by Karen Swan
The truth about Lenny’s actions seemed to have acted as a plaster for him, sticking the two of them back together again; for what Lenny had done, he had done to them both – they had each been exploited and manipulated by him and that must have changed everything, surely, having him at the beating heart of their lives? He had sucked away their intimacy, their joy; they would have been okay were it not for him. Zac was already blaming himself for having not listened to her concerns, for bringing him into the fold, even though blame didn’t help anyone now. What was done was passed; didn’t they owe it to themselves to at least try again, he kept asking. Forget the proposal, the weight of history was on their side; they had shared so much together. They could again be what they had been once before. Couldn’t they?
Bo didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t think. She could only keep moving. That was what she always did – put distance between herself and trauma; it was distraction, perpetual motion. All she knew was she had to get away from Lenny once and for all. She had to leave here and go somewhere where he could never find her again. For three years she had been caught in a net and not even known it, thrashing without understanding why, her instincts vibrating, trying to tell her that something was wrong, but at too high a frequency to hear.
Escaping, travelling . . . it was all one and the same to her, it was what she knew, her path to safety. It had worked for her after Jamie died and it would work now. She was free again but there was no joy in it. She couldn’t exult in the way Zac did because for her, somehow, this freedom always came at a cost: she had to lose someone close first, someone vital.
She closed her eyes, reliving the last moment with Anders, his face in profile, their final words mere formalities. Takk. The sheer inadequacy of it made her wince. But that goodbye had been as fake as Zac’s proposal. The real farewell had happened earlier, out of sight. He had followed her after she’d given him and his grandmother their wrapped gifts, finding her by the log shed as she had gone to bring in a new load, ready for the next incumbents in the spring; and in those long, silent moments before their final desperate kiss, they had just stood looking at each other, knowing that words couldn’t explain or save or change things. It was an impossible equation: he couldn’t leave and she couldn’t stay. He had to look after Signy and she had to shake Lenny off her tail once and for all. It was a cosmic push–pull they couldn’t resolve and so she had left him standing by the logs, a requiem playing through his eyes even as her body still sang to his touch.
She looked down blankly at the card she was holding: a clutch of heart-shaped balloons floating from the collar of a puppy. She opened it. Jeg elsker deg was written inside.
Jeg elsker . . . ?
An announcement came over the tannoy. ‘This is the final call for Flight 803 to Oslo.’
‘Bo!’
She looked over and saw Zac standing by the gate, their tickets in his hands, their bags by his feet. He caught her eye and waved her over. Happy. Excited.
She replaced the card in the display and walked back over, but her throat had closed, blood rushing to her head, emotions pushing against her temples, trying to get out.
‘It’s all clear,’ he said as she reached him. ‘I’ve walked the hall three times already. Even checked the toilets. He’s not here,’ he said with an easy shrug.
‘Right.’
Zac shot her a funny look. ‘You okay?’
‘Of course.’
‘Sure? You look upset.’
She shook her head and he wrapped an arm around her. ‘Stop worrying, it’s all over now baby,’ he murmured, kissing her forehead. ‘You’ll see.’ He handed their tickets to the attendant.
They stood in silence for a moment as the woman tapped keys and read the computer screen. Bo felt she was only being kept upright by Zac’s arm around her. Was it just her or was it incredibly hot in here?
‘Ah, I see here you’ve been upgraded,’ the woman smiled.
‘Yes, result!’ Zac laughed, giving a little air fist punch. ‘Hear that, baby?’
Bo nodded but she wasn’t really hearing him. Them. Her head was filled with other voices, other words.
‘Speak to my colleague as you board and she’ll take you to your seats,’ the woman said, handing back their boarding cards.
Zac picked up their bags and moved to go. ‘Bo? You good?’
She looked up at him, feeling her heart beginning to jackhammer against her ribs. ‘Jeg elsker deg,’ she said.
‘Huh?’ he said, looking back at her blankly. But she couldn’t say it again, she simply looked back at him, willing him to know, to tell her, to confirm. She needed someone to say it.
The attendant leaned forward slightly and stage-whispered into the silence: ‘She said, “I love you”.’
‘Aww, I love you too baby,’ Zac grinned as he looked down at her, reaching for her hand. ‘Now, let’s do this!’
She watched as the disembarking passengers walked past on the other side of the glass, their faces shining with contained excitement. It was nine o’clock on Christmas Eve and they had made it home for the holidays – a feat she hadn’t yet managed. She had been waiting on standby for several hours now. Zac’s flight had left two hours earlier and she had seen three other Oslo flights, all full, take off without her. But they had confirmed a seat for her on this one. The last flight. She had been lucky: it would connect to a London flight that would arrive just before midnight, and although she had managed to book a car online, it would be too late to drive, so she had also booked to stay at an airport hotel for the night and would leave at first light tomorrow. It was a convoluted, expensive and exhausting plan but she had made it work, just.
She looked outside, watching as the plane was de-iced. It was a clear night, although the stars were hidden from view by the runway lights. But she only had to close her eyes to see the Gerainger sky – it felt pressed into her soul.
She wondered what Anders and Signy were doing right now. Well, Signy was probably sleeping, but Anders . . . she thought of him in the cabin; she knew he was staying up there for Christmas. She remembered their last moment again – their dummy goodbye painfully real—
The whine of the tannoy made her look up and she saw a member of the crew lean in to the microphone. They were ready to begin boarding. She picked up her rucksack and joined the queue. It was time to go home.
Christmas Day 2018
She stood at the door, willing herself to knock. Her heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it was going to jump clean out of her chest, but even though she had been over and over the words, reciting what she would say when the door was opened, her mind was blank, her body frozen. It was still so early that the sliver moon was hanging in the dark-tinted sky like a dainty earring, but she hadn’t been able to wait another minute more, not for daylight, not for anything.
With a deep breath, she knocked on the door twice and waited. But there was nothing. No sounds from inside. She pulled the zip higher on her yellow jacket and knocked again, stamping her feet as she stood on the spot, her muscles tensing and relaxing with nerves and the cold.
And then she heard it, the sound of footsteps, slow and reluctant at this early hour. The door opened and she looked into the lined, loving face of the woman who knew her best.
She nodded as she looked back at Bo, her eyes shining, delight on her lips. ‘I knew you would come.’
Bo picked her way across the ground, a light crackling sound reaching her ear intermittently, the smell of smoke twisting through the trees. The first flickers of brightness were reaching up from the horizon with the promise of a fiery dawn, but it was still hard-going in the crepuscular light. She moved slowly through the trees, ducking past the low branches, following the faint sizzling and snapping sounds that grew as she advanced until she came to a clearing where the trees parted in a semicircle, facing out to the water.
He was sitting on a log, elbows propped on his knees, a tin cup in his hands, a small fire dancing in front of him. He turned
, rising in silence at the sight of her. She stepped forward, all her words deserting her too as he came over, disbelief written across his face as though she might be an apparition. ‘You’ve come back.’ It was a statement rather than a question, as though he was trying to convince himself.
‘Yes. I got a taxi back from the airport last night.’
‘Last night?’ He looked concerned. ‘So then where did you sleep?’ Always so practical.
She bit her lip, feeling a smile creep into her eyes. ‘At yours, before kayaking up the fjord this morning.’
‘You broke into my house?’ Anders looked bemused.
‘Well I do know where you keep your keys.’ She shrugged, her eyes greedy with the sight of him. Had it really only been a day?
His eyes narrowed with concern again. ‘It would have been dark on the water. That climb up.’
‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve become rather good at facing my fears lately,’ she said, making light of the terror she had felt as she’d tied the kayak to the rail, balancing desperately over the black water.
He blinked at the reference to Lenny, remembering how they had left things yesterday. ‘I asked about in town when I returned last night. He didn’t come back here. No one’s seen him. He’s gone.’
She felt her body deflate with relief. It was official then? She was off the grid? ‘Thank god.’
His mouth flattened a little, his eyes never leaving her. ‘And Zac? Where’s he?’
‘Also gone.’ She swallowed. ‘He should be landing in George Town right about now.’
‘So then . . . ?’ His reserve held, not daring to hope.
‘I made him go without me. I told him it was over between us.’
‘Because of Anna.’
She nodded. ‘And Lenny. And Jamie.’
He frowned. ‘Who’s Jamie?’
She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to cry. ‘My beautiful big brother. Who died four years ago.’ She could only say the words in bite-size chunks. Having to swallow down the gulps that always followed them. ‘In my arms. And was the reason I left home. And never looked back.’
‘Bo.’ Sadness suffused the word, blowing through it with love. He went to step closer but she put up a hand to stop him. For once, this wasn’t about Jamie; his death had set her on the road but that wasn’t why she was here.
‘But the main reason I left Zac was because of you. Because I knew I couldn’t live pretending I hadn’t met you, or that you hadn’t changed everything. And even if things could have somehow gone back to how they were before, I didn’t want them to.’ She realized she was trembling. ‘Jeg elsker deg. Too.’ She gave a shy, uncertain laugh but a little sob escaped with it. She felt racked with emotions.
He came up to her then, kissing her with all the same desperation of their kiss the day before in the log store, when time had been running out and the world was against them – even when he loved her and she loved him.
‘I didn’t think I would ever see you again,’ he said, his true-blue eyes boring into the very soul of her.
‘Me neither. It all felt so impossible.’
He kissed her again, staring down at her as though she was a fantastical creature of his imagination. He didn’t look like he’d slept. ‘Not to my grandmother. She said you would come back. She was certain of it.’
Bo gave a low laugh. ‘She did look very unsurprised when she opened the door to me just now. What made her so certain, do you think?’
He gave her one of his wry looks. ‘Don’t ask me. She kept saying something about Destiny.’
Bo thought about it for a moment. ‘Let Destiny happen’, she had urged. ‘Mmm, well maybe it was.’
‘Not you too.’
‘Well coming back here wasn’t my original plan.’
‘Thanks very much.’
‘No I mean . . . when I ended things with Zac, I had intended to go home. I felt that was the right thing to do. I rebooked my flight and waited for hours at the airport. I really need to see my parents and spend some time with them. We’ve got a lot to talk about, things we’ve been avoiding for too long.’ She looked away sadly. ‘It would have been so perfect as well – turning up on their doorstep this morning, Christmas Day. The perfect reunion.’
‘So what happened?’
She looked up at him with a cocked eyebrow. ‘My flight was cancelled due to heavy snow in London – which will mean two or three centimetres.’
He chuckled, the sound reverberating through her.
‘But that’s enough to bring everything to a standstill over there.’
‘You could ring them, explain what happened.’
‘I already did. I’ve booked to fly back the day after tomorrow and we’re going to have a Loxely family Christmas then.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I’ve been away four years. What’s another three days?’
‘So then that’s all I’ve got you for? Today and tomorrow?’ His eyes searched hers.
She reached up and kissed him, pressing her hand to his stubbled cheek, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, loving him. ‘I’ll spend a few weeks with Mum and Dad, we all need it. But then I’ll come back home.’
‘Home? . . . You mean here?’
‘Yes.’ She pressed her hand to his heart. ‘Here. My home is wherever you are.’
He squeezed her hand in his, looking at her intently. ‘I have to stay here. For my grandmother.’
‘I know.’
‘But do you know how small life is here? It’s not what you’re used to. It’s not exciting or glamorous.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. This –’ she lifted her chin to indicate the vast view – ‘is the biggest life.’ And in that moment she caught sight of the sky and gasped – for there, above their very heads, it had begun to ripple and flicker, waving diaphanous pink and green banners like rhythmic ribbons. Like the mountains and the fjords that had stirred her soul on that first day here just a few weeks ago, so now the sky danced for her dressed in its finest robes. Her hands fluttered to her cheeks as she watched. The Aurora had come at last, Lenny’s big dream arriving several hours too late – perfectly timed. It was too beautiful to capture in a photograph anyway; the heart would remember what the eye could not.
She turned back to him, the colours of the sky reflected in her eyes, the love for this place settling in her like rocks coming to a stop after the mountain fell. ‘Who has had a richer life than mine?’ Signy had asked.
‘This is the richest life I could ever have,’ Bo said.
Something in Anders seemed to unblock at that; an inner release valve letting him go. ‘Then I will give you something I should have given to you weeks ago.’
‘What is it?’ she asked, a tentative smile on her lips.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out, turning over his hand. In his palm was a small marzipan pig.
She looked up at him with wide eyes, unable to speak for a moment. ‘I really get a marzipan pig?’ she finally asked in a half-whisper. It was the question she had asked the night of the party.
‘Along with a husband, yes,’ Anders replied, repeating his words too, but without irony now; his voice was thick with emotion. ‘Harald gave it to me that night but I didn’t dare show it to you.’
Her eyes flicked up to him. ‘In case it made me stay?’
‘In case it made you run.’
‘You should be so lucky,’ she murmured, stepping into his arms again and reaching for another kiss. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Epilogue
Geraingerfjord, 22 August 1939
She climbed the path, feeling the unremitting sun on her face and the sea breeze at her back. The going was treacherous, the drop sheer in several places, but her bag was light and her body remembered what it was to climb in these mountains. It had stayed within her like a low-burning candle, never quite burning out.
With her breath coming hard, she stepped from the trees and stood on the ridge, looking up at the buildings. They we
re handsome and robust – two cabins and a stabbur, with long-stemmed wild flowers nodding on the roofs, a cow tethered to a tree and nosing the grass. The land was not quite level but for a shelf farm, on a ridge like this, it was flat enough and they were lucky to have the space they did. She calculated there was a couple of acres in all, enough room to plant some raspberry bushes, a small orchard . . .
The hayricks were already laden, the grassy bleached manes rustling in the breeze, and she heard a shriek come from behind them, a playful sound that made her turn. She walked over, setting down her bag as she reached them and peered around. A little girl in a white smock and red boots was sitting between two rows, playing with a toy as her father tossed the grass from a barrow onto the wires. His shirt lay on the ground, discarded in the heat. Sweat beaded his berry-brown back, his blonde hair uncombed and wild as he pitched and tossed.
She smiled at the sight of him. He hadn’t changed a bit.
‘Hei!’
The little girl’s excited greeting made them both start, Nils turning around quickly, his mouth opening in surprise to find her there.
‘Signy?’
She smiled, raising a hand in a shy wave.
He threw down the pitchfork and walked over, making no disguise of his scrutiny as he stopped in front of her, looking her up and down, and then up again. ‘My God, you’ve changed.’
‘Have I?’
He walked around her in a slow circle. ‘Yes . . . y-your hair, your clothes . . .’ He came back to face her again, looking at her searchingly as though trying to overwrite the vision of her in his memories with this new version before him. ‘You’re a real city girl now.’
‘No,’ she said simply.
He looked at her, their eyes meeting properly for the first time, and she felt what she always had: in spite of school and her typing job, her nylons and brassiere, nothing had changed for her. She was as constant as these mountains, and as strong.
