Chapter 49
49
JANUARY 2019, TROMS?, NORWAY
‘Remember our party last year?’ says Grethe with a smile, sitting a bouncy Ahyana on her knee at the end table in the empty Hjornekafé, marvelling at her daughter.
Cecilie stands wistfully over them. Her strongest memory of last New Year was of Hector breaking her heart. For the first time. And a wash of sadness sprinkles over her like the snow in the dark daytime of the street outside. But she knows what Grethe is referring to.
‘Of course, you told me the stork was bringing this little miss,’ Cecilie says, bending down to stroke Ahyana’s creamy brown cheek.
‘Amazing, huh?’ Grethe’s long blonde hair is flattened under the bow of a colourful headscarf. She doesn’t take her eyes off Ahyana as she picks up her coffee cup.
‘Can’t believe it,’ says Cecilie, smiling. She’s so in love with her best friend’s baby. Some people feel distanced when a friend becomes a mother first; unable to understand the sleep deprivation, the jargon, or frustrated by the fact that friends can no longer finish a conversation, but Cecilie doesn’t mind. She’s so besotted with edible Ahyana, she doesn’t mind the chaotic conversations that bounce from one subject to the next. ‘Look at her, sitting up! Clever girl.’
‘Abdi’s coconut and cardamom is our bestseller now…’ says Grethe with a wry smile, referring to its debut last New Year’s Eve, as if they’d been talking about ice cream the whole time.
‘Do you want another coffee?’ asks Cecilie, looking around the empty cafe. ‘Or a hot chocolate? I’m going to make myself one.’
Cecilie walks back around the counter. It’s New Year’s Day. The library is closed and Henrik is visiting his family over the border in Kiruna, so Cecilie was happy to work, to take her mind off the noise in her head.
‘Not sure why my mother told you to open up,’ says Grethe as Ahyana starts to fidget on her lap.
Cecilie takes the biggest cup she can find.
‘It might get busy later. I saw loads of lights chasers heading out last night. They’ll wake up soon. They better had or you and I are eating cloudberry cake all afternoon! Did you want one?’ Cecilie lifts a cup, gesturing to Grethe.
‘Ooh, yes please, I’d better have a hot chocolate. Milk milk milk, help production for this little Milkychops, huh?’ Grethe coos and Ahyana fidgets some more. ‘Actually, I’d better feed her,’ she says, lifting Ahyana up under her cheesecloth top. Grethe finds a comfortable position and leans back. A few minutes’ peace. ‘So, how are you doing?’ she asks candidly.
‘How do you mean?’
‘I know Christmas has been rough for you.’
‘It wasn’t rough. It was fine. Uncle Hakon and Aunt Tove were here. They’re always a laugh – I think Svalbard turned them crazy.’
‘Oh yes, I remember them… ’
‘And Morten was the best sous-chef and always kept everyone’s glasses topped up.’
‘Of course…’
Cecilie wonders why Grethe is looking at her expectantly, but she keeps talking all the same.
‘And Espen was his usual self – always had one eye on the i-Scand even though it was his day off. And Mamma, well you know Mamma…’
‘Well, that’s great, but I didn’t mean Karin or Aunt Tove. Or Morten. Or Espen. I meant how are you? What’s going on with The Mexican?’
‘Oh.’
Cecilie puts a metal jug to the stainless-steel spout and turns cold milk into comforting warm foam. She inhales the sweet scent to galvanise herself.
‘What’s going on?’ asks Grethe as she repositions and reattaches Ahyana. ‘You said he was leaving his wife.’
‘ He said he was leaving his wife. But then he didn’t. So I blocked him. And then unblocked him. Oh, it’s all a mess, Grethe.’ Cecilie pours the milk into syrupy chocolate sitting at the bottom of two large mismatched teacups. Grethe’s blue eyes look sad.
‘Oh no! But is it all doomed? Can you salvage it? He must have had the intention of leaving her. Maybe something happened?’
Cecilie seems conflicted, like she’s holding something back. She thinks of the message Hector sent her this morning, pleading her to meet him under the Eiffel Tower, saying he’ll wait for her forever, and decides to confess.
‘He’s flying to Paris. He wants to meet me.’
‘Wow! He’s coming to see you?’
‘I don’t know about that. He might be going to Spain. His wife is Spanish. I don’t even know whether he left her or not. Paris could be en route to Madrid… I think he’s a man of grand gestures but not much else.’
‘Did you ask what happened with the wife?’
Cecilie carries the tray from behind the bar to the table at the end of the empty cafe and sits on the wooden chair facing her friend.
‘Look at me, Grethe! I’m thirty. I’ve spent more than five years wasting my time on him. Look at how your life has progressed. I can’t drag my heels waiting for something that isn’t going to happen. Not any more.’
‘But aren’t I the poster girl for overcoming those hurdles? Look at Abdi! He’s a refugee. “Too brown” for our country. “Probably a criminal in his homeland.” Remember my mum’s reaction?’
Cecilie remembers. And laughs. Grethe’s mother Mette is not as progressive as Karin. When she first met Abdi, she inspected his faraway face as if he were an alien. For the first time in weeks, a beautiful burst of laughter lights up Cecilie’s face.
‘Abdi crossed continents to make a life here, with me, despite the hurdles we had to jump. It can work. And look at the fruits of it!’ she says, patting her feeding baby on her swaddled bottom. ‘The Mexican – Hector – is coming to Europe and he wants to meet you?’
‘Yes. Tomorrow. Apparently. It could be bullshit.’
‘It could be amazing, Cecilie. Go to Paris. Meet him.’
Cecilie feels hot and terrified at the prospect of an impromptu trip to another country. She’s spent thirty contented years in Norway; her imagination has always provided her with escapades and adventures. The thought of going on one in real life makes her freeze at the table and her eyes glaze over.
‘Cecilie? Cecilie? ’
The bell above the door rings as a tourist couple enter, bringing Cecilie back into the room. Grethe feels relieved.
‘At least meet him, so you can look into his eyes. Touch him. Hear him out.’
The thin fair hairs on Cecilie’s arms stand on end.
Cecilie nods, then takes a big sip from her cup of hot chocolate and rolls down her sleeves.
‘But if he’s coming tomorrow, you must hurry – you have to get a connection in Oslo. You’d need to move fast.’
Cecilie stands slowly and looks at the couple at the door. ‘Table for two?’