Love at the Northern Lights

by Love at the Northern Lights (re

  Jonas and Freya shook their heads.

  ‘That’s a relief.’ Hugo smiled. ‘I know you never used to, Freya, but things change.’

  ‘Luckily I haven’t developed any.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  In the dining room, Hugo sat at the end of the long table and Freya took the seat to his right, as if it was something they did every day. Seeing her parents together fascinated Frankie. It was clear that they’d once been close, as they seemed to anticipate what the other would do, yet they also had an awkwardness about them that told of years apart.

  Frankie sat next to her mother and Jonas stood next to her, not quite sure what to do.

  ‘Take that seat next to my father,’ she told him. ‘See… Annie has set a place there.’

  Jonas nodded then went and sat down.

  ‘Help yourselves to whatever takes your fancy.’ Hugo gestured at the platters of cold meat, cheese, salad and pasta. ‘There’s plenty more in the kitchen should you want it and if you want something that’s not there, let me know and I’ll go and get it.’

  While they filled their plates, Hugo poured wine from the bottle in the cooler next to him then they tucked in. The wind howled around outside, skittering brittle leaves across the patio slabs, and through the glass, the sky was an ominous shade of grey. It was an English winter and as cold and grim as every one that Frankie could remember. And yet… it was different. She’d eaten so many meals in this room, gazed out at the changing landscape through the cycle of the seasons and dreamt of how different things could be. Today they were different, very different indeed. Instead of Frankie and Grandma flanking her father at the table, he had Freya and Jonas, and instead of Frankie imagining how it would be to have her mother here, she actually was.

  Hugo was a good host; years of practice had perfected his skills at small talk and filling silences. He asked Freya about her business and her life in Oslo, yet avoided referring to the past or any topic that could make things uncomfortable. He asked Jonas about his photography and his family, enabling Frankie to find out things about the handsome Norwegian that she hadn’t heard so far. Then he added in his own details, making them laugh with tales from the golf course and the boardroom. It opened Frankie’s eyes to who her father really was. She’d always known him as Dad, businessman and golfer, subordinate to Grandma but with a warm heart and perfect manners. Yet here he was, a practised conversationalist, a generous and attentive host, funny and bright, calm and confident.

  Was this what happened to her father when Grandma wasn’t around but Freya was? Did Hugo Ashford blossom in the presence of her mother? Did he become a better version of himself?

  It was as though her father had been set free by Grandma’s absence and Frankie’s heart filled with love for him. Then it fluttered with sadness. If her father had been this man consistently, if he had shown this side of himself to her mother and Grandma had not been around, then perhaps Freya would never have become ill and left, and life would have been so different for them all.

  She raised her glass and cleared her throat.

  ‘I’d like to make a toast. To good company and to family.’

  They clinked glasses and Freya smiled at her, understanding deep in her eyes. It was as if they’d been given a fresh start, a brand-new opportunity, and Frankie hoped that it was the beginning of something very special indeed.

  *

  After lunch, they made their way into the lounge to relax and have their coffee. Annie brought in a tray of chocolate cake, cherry pie, cheese, crackers and olives. Frankie watched as Jonas’s eyes widened and she wondered what he was thinking. Did he find her home pleasing or too lavish? Did he think she’d grown up spoilt or lucky? He’d been polite and amiable during lunch and smiled often, but she sensed that he was holding something back. She was so used to this lifestyle, to the variety of food on offer, to buying whatever she wanted and to living in such a pleasant location. She’d never had to worry about money, even if she’d worried about many other things, but she’d have traded it all in just to have her mother around. A lot of people she knew would struggle to understand that, some who didn’t live as she did would struggle to believe it. But for Frankie, as nice as wealth was, it didn’t make for happiness; it didn’t make up for not having a mother.

  ‘What are your plans for this afternoon?’ Hugo asked as he poured cream into his coffee.

  ‘Well, I thought perhaps I should go and see Grandma.’ Frankie tried to suppress her shiver of reluctance.

  ‘I wouldn’t, not today anyway. I’ll take you in the morning. She’ll be tired this afternoon and probably sleeping.’

  ‘OK, that makes sense.’ Relief loosened the tension in her shoulders that she hadn’t even noted until now.

  ‘I wondered if you’d like to take a walk with me, Freya.’ Hugo kept his eyes on his coffee and Frankie knew that he was nervous about asking.

  ‘That would be lovely.’

  Hugo looked up. ‘Really?’

  ‘I’d love to see some of the old places… See how things have changed around here and what, if anything, has remained the same.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ Hugo’s smile was so broad that it reached his ears. Frankie had never seen him smile quite like that.

  Freya smiled too.

  ‘How about you, Jonas?’ Frankie asked him, hoping he realized that her parents wanted some time alone.

  ‘I don’t mind. I could take a nap… or read a book.’

  ‘What about taking your camera out and getting some shots around here? There are plenty of interesting sights to capture,’ Frankie suggested.

  ‘That also sounds like a good plan.’

  ‘Great. Well, let’s have coffee then I’ll get my boots on and show you around my home city.’

  Jonas nodded and Frankie felt that strange warmth flooding through her again, that only he seemed to cause. It was as though he had woken something inside her and it lifted her spirits and stirred excitement in her belly.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ he replied.

  I can’t wait either.

  Chapter 23

  ‘Your home is lovely,’ Jonas said as Frankie pulled the heavy door closed behind her.

  ‘That old place.’ Frankie giggled. ‘I grew up there and I suppose I forget how nice it is sometimes. Although…’ She paused, not wanting to sound ungrateful.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, it’s not particularly cosy, is it?’

  ‘It’s big.’

  ‘Exactly. I’ve always pictured myself living in a cosy log cabin or a barn conversion out in the countryside. Perhaps it’s me being ungrateful or silly but I sometimes find the house a bit… well, I feel… a bit lost.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  Frankie pulled her hat down to keep her ears warm and tucked her hands deep into her pockets. The late November day was cold and bright as the wind rushed through the London streets, the grey clouds from earlier now blown away.

  ‘When I was younger… a lot younger… I used to create a den in my walk-in wardrobe. I’d put up blankets and take pillows and my stuffed animals in there just to feel more secure.’

  Jonas watched her intently, his blue eyes seeming to reach down into her soul. She imagined that he could see her as she was then, at six years old, a small girl with her long brown hair in plaits, her pink teddy bear clutched under her arm and her tiny feet in fluffy slippers, as she crept into her wardrobe and snuggled in the corner. It certainly hadn’t been like the adverts she’d seen on TV where children ran into their parents’ rooms after they’d had a bad dream and jumped into their bed before falling fast asleep. For Frankie, there had been no night-time cuddles, no words of reassurance. She’d been left to her own devices, hiding herself away from the darkness and the creaking of the old house as it settled throughout the night, comforting herself with toys and dreams of a mother who was out there somewhere thinking of her too.

  ‘Are you OK, Frankie?’ Jonas asked.

  S
he nodded. ‘Just got sidetracked thinking about my childhood for a moment there. Come on, let’s take a walk.’

  They strolled along, through streets that were familiar to Frankie yet strange to Jonas. She pointed out the places where she’d played, drunk wine taken from her father’s cellar and tried a cigarette. She didn’t show him the corner of the immaculate communal gardens belonging to the inhabitants of Royal Crescent Gardens, where she’d had her first kiss, or the garage she’d crept into to throw up after the wine she’d taken had made her head spin. There were some things worth sharing and some best forgotten. Jonas snapped constantly, clearly spotting plenty of sights worth capturing on his camera. Frankie didn’t even need to point things out to him because his eye for detail was instinctive.

  ‘Your nose is red.’ Jonas smiled at her as they stopped at a crossroads.

  ‘It’s really cold.’

  ‘I’m surprised, actually. I didn’t expect it to be so cold here.’

  ‘Do you fancy a coffee?’ Frankie pointed at a small pub on the corner.

  ‘Good idea.’

  As they opened the pub door, the warmth from inside greeted them like a hug and Frankie sighed with relief. She hadn’t wanted to cut their walk short, as Jonas had been interested in his surroundings, but the cold had been making her eyes water and her nose run. Neither of which were pleasant, or her best look. Not that what she looked like mattered right now; she was merely showing an acquaintance around London, but even so, she didn’t want his memories of his guide to be of a red-nosed block of ice.

  They sat in a corner booth opposite the log burner where logs crackled and the flames glowed orange. It was cosy and intimate, and Frankie became fully aware that they were alone. They browsed the drinks menu and Frankie snatched a few glances at Jonas. He really was very handsome and so big, filling the booth with his large frame and his quiet confidence.

  He would make someone a good boyfriend…

  She shook her head. Where had that thought sprung from? The last thing Frankie wanted was to tie herself down to another man.

  A waitress arrived at their table and took their drinks order. Frankie asked her to add two of the pub’s mince pies to it, as they were the best she’d ever tasted.

  ‘Do you come here often?’ Jonas asked.

  ‘To this pub?’

  He nodded.

  ‘No, not that often. I’ve been in here a few times, but in all honesty, I don’t spend a lot of time in pubs and clubs.’ She looked around. ‘I’m not sure why I haven’t come here more often though. It is very pleasant.’

  ‘It’s very cosy.’ He smiled and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

  When the waitress returned with their coffees and mince pies, Frankie noticed her eyes lingering on Jonas. She wasn’t surprised, but did think it was a bit rude, as he could well be Frankie’s partner.

  ‘I’m sorry to ask but…’ the waitress chewed her bottom lip, ‘I don’t want to be rude, but see, behind the bar, we were debating whether you’re an actor.’

  ‘An actor?’ Jonas’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘Yes. I promise we won’t hassle you or anything… the manager would kill us… but you look so familiar.’

  ‘I do?’ A smile played on Jonas’s lips and he winked at Frankie. ‘Who do you think I am?’

  The waitress’s cheeks had turned scarlet now and she glanced at the floor before meeting his eyes again. ‘Chris Hemsworth.’

  Jonas let out a deep booming laugh that made the waitress jump.

  ‘Thor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He nodded. ‘You think I look like him?’

  ‘Well… yes.’

  ‘I’ll take that.’ He rubbed a hand over his golden beard.

  ‘So… are you?’

  He shook his head, his shoulders still shaking with laughter.

  ‘No, I’m not Chris Hemsworth.’

  ‘Oh…’

  ‘But thanks for the compliment.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ The waitress turned to go then paused. ‘Are you sure? Because you look an awful lot like him.’

  ‘I’m positive.’ He nodded.

  ‘Right… OK… sorry to have troubled you.’

  ‘Perhaps Hollywood beckons?’ He directed the question at Frankie but the waitress turned around again.

  ‘Oh definitely. You should go into acting.’ She glanced at Frankie. ‘Sorry… I didn’t mean to sound like I was hitting on your boyfriend or anything. I was just settling a bet with my colleagues.’ She nodded at the bar where two men and a woman were staring at them.

  ‘It’s OK. He’s not—’

  ‘She doesn’t mind, do you?’ Jonas took Frankie’s hand and squeezed it. ‘We get this quite a lot.’

  ‘We do?’ Frankie watched his face.

  ‘Yes, angel.’ He raised her hand and kissed it.

  ‘Enjoy your coffees.’ The waitress smiled then scurried away.

  ‘Angel?’

  Jonas laughed. ‘I was just playing along. It was easier to let her think we’re together.’

  ‘It was?’

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  She shrugged, sensing there was more to this than Jonas was letting on but not wanting to go any deeper into it right now.

  ‘Have you ever tried a mince pie before?’

  He shook his head. ‘Freya has offered them but I don’t know… I never fancied one.’

  ‘Try it now. They’re delicious.’

  She watched as he dug his fork into the crumbly buttery shortcrust pastry then scooped some of the brandy butter up on the edge of the fork. The mince pie was gone in three bites.

  ‘You liked it then?’

  ‘Delicious.’

  ‘I’ve always enjoyed them. We used to have them at boarding school in December and it meant that I’d soon be heading home for the holidays. Every year I’d make a wish on the first one I ate.’

  ‘What did you wish for?’

  She sighed. ‘Can’t you guess?’

  ‘Uh… toys or expensive gifts? New shoes or a laptop? A horse?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, sad that Jonas seemed to think she might be that materialistic. But then, didn’t most children wish for the things he’d named at Christmas? ‘I wished that my mother would come home.’

  He held her gaze then, his eyes clear and kind. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. I understand because even though I had my mother and grandparents around, I used to wish that my father could come home too. But that was impossible because he died when I was very young.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s hard growing up without one of your parents.’ Frankie nodded, strangely comforted by knowing that another human being understood how she felt. Even though Jonas’s circumstances were different, he’d still lost a parent so he knew how that left an empty space.

  They drank their coffees then ordered more and Frankie began to relax. Jonas was so easy to be with and unlike when she’d been with her peers, she didn’t feel judged or as though she had to act a certain way to impress him. They chatted easily about London and Norway, what they felt was similar and different, and he talked about her mother and how kind she was to everyone she knew. Frankie was hungry to hear more about Freya, so she listened attentively as he told her about how Freya supported local charities and anyone she knew who was in need.

  The woman he spoke about was nothing like the woman her grandmother had described, and not for the first time Frankie questioned her grandmother’s motives in painting Freya the way she had done.

  *

  Jonas finished his second coffee then placed the cup in the saucer. He was having a great time with Frankie and found her company refreshing. There was more to her than an upper-class socialite from London’s aristocracy. She spoke very well, pronouncing words like a news reporter on the BBC, just as they’d tried to teach him and his classmates to do back in school, but on her it seemed natural. Cute even. He liked to listen to her and could have sat there and done so all day. He also liked looking at her, she was beaut
iful and every day she seemed to grow more beautiful, as though having Freya in her life was healing her from the inside out. Nothing could come of their acquaintance but he would enjoy being with her while he was in London.

  When Frankie excused herself to go to the toilet, he felt someone watching him. He looked up to find the waitress who’d served them their coffees and the other woman behind the bar gazing at him. He looked away quickly, not wanting to acknowledge their attention. What was it with them? He’d told them he wasn’t that famous actor and that he was with Frankie.

  He’d actually felt quite uncomfortable when the waitress had been questioning him, even though he’d tried to hide it behind laughter. He’d been mistaken for Chris Hemsworth in the past, and he did find it amusing, but he didn’t enjoy the attention that often came with it. Jonas didn’t want to pose for selfies with strangers, or to make polite conversation with the drunken female tourists who sometimes accosted him in his homeland; he was a private person with a small group of close friends and he didn’t want any fuss. So, even though he hadn’t said as much, the idea of being famous was one of the worst things he could imagine. Why anyone would want the media, hell, the whole world, watching their every move, he had no idea. He hadn’t really got into the whole social media thing and had a Facebook account but that was kept private and mainly used to stay in contact with fellow photographers, clients and friends. He never accepted friend requests from strangers, and the message requests he always denied often made him blush with their proclamations of love as well as the dirty things that the women and men who sent them told him they’d like to do to him. And all because they mistook him for a famous actor.

  He’d also laughed off the waitress’s questions because he didn’t want Frankie to think he was hostile or unfriendly. Laughing was one way he dealt with embarrassing situations. And, of course, telling the waitress he was with Frankie had two motives: he wanted the woman to go away, and he’d seen something flash across Frankie’s face when the waitress had interrupted them, something he thought might have been hurt or irritation. He didn’t know her well enough to read her properly. But it had been instinctive for him to say that she was his girlfriend. In fact, he had been quite proud to do so. Even though it had no roots in the truth…