taken it out of her and she knew she needed some sleep in order to reboot her brain.
Everything would surely seem more manageable after she’d had some rest.
Chapter 7
Frankie surfaced from sleep like a diver returning from the seabed. She was so comfortable, it was as if she were floating on air and she was tempted to keep her eyes shut and drift off again. But her stomach let out a loud growl and she knew that she needed to eat.
Love at the Northern Lights Page 4
