The Day She Came Back

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘That’s true, you did, you did.’ Sarah wrapped her arm around his and rested her head briefly on his shoulder.

  Victoria wished at some level that the woman could be as relaxed with her as she was with him, convinced it would make the whole walking on the bridge thing a lot easier. Hello, pot . . . Her interior monologue reminded her that this was a reciprocal thing. She knew Oslo had made its mark on her, but spending time with Sarah and Jens, this is where she had learned the most. Her grandpa had died when she was nine and, having spent the last ten or so years living alone with Prim, she was unschooled in what it was like to live in a house with a couple, a younger couple at that. It was very different to having Gerald pop in for a cup of tea and a shortbread petticoat. It gave a whole other dynamic to family life, and it was a life far closer to the one she had always dreamed of, where a mum and dad took her to the park and they ate together around a table. The trouble was, her spikiness made it hard to relax, and she still half expected someone to tell her this vignette of family life was not hers to enjoy.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Jens asked as he drank his coffee. ‘You look thoughtful.’

  Victoria didn’t know where to begin and, without overly censoring her thoughts, she spoke with an honesty that did not come easily. ‘I was just thinking it’s been nice to spend time in Oslo, and especially with the two of you.’ Jens and Sarah beamed at each other, clearly liking the compliment. ‘But’ – Victoria looked towards the park and spoke her mind – ‘I guess I feel wary, a little bit scared that someone is going to come along and shout, “That’s it! Time up!” because I don’t feel this is real, it’s like . . . too much sometimes.’ She sighed. ‘I . . . I don’t want to be abandoned again. I think it would be harder now because I’m older, less gullible and I don’t have Prim to rely on.’ It was then that she looked at the two people sitting opposite her, and the look on Sarah’s face was one of horror.

  ‘I won’t . . . I couldn’t . . . I mean . . .’ Sarah shook her head, choking on her own sadness, and Jens put his coffee cup down and wriggled forward in the chair.

  ‘Ah, I think what Victoria might have meant to say was . . . that this is so much a dream come true it feels unbelievable? Is that right, Victoria?’ He looked at her imploringly.

  ‘Kind of.’ She again looked away, but not before seeing Jens reach his hand under the table and gather Sarah’s hand on to his lap. He had done this throughout the day, acted a little bit like an energetic interpreter, a buffer, whipping out a verbal scythe greased with humour and platitude as he hacked away the brambles of awkwardness that tended to wrap any extended conversations between her and Sarah. He had a knack for it, knowing when to intervene or fill a silence with informed chat and kindly words of encouragement.

  ‘We should . . . we should probably be getting back.’ Sarah stood, and she and Jens followed suit. The walk back was sedate. Sarah, Victoria suspected, like her, was lost in thought about the fact that it felt very much like they took one step forward, two steps back, but what was she supposed to do? Sarah wanted honest, open conversation.

  ‘Hey!’ Vidar called from his balcony as the trio arrived at their apartment block.

  ‘Hey, Vidar!’ Jens waved.

  ‘I am on my way down!’ Vidar shouted, and before they had time to get to the top of the stairs he met them in the hallway. He was breathing hard and had clearly rushed.

  ‘Hvordan går det?’ Vidar asked casually.

  ‘Bra takk.’ Jens smiled.

  ‘So you want to get a coffee?’ He turned to face her, addressing her so openly, so publicly, that Victoria felt she had no option other than to agree – not that she minded, not at all, and in truth, she guessed that Sarah and Jens might be in need of a break from the intensity of their day, as was she.

  ‘What, like, now?’ She tucked her hair behind her ears, aware of her end-of-day state and wishing she could at least drag a comb through her curls.

  ‘Why not?’ He smiled.

  ‘I’m not sure if . . .’ She looked to Sarah for guidance.

  ‘You go! Be back by six.’ Sarah touched her fingers together, her manner excited. ‘In fact, it’s good you’re going out. We’re preparing a bit of a surprise!’ She beamed.

  ‘All right then!’ Victoria turned on the stair to follow Vidar back out on to Acker Brygge.

  ‘So, I’m Vidar – Vee-dar,’ he enunciated.

  ‘Yes, and I’m Victoria – Vic-taw-ree-aaah,’ she offered, with only the smallest hint of sarcasm, holding his gaze, and they both smiled.

  ‘You want to get coffee and sit on the bench?’

  ‘Sure, bench-sitting sounds good.’ She fell into step beside him, liking his sweet nature and the silences between them that didn’t feel at all stilted or like she needed to fill them with idle banter. They walked to the food truck selling waffles and coffee further along the quayside and, each with a warm cup in their palms, made their way to the bench at the top of the stairs in front of the apartment block.

  ‘Sometimes I just like to sit on a bench and watch the world go by.’ He stretched out his long legs in front of him. ‘Your weekend has been good so far?’

  ‘Mm.’ She nodded, taking a mouthful of good, hot coffee. ‘How was your bike ride?’

  ‘Oh, good, yes. I was going to see my mom. She lives in Grünerløkka.’

  She nodded like she might know where this was.

  ‘I pop in on a Saturday morning and we have breakfast.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ She meant it, liking the ordinariness of his routine and the fact that he was happy to share it. It was interesting to her how other people spent time with their mothers.

  ‘If I don’t make it a regular appointment, time runs away with me, you know?’

  ‘I do.’ She thought of how time had slipped by since she had lost Prim; the day she’d found her in the chair felt simultaneously like days and months ago.

  ‘So you’ve had a good weekend?’

  She turned to face him on the bench, the pretence being to better consider his question, but in reality she wanted the chance to study him. His straight hair was naturally fair and his features strong. He smiled at her, as if taking the exact same opportunity to study her and her heart did a little rumba.

  ‘Yes, it’s been busy, you know, but good, cramming it all in.’

  ‘So what have you seen?’ He rested his elbows on his raised knees and she inhaled the vanilla scent of his aftershave.

  ‘Oh, the cathedral, the royal palace, the opera house, Vigeland Park and I think just about every café within a ten-mile radius.’

  He laughed, an easy, natural laugh, and she liked that he didn’t need to fill the air with an immediate response, happy to just be . . . it made her relax.

  ‘Did you get out to Ekebergparken?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘It’s the best. You can get a tram from right here or you can drive around, of course, but that’s not as much fun.’

  ‘Well, no, why would anyone choose car over tram?’

  ‘Exactly! Who would do that?’ He smiled. ‘It’s a beautiful park, there’s sculpture too, and good hiking – I have a favourite bench over there in the graveyard. It sounds weird, but it’s beautiful. Death doesn’t scare me. My dad died a couple of years ago.’

  ‘Mine died too,’ she whispered. ‘When I was a baby. And then my gran, quite recently.’

  ‘It sucks.’ He stared out across the fjord.

  ‘It does.’ She liked how he didn’t feel the need to give her advice or match her story or talk about feelings, just the simple statement of the truth, because yes, it did suck.

  ‘Ekeberg has the best view of Oslo. You know how you can only really appreciate something when you are looking back at it, the whole picture from above, and when you’re not in it.’ He made a downward motion with his hands and she thought of Prim, wondering if she was now able to look back from above with the whole view, and what she might now think of the choices she made. She thought of the l
etter she had read earlier that day. The words burned into her mind and were just as powerful now in reflection.

  If I could take your sadness from you and wear it like a cloak for eternity, I would.

  I only want for you to be happy, and I want this little baby to be happy. You are both my flesh and blood.

  That’s all you wanted, isn’t it, Prim? For us to be happy . . . for me to be safe . . .

  ‘Yes, Ekeberg is special, and the only way to see the city, in my opinion.’

  ‘I would like to see it.’

  ‘Well, I would like to take you there.’

  ‘Oh! Really?’ The unexpected invitation made her gut leap with joy.

  ‘Yes. If you are ever at a loose end in Oslo, just knock on my door. You know where I live, right?’

  ‘I do.’ She laughed, but it was a different laugh, a happy laugh, and not in the least bit doll-like and dumb.

  ‘Victoria!’ Jens yelled over the balcony, and she looked up. ‘Five minutes! Are you warm enough?’ he hollered, his hands either side of his mouth, as if she were much, much further away.

  She nodded and waved her hand over her head, embarrassed to have had her name broadcast loudly over Aker Brygge and even more embarrassed that Vidar seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.

  ‘Hang on!’ Jens called, and despite her avowal to the contrary, he dangled a mustard-coloured wool blanket over the edge of the balcony, which he dropped when the coast was clear, watching it crumple on the cobbles of the pavement. Vidar jumped up to retrieve it. Victoria was a little bit delighted that Jens cared enough about her welfare to drop the blanket, delighted that Vidar had fetched it for her and grateful to slip it over her legs, realising in that moment that the air had indeed turned a little chilly. Vidar sat down hard, capturing the corner of her blanket under his bottom, not that she mentioned this.

  ‘So, Vic-taw-ree-aaah,’ he enunciated, speaking neither in statement nor question, but rather as a forerunner of more words to follow, as if they were already familiar to each other and not the strangers that they were. ‘I was just going to say: Jens and Sarah are great people.’

  ‘Yes.’ She bit her lip, aware that this was straying into awkward territory and that this boy from across the hallway had probably spent more time with and exchanged more words with the woman who had given birth to her than she had. It was a sobering thought. ‘Yes, they do seem great.’

  ‘Oh, so you don’t know them that well?’ She saw his perplexed expression.

  ‘Well, I do and I don’t. It’s complicated.’ She looked out over the water. ‘But it’s been good. Oslo is such a great city. I’ve loved it. The parks, the sculpture – everything,’ she babbled, changing the subject to spare having to give the detail she felt unready to share.

  ‘It is.’ He smiled dryly and seemed to take the hint. ‘And where’s home for you?’

  ‘London. Well, I say London, because most people know that and not Surrey. But, Surrey. Home is Epsom in Surrey.’ She coughed, knowing she sounded about as flustered as she felt and hoping that her foreign tongue might have disguised it slightly.

  ‘Where the racecourse is? Home of the Epsom Derby!’

  ‘Yes. Have you been?’ She warmed to him even more, thinking there might be a link to her hometown.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘But I know that in 1913 it was where Emily Davison died for the cause of the suffragettes, isn’t that right? There’s still debate, I think, over whether she jumped in front of a horse or simply had a terrible accident trying to grab its reins. Either way, she was a martyr to her cause and will always be remembered for it.’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’ She felt a little embarrassed that he knew detail she was lacking. ‘I’m more of a maths fan than a history buff.’

  ‘And in England you are only allowed to pick one?’ He laughed.

  ‘So you like history?’ she deflected.

  ‘I do, and maths.’ He shifted in the seat and stretched out his legs once again. She pulled the freed blanket into her lap, liking his height and his easy manner.

  ‘Well, there we go. You are clearly a better scholar than me, or just smarter. You are certainly taller,’ she added, stretching out her own legs.

  ‘I am taller.’ He nodded. ‘But I haven’t been a scholar for a while. I graduated last year.’

  ‘In what?’ She was curious.

  ‘Maths, history and tallness.’

  She laughed loudly. He was smart. Smart and funny. She thought of Flynn, with a flash of indifference.

  ‘So, what do you do now with all that cleverness and height?’

  ‘I’m a web designer.’

  ‘For spiders?’ She matched his humour.

  ‘Yes. Mainly for spiders, but also for silkworms and then, in the off-season, I switch to cocoons – not as pretty, but the money is good.’

  ‘Nice.’ She smiled at him, not in the least bit awkward for holding his gaze and no longer concerned about the blush that spread from her cheeks to her chest. She pointed towards the balcony. ‘I am not supposed to know, but I have a terrible feeling they are planning a mini party, for my birthday.’

  ‘Ah, happy birthday! Gratulerer med dagen!’

  ‘Thank you, I think . . . but actually, it’s all a bit premature. It’s not my birthday for another couple of weeks, but obviously, I’ll be back in Surrey by then.’

  ‘Obviously.’ He smiled at her, and she liked the way his mouth curved over his teeth and his eyes lifted at the corners. ‘So, a party sounds good.’ He put his coffee cup on the floor and his hands under his arms. She tried to figure out whether he thought he might be invited, which he most definitely was not! The thought of having to navigate an evening with three strangers who all knew each other was, she figured, more than she could handle.

  ‘Oh, it’s not really a party, just the three of us and a piece of cake, I expect – not a party party. Although I did have a party: a big one, quite recently. I hadn’t planned on it, but it kind of happened and it all ended horribly.’ She closed her eyes and breathed quickly at the memory. ‘I had to call in a man with a gun and he threw everyone out and I had to leave the area for a bit. As I say, all horrible.’

  ‘Are you a gangster?’ he asked, his smile now a little more fixed.

  She laughed loudly. ‘A gangster? What? Oh! Oh, the gun thing, no.’ She tutted, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. ‘That was just Gerald with a pistol.’ She giggled. ‘To be honest, he’s more used to wielding secateurs. He looks after the orchids and tomato plants for me.’ This time, she was fully aware of her babbling and laughed at her giddiness.

  ‘You are different and interesting, Victoria,’ he surmised, and firecrackers of happiness exploded in her stomach.

  ‘Thank you.’ She meant it. ‘And so are you, Vidar. What does Vidar mean?’ She was curious.

  ‘Vidar was the son of Odin, a god.’

  ‘Wow! More of that history stuff.’

  ‘Technically it’s mythology, not history. And for the record, I wouldn’t want to come to your party, even if I was invited. Either the mini one with cake upstairs or the one with the pistol-toting Gerald.’

  ‘Well, good.’ She smiled, thinking of the mild-mannered septuagenarian and how he would like this moniker. ‘Because, technically, you weren’t invited.’

  Although I think pistol-toting Gerald might like you . . . Nothing little or turd-like about you at all.

  ‘I’m glad we have established that.’ Vidar nudged her with his elbow. ‘And don’t take it personally – I hate parties. I really hate parties; I would rather be over at Ekebergparken, walking and reading or just thinking.’

  ‘Or sitting on your graveyard bench,’ she cut in.

  ‘Yes, that too. I’m not really the party type. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ she whispered, ridiculously wishing that she had more time in Oslo.

  ‘Victoria! You can come back up now! Come on!’ Jens called again, louder this time, his to
ne almost urgent.

  She stood, leaving Vidar on the bench. ‘I guess I’ll see you.’ She cringed, not knowing how to end this exchange.

  ‘Yeah, I guess I’ll see you.’ He smiled at her and again her heart did its little rumba.

  Victoria climbed the stairs and smiled as the apartment door was flung open and Jens and Sarah stood side by side with matching grins. Sarah held a cake covered in lit candles and they were singing, badly and loudly:

  ‘Happy birthday to you . . .’

  Victoria threw her hands over her eyes in mock embarrassment, then suddenly, behind her cupped palms, she thought of all the years that this had been her wish, for her mum to be standing in front of her with a cake – it made her unbearably sad at all that she had missed, and through no fault of her own. She pictured her six-year-old self holding back tears as Prim wrapped her in a hug.

  ‘You can’t cry today, darling! Not on your birthday!’

  ‘I wish my mummy was here . . . I wish . . . I wish I could see her!’

  ‘I know, my love, I know . . . Shh . . . And I bet wherever she is, she wishes it too.’

  Oslo. Victoria thought. That was where she was. Not on a cloud somewhere, but Oslo.

  Jens put his hands on her back and guided her into the sitting room, where balloons littered the floor and couch and a ‘Happy Birthday’ banner had been strung across the pictures by the dining table. There was a bottle of champagne sitting in a nest of ice inside a silver bucket, smoked salmon on a platter and bowls of hummus, nuts, olives and other delightful snacks dotted around.

  ‘This is lovely, thank you.’ She meant it, but was unable to alter her subdued tone, finding the whole charade unbearably sad. She took a seat at the table, where Jens proceeded to pour three flutes of bubbles, oblivious.

  ‘You need to blow out your candles and make a wish!’ Sarah urged, holding the cake towards Victoria’s face.

  ‘I don’t know what to wish for.’ She closed her eyes briefly, before looking at the two people in front of her, both with expressions so eager, it felt a lot like pressure. Her tears bloomed and she felt the heat of embarrassment as Jens and Sarah stared at her. ‘I really don’t know what to wish for,’ she mused. ‘This is really hard for me. Every birthday since I was a child I would send my wishes and thoughts up to heaven, hoping you might get them and know that I was thinking about you and missing you. And so this feels . . .’ The words were not forthcoming. ‘This feels a bit odd. I’m sorry.’