She opened her eyes and reached over to the bedside table for her mobile phone and peered at the screen. It was 7:35 pm, which meant that it was 8:35 pm as Norway was an hour ahead of the UK. If she was quick, she might make dinner!
She flung back the covers then wandered over to the window. She pulled one of the curtains aside and winced. It was light. There was no way it would still be light at this time in the evening in Norway in November. That meant…
Frankie had slept through the previous afternoon and all of the night. She’d lost half a day. And yet, she felt so much better. Evidently the lavender bubbles, and removing the vice-like tiara, had relaxed her and she’d conked out, which she must have needed.
She’d been tempted to switch her mobile off because it had buzzed constantly as her grandmother tried repeatedly to contact her. In the end, Frankie had fired off a quick text to tell her grandmother that she was fine and would ring her soon, but to please allow her some space and time. The radio silence that had followed had made her think that perhaps Grandma had got the message. Or perhaps she was currently trying to contact one of her private investigator friends to get them to track down Frankie’s phone. Why she even wanted to contact Frankie after the showdown on Rolo’s driveway baffled her, but then Grandma was a control freak, so now she’d had some time to think about the situation and possibly cool down a bit, it was likely that she wanted Frankie back where she could keep an eye on her.
Her stomach growled again and she pressed a hand to it. Would she make it in time for breakfast? Only one way to find out.
Downstairs, Frankie found a table in the dining room and filled a plate from the breakfast buffet. Once she’d eaten, and drunk three cups of the deliciously bitter coffee, she was wide awake and ready for a day of exploring. Then she looked down at her outfit, the same one she’d worn to fly, and grimaced. She really needed a change of clothes, so she’d have to check out that little boutique next door.
Just as she left the dining room, her mobile buzzed in her bag. She paused, wondering if it was Grandma again, then shrugged. If it was, then it was. She pulled out her mobile and breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Jen’s name on the screen.
‘Hello.’
‘Hey, sweetie, how are you?’
‘Oh… hold on.’ Frankie pressed the lift button. ‘I’m OK, thanks.’
‘Where are you? Of course, if I see Helen, she’ll likely try to force me to tell her.’ She gave a nervous giggle. ‘But I swear I won’t give you up!’
‘I know you won’t and I’m sure you can keep it secret from her. I’m in Oslo.’
‘Oslo?’
The silver doors opened and Frankie stepped into the empty lift, frowning at her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirrors.
‘Yes. But please, as I said, keep it to yourself.’
‘Oh, darling, I won’t tell anyone. I swear. You know you can trust me. I can keep a secret when I need to.’
‘Thanks.’
‘How’d you end up there, though?’
‘Well, I went to the airport and knew I needed to get away and—’
‘Oh! You’ve gone to find your mother?’
Frankie heard the incredulity in Jen’s voice.
‘Uh… well, kind of, I guess. No, not really. Well… I went to Heathrow and when I was sitting in a cafe there, I found the postcard from Freya in my bag and it just made sense to see if I could find her. I mean, I’ve wondered about her for so long, and about why she left and…’
‘I understand, Frankie. I really do. But you could… get hurt.’
‘I know that. I also know that this could be a really bad idea but I have to try, Jen. It’s high time to find out once and for all.’
‘What about you and Rolo? Is that all over now?’
The lift doors opened and Frankie walked out onto her floor and headed to her room.
‘I don’t think it ever really began.’
‘Oh. Well… that’s good then. I mean, it’s really sad but I’m relieved you feel OK about it.’ Jen exhaled loudly then clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth; a sign Frankie knew meant that she was harbouring some doubts.
‘It is?’
‘Frankie… I don’t know if I should say anything.’
‘Please do or I’ll be worried.’
‘Well, are you sure about Rolo?’
‘Yes. Sure as I can be.’
‘OK. Well, he’s gone on your honeymoon.’
‘He said he would do. He didn’t want to waste the money we spent on it.’
‘But, see… he didn’t go alone.’
Frankie dropped her keycard and fumbled to pick it up again, her long bridal nails making everything more difficult.
‘Did you hear me?’
‘I heard you.’
‘He went with… with Lorna.’
‘Oh.’ Frankie’s breakfast felt heavy in her belly. ‘With our Lorna?’
‘Yes. Are you all right? Gah! I shouldn’t have said anything, should I?’
Frankie managed to get the card into the slot and her door opened. As it closed behind her with a swoosh, she went to the bed and sat down.
‘Frankie? Are you there?’
‘I’m here, Jen.’ She rubbed her eyes with her free hand and tried to loosen her shoulders by rolling them backwards. Rolo had gone on their honeymoon with Lorna? That, she hadn’t been expecting. Lorna was her friend; she was going to be one of her bridesmaids, for goodness’ sake. ‘It’s just… this is all a bit surreal, to be honest.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine, honestly. It’s even a good thing.’
‘It is?’
‘Well, yes. At least this proves that I did the right thing. If he can replace me so quickly, then perhaps he really isn’t bothered at all.’ She recalled the cigarette stained with lipstick in the maze and the female voice she’d passed off as the wind. Had he been with Lorna then? Had this been going on for some time? How bloody awful!
‘I don’t know. I do think he cared about you. But Lorna… well, she’s a lot of fun and perhaps he just wanted some company.’
Frankie nodded. ‘She certainly is a lot of fun.’ And she must have been laughing at me! ‘I actually feel a bit better… knowing that he didn’t have to go alone.’ She lifted her chin and pushed her hair back from her face.
‘You’re not hurt or jealous?’
Frankie searched her feelings, wondering how she did feel after hearing the news, but nothing surfaced other than the twinge of disappointment that someone she’d seen as her friend – albeit not a close one – had happily stepped into her shoes. Had possibly already been wearing them.
‘Nope.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘I’m glad I know. It proves that Rolo wasn’t just a bad match for me but also a bad catch overall. Rather than taking the time to think, he’s hopped into bed with another woman. They’re welcome to each other.’
‘Thank goodness for that. Mind you, I don’t think it’s anything serious. Just after you left, Lorna made a point of comforting him and he invited her along. She told me he said he needed to get away and that some company would be nice if she fancied it.’
‘Well… good for them. Who knows though, perhaps they were already involved in some… capacity.’ She decided not to tell Jen about the cigarette with the lipstick and the voice in the maze. It was all too exhausting to think about, let alone continue to discuss, and she didn’t have concrete evidence that Rolo and Lorna had been involved already, even if there were clues that suggested they were seeing each other. ‘Uh, Jen?’
‘Yes, darling.’
‘You… you packed some interesting things in my suitcase, didn’t you?’
‘It wasn’t just me. That was the girls too. They all bought something to put in there. I was only actually responsible for the lacy black teddy. The toys and whatnot, well, they were from the others, including Lorna, funnily enough. I did wonder what would happen if you were stopped at the airport.’
‘I wasn’t,
thank goodness, but I found the items in the airport loos and… well, it’s a long story and one I’ll tell you when I see you.’
‘I’ll look forward to it. What’re you going to do now?’
‘I need to find some clothes, seeing as how I’m in Oslo in late November and I packed for the tropics, then I think I’ll have a wander around the city.’
‘When will you try to find your mother?’
‘When I’m ready. I need to pluck up the courage first.’
‘Stay in touch, won’t you? Just so I know you’re OK.’
‘I will.’
They said their goodbyes then Frankie flopped back on the bed. She’d often wondered about her relationship with Jen, about how close they really were, but after speaking to her now, she was convinced that Jen did care. She’d heard the concern in her voice and Jen wanted her to know about Rolo, so she didn’t get hurt by hearing it from someone else or seeing it splashed all over Facebook. Frankie knew she’d have tried to do the same for Jen too, although she hoped that was something she’d never have to deal with.
Right, it was time for a quick shower then some shopping…
*
Frankie peered through the window of the boutique next to her hotel and sighed. How hadn’t she noticed yesterday that it was a dance boutique? She could go in and see if they had something, anything, more appropriate than her holiday clothes, something a bit warmer at least, then once she had something to wear, she’d hit the town properly and invest in a new wardrobe.
The shop was cavernous. Glitter balls dangled from the ceiling, sending tiny circles of light across the floor and walls, and music drifted from speakers set high in the corners, lively theme tunes from movies that Frankie recognized from school discos and weddings – some of them probably from before she was even born.
Aromas of peppermint and dried flowers hung in the air and Frankie wondered if it was deliberate, or if it was the perfume of choice of the owner, an elderly woman who stood behind the counter folding tights and occasionally peering over her small round spectacles.
Frankie wandered around, resisting the urge to bob her head in time with the music, looking for something that would pass as daywear and not make her look as if she was auditioning for Fame. She picked up some grey and black leggings, three pairs of legwarmers, some tights and dance underwear. Then she spotted what she needed: across the shop was a rail of jogging bottoms and hoodies, baggy tops and other warm-up gear. Having done ballet as a child and into her teens, she’d hoped to find these items here, and it seemed that her luck was in. They weren’t exactly high fashion but she’d be warm.
Frankie took the clothes to the counter and waited while the older woman finished folding then came to serve her.
‘Hello.’ Frankie smiled then got her purse out of her bag. She wanted the shopkeeper to know she was English before she spoke to her in Norwegian.
‘Oh, you’re English?’ The woman smiled warmly. ‘Me too.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes, dear. Came out here thirty years ago and married a Norwegian. Never went back.’
‘You’re happy in Oslo then?’
The woman nodded. ‘Oh yes. It’s such a lovely place and my family is here too. I have three sons who live here with their wives and children.’
‘That’s lovely.’
‘Plus, I had reasons for not wanting to go back to London.’
‘Don’t we all?’ Frankie muttered.
Frankie pushed her credit card into the machine then keyed in her pin.
‘Are you on some kind of dance trip, dear?’
Frankie frowned.
‘The clothes?’ The woman nodded at the bag she’d put the clothes into.
‘Oh! No…’ Frankie shook her head. ‘I, uh… was meant to be going somewhere warmer but I… changed my mind.’
‘Well, these will keep you warm, that’s for sure. But if you need more variety, there are plenty of clothes shops in Oslo.’
‘Thank you.’
‘If I can be of help in any way, just call in again. Actually…’ The woman pressed a finger to her chin. ‘I had some stock come in a few days ago that I haven’t had a chance to put out yet. One of my son’s wives said it might be good to add some more variety to the range we offer. Wait here and let me check for you.’
‘Thank you.’ Frankie stood by the counter and waited, wondering what the woman might have that she thought would be of interest to her. She hoped it was something suitable because she’d hate to have to decline whatever was offered when the woman was trying to be helpful.
‘Dear?’ the woman called from near the changing rooms at the rear of the shop.
‘Yes?’
‘Come have a look.’
Frankie weaved her way through the rails to the woman and watched as she opened two boxes then started pulling out garments in clear plastic wrapping. She gestured at the clothes, so Frankie started to look through them and relief coursed through her.
Twenty minutes later, she had a navy wool tunic with purple flowers embroidered around the neck and sleeves, three beautiful silk scarves in black, purple and pink, a dark grey waterfall cardigan, a grey silk maxi dress with a deep V-neck and a pair of grey sheepskin ankle boots.
She paid for them then waited as the woman put them into bags.
‘Thank you so much.’
‘It’s a pleasure. I had no idea if we’d sell any of these items but it seems my daughter-in-law was right; variety is important. Business has been OK but this might increase the takings, especially if we get more pretty young Brits in who’ve brought unsuitable clothing for the Norwegian winter.’ She smiled, revealing small white teeth. ‘I hope you have a wonderful holiday and find whatever it is that you’re looking for.’
‘Pardon?’
‘You have the eyes of someone in search of a dream. Good luck with it.’
Frankie nodded, then picked up her bags and made her way out onto the street. Outside, she gulped down lungfuls of cold air, keen to expunge the emotion that had welled inside her in the shop. Perhaps it was just the woman’s kindness, perhaps it was tiredness after the events of the past few days, or perhaps it was because she was closer than ever to meeting her mother, but she couldn’t deny that the shopkeeper’s kind words had affected her. The woman was a mother of three, married and happy in Norway where she’d restarted her life.
Sometimes life needed a reboot and perhaps Frankie was here to do exactly that.
Chapter 8
Frankie had the address on the postcard for her mother, but it was, presumably, a home address and she might well have moved by now. She pulled out her mobile and typed Freya Ashford, Oslo into the search engine.
No results. She flopped back on her hotel bed and closed her eyes.
Think…
She held her phone up and tried again with Freya Ashford, artist, Oslo.
Still nothing.
Then it dawned on her that her mother may well have reverted to her maiden name, so she typed in Freya Jensen, artist, Oslo…
A series of entries appeared and she scrolled through them. Freya had taken part in a variety of exhibitions over the years, had been active in local events and had been interviewed by local press. One entry caught her eye: it was an address for a gallery. She took a screenshot then brought up Google maps and typed in the address.
Her heart thundered and a cold sweat formed on her brow.
It was an eight-minute walk from her hotel.
Just eight minutes and she could meet the woman she’d always wondered about.
She changed into the navy tunic dress she’d bought at the boutique earlier and paired it with navy leggings and the dark grey waterfall cardigan, then she pulled on thick socks and the grey ankle boots. She looked in the mirror. Something was missing to give her outfit that special touch… She added the purple silk scarf, savouring the way it slid around her neck then fell elegantly to her waist. There was nothing like a scarf to finish an outfit, she just hoped sh
e’d be warm enough in the thick cardigan, but if not, she’d make sure to find a coat once she’d located the rest of the shops.
She left the hotel then followed the directions from the Google map. This was it; she would meet Freya today!
Tucking her cold hands deep into the cardigan’s pockets, she walked along unfamiliar streets, past cafes, banks and offices, trying to appreciate the scenery as she went and trying even harder not to overthink what she was doing. It was as if all of her childhood hopes, dreams and worries had been packed away until this moment and she didn’t know if she wanted to punch the air, lie down in the gutter and cry, or run to the toilet.
When she reached the point where the map veered right, she turned and found herself in what appeared to be a shopping square with a large Levi’s shop, as well as some others with Norwegian names. She noted the Levi’s shop as worth returning to in order to add to her Oslo wardrobe. Grandma had not been a big jeans fan, but Frankie loved denim and intended to wear more of it as she enjoyed her new-found freedom.
As she carried on along the route, she realized that she’d returned to the square where the station was located but had come a different way and this gave her a sense of relief because it meant that she could place some familiar landmarks. Another glance at the map told her that she’d gone too far, so she returned the way she’d come, took another left and the map showed that she was where she’d intended going.
She scanned her surroundings, taking in the arches that ran all the way along the building to her right and the large rectangular windows of the buildings across the road to her left, a style that was becoming familiar to her in this city.
Then her heart skipped a beat when she spotted the sign on a shop front: Freya’s Gallery.
Now that she’d found it, she had no idea what to do next. Should she go in, or walk past and try to see if her mother was inside? Should she peer through the window and get a look at her mother first or just charge in and confront her?
What to do…
Love at the Northern Lights Page 5
