Chapter 33
33
Cecilie’s sore soles teeter across the footpath of the bridge. A cold wind whips down the strait and dishevels the clean lines of her hair some more.
‘You should have let me call a taxi, honey,’ says Andreas as he places a suit jacket over Cecilie’s shoulders. She’s already wearing her long thick down coat and thinks to herself that his jacket won’t make any difference.
‘I wanted to walk,’ she says irritably.
Cecilie is thirty years and six hours old, and although the dawn sky is still dark, she can almost hear the sun starting to wake up behind the mountain in front of her.
The party was everything Espen expected it to be and a million times better than Cecilie had thought. She wasn’t up for a big song and dance, but boy, did she dance. She drank more Double Wiigs than she should have, but managed to hold it together by replenishing herself at the buffet and shake it off to Taylor Swift, Gwen Stefani and A-ha.
Karin made a polished yet touching speech before her driver whisked her off to catch a flight to Helsinki; Grethe and Ahyana managed to stay for a good few hours, and as Abdi set sail on the Hurtigruten at midnight, he made sure the captain tooted his horn right by the window of the i-Scand function room.
At 2a.m., the Northern Lights put on a stunning celestial show, for which Espen bowed and took the credit. It was 6a.m. when Espen and Morten stumbled home to their apartment above Nils’ salon in town and waved Cecilie and Andreas off onto the bridge, towards the peaceful house at the foot of Mount Storsteinen.
Cecilie tried to get Espen and Morten to join her and Andreas for a nachspiel , to prolong the night so she could put off the inevitable. She even offered to serve bacon and eggs on her home-made rye bread, toasted into little triangles the way Espen likes best, but it was all to no avail.
Now her feet are sore and her limbs are tired. And she still doesn’t know how to say it.
‘Want me to give you a piggyback?’ Andreas smiles blearily, his tie undone around his neck.
‘No, Andreas, it’s fine, I can walk.’ Besides, Andreas isn’t much taller than Cecilie, who is pretty solid on her feet.
‘You’re practically hobbling. Come on, I’ll carry you. The quicker we get over this bridge, the quicker I get the birthday girl to bed.’
Andreas leans down to lift Cecilie from under her bottom and sling her over his shoulder.
Resistant and heavy, Cecilie protests. ‘No, Andreas, put me down.’
Andreas continues, lifting Cecilie higher over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift. ‘Ah, come on!’
‘I said NO!’ Cecilie hammers her fists on Andreas’s back like a Nutcracker drummer.
Andreas stumbles in surprise towards the edge of the bridge as Cecilie balances perilously close to the top of the railings that were raised to prevent suicides; too late for her family. The wind makes Cecilie’s long coat flap frantically like the flag at the cafe on the top of the Fjellheisen. A feeling of fear envelopes Cecilie, like she’s choking under the ripping tug of synthetic fibres.
‘ Put me down! ’
Teetering on Andreas’s shoulder at the very edge of the bridge, Cecilie doesn’t know that she is at the exact spot her father jumped.
Andreas is taken aback. He lowers Cecilie and gently places her on the ground, then straightens out her coat. He puts his hands on her shoulders and lowers his head a little so he can look her in the eye.
‘I’m sorry, I was just trying to be funny. I was only trying to help.’
‘Well, it wasn’t funny and I don’t want your help, OK?’ The Arctic wind fills Cecilie’s lungs with a chilly hit of boldness. ‘I don’t want to go to Copenhagen with you and I don’t want to meet your kids.’
Andreas looks winded.
‘I’m sorry.’ Cecilie’s lips wobble as she tries not to cry. Andreas removes his hands from Cecilie’s shoulders and looks down at his feet in dejection. ‘I really am.’ The horn of a ship passing under the bridge accentuates his silence, which in turn agitates Cecilie. ‘Why do you even want to be with me?’ she snaps. ‘I’m a barmaid. I’m a waitress. I’m a librarian. I still live in my mamma’s house. I’m like a bored teenage girl. Who’s in love with someone she’s never met. Look at me! I’m ridiculous.’
The green eyeshadow and black mascara tearing down her cheeks do make Cecilie look somewhat ridiculous.
‘You’re beautiful, Cecilie. I don’t care what you do. Fish oil doesn’t make me me . I think you’re amazing. You’re the highlight of my working week. I can’t wait to see you.’
Cecilie thinks of the highlight of her day. The messages.
The conversations. The photos. The stolen moments.
‘Did you not hear me?’ she pleads, wiping make-up from under her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m in love with someone else.’
Andreas nods. ‘Is it the person you’re always texting?’ Cecilie’s silence confirms it.
‘I thought he was just a pen pal. Someone you’ll never meet.’
‘I won’t ever meet him.’
Her heart lurches in her chest.
‘Then come to Copenhagen. I’m here. I’m real. I’m in love with you.’
Cecilie bites her lip. She had felt it coming and wanted to get out before he said it. Planning the party had been a convenient distraction.
‘I’m sorry, Andreas, you deserve better. I’m not for you. I’m just the first girl you fell for since Iben. You need time to heal.’
‘That’s bullshit. I’m in love with you.’
‘Oh, Andreas,’ she groans. ‘You deserve to be with someone who loves you back. Someone who would appreciate your exciting life, your children, your kindness. Don’t waste any more time on me.’
The phone deep in the pocket of Cecilie’s long down coat beeps and she instinctively pulls it out so she can read it. She counts back seven hours.
Can you talk?
Iridescent eyes sparkle. ‘Is that him?’
Cecilie nods guiltily, then plants a kiss on Andreas’s lips. She really did enjoy spending time with him; talking to him; making love to him in his hotel room, even if she was trying not to think of Hector. So she tenderly savours the taste of him.
He closes his eyes and inhales, wishing it weren’t the last. ‘Go back to the i-Scand, Andreas. Get some sleep. I’ll make it over the bridge OK.’
Cecilie picks his suit jacket up from the floor and hands it back. ‘I’m sorry…’
‘I’ll see you home.’
‘Don’t, it’s fine. The sun’s coming up. The mountain will look after me.’
Cecilie strokes Andreas on the cheek, belts up her coat, removes her heels and runs barefoot the rest of the way across the bridge. Through biting wind and freezing temperatures. Run, run, running, past the Arctic cathedral, along the road towards the Fjellheisen and left on the track to the grand slate and wood house lit by Mount Storsteinen’s snowy peak. As Cecilie leans on the lattice-trimmed veranda to catch her breath, her feet numb, she types back furiously.
FaceTime. Five minutes.