48 #2
Anders lowers himself into the armchair as though his knees have failed him. ‘Past forty, a man should be settled enough to think about the years ahead – surrounded by those he loves and who love him, doing things that make his life complete.’
The sentiment takes over the space with a weight no one tries to lift.
He sighs. ‘But Jakob never had that,’ Anders continues quietly.
‘Some men—’ He taps Olle’s shoulder as his son drags a chair up to sit beside him.
‘Grow into life. He had to fight for it. One lets a man become soft where he should be soft, the other teaches him to raise his guard in every gentle place. We can’t be surprised he does not know how to hold love without first mistaking it for something hidden, guarded or taken. ’
‘You are not at fault for what he chose to do.’ Sunna takes over as she glances at me. The room softens at the sound of her voice. ‘Nor for what you came to feel afterwards. In truth, we are his family. We should have done better.’
‘Done what better?’ Inga complains.
‘Every man must follow his own path,’ Anders says.
‘Excuse me,’ I interrupt, rubbing the spot at my temple that’s begun to ache. ‘That is all very deep. And true,’ I admit. My eyes lock with Anders’. ‘That doesn’t change the fact that if you’d given me the letter in time, Elias might still be here.’
‘He would not,’ Anders argues.
‘You shouldn’t have even taken the letter from him!’ Inga snaps to her feet. ‘You shouldn’t have agreed to be a part of his self-destruction at all!’
‘He told me to wait seven days,’ Anders rumbles with a stern frown. ‘He wanted enough time that you could not follow.’
The dog recoils but remains by my side. I reach for Brute’s fur to steady myself.
My heart stutters.
Seven days.
Then the number rearranges itself and a small mercy sprouts: it may not be too late.
‘So why give it to me after three?’
Anders lowers his head. Beside me, Inga’s fingers curl until her entire body is positively vibrating.
‘Because you knew it wasn’t right for him to go back there,’ I answer in his stead.
He meets my eyes.
‘Right.’ I stand with newfound urgency. ‘I ask you kindly to mind the animals while I’m gone if you’re able to. I am going to England to bring my man back.’
Inga makes two sudden steps towards a chest of drawers and picks up her handbag.
‘I’m going to Oslo to get my passport. I’ll meet you at the airport,’ she growls.
My mouth parts.
When the room doesn’t move for a long time, her head snaps towards her brothers. ‘You’re still sat? Get your documents! Pack your bags!’
The brothers scatter as though an avalanche has just broken loose. Anders gets to his feet, glancing at Sunna, whose face has seemingly aged by at least ten years. I watch them speak soundlessly with their eyes until she lowers hers and he touches her cheek softly.
‘Markus,’ he calls then. His youngest son stops dead in his tracks as he watches his father firing off something in Norwegian. I catch fragments, but enough to know he’s telling him something about animals. And then it registers: Jakob and Leah’s place.
My heart constricts at that.
I hope it still is.
Ours.
Within minutes, plans have become tickets, packed bags and a frantic route to Oslo.
Half an hour later, Sindre has included himself in the plan.
Back in my truck, with one hand on the steering wheel, the other in my pocket gripping the ring, I swallow hard at the next thought.
Because it’s simpler than every truth I’ve dragged out of these people today. Truer than the heat on my skin and the memory of snow on my knees.
I love that man.
And I’m bringing him home.
The following morning, I have two large Norwegians behind me, one furious blonde Valkyrie in front of me – who has not released her scowl since Rypevik – and Sindre looking far too pleased with himself because he has somehow found a freight agent willing to put Brute on the same Heathrow flight as manifest cargo.
I don’t ask how he managed that. I don’t ask how he found five seats on the same flight at such short notice, either. I suspect the answer might involve charm, paperwork, blackmail, or all three wearing a wry, pierced smile.
Having him this close still makes my skin crawl, but there is also a shamefully warm corner of me that is glad he is on my side.
I’m not entirely sure Elias is aware how many people love him.
We settle into the seats, the engines beginning their low growl beneath my feet.
I turn my face to the window and observe as Oslo blurs beyond the glass.
Suddenly, I am back at another airport, another plane, another version of myself being carried towards a life I had not chosen. The camera strap creaks beneath my grip without me realising my fist has tensed around it.
Elias had sat beside me then, stillness and threat in one, making the world narrow around his hand and his will.
This time, his seat is empty, but the fear still bears his name. Only now it has changed into something far more dire.
As the plane ascends, I glance to my right at Inga, who meets my eyes and gives a tired exhale. No words pass between us.
She will need time to come to terms with everything. So will I.
So I settle my nape against the seat and squeeze the camera strap once more as Norway begins to fall away, carrying all our rage towards England.