Chapter 12
The lodge bar was packed. A crowd of people were dancing in front of a stage, where a guy was strumming a guitar and howling into the mic. A group of men suddenly cheered and hooted, thrusting their beers to the ceiling.
Maggie was feeling pleasingly light-headed from the champagne. She didn’t drink much at home—it never felt quite right opening a bottle of wine for one while Phoebe was sleeping. That’s where the cookies came in.
The man from the reception desk, Leif, was threading his way through the room, T-shirt flattened to the muscles of his chest, a beer bottle in his grasp. As he neared their table, he looked up, smiling. “Having a good night?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” Liz said, grinning, her features softened by the wine. She signaled to an empty chair. “Join us?”
The spindles strained beneath his frame as he lowered himself down, folding his legs beneath his seat.
He sat forward, a thick forearm resting on the table.
Maggie couldn’t stop looking at the ridges of muscles in Leif’s arms, the prominent veins, the neatly cut nails and strong fingers.
A climber’s arms. Alcohol wasn’t the only thing she was missing in the evenings.
“This is Joni,” Liz said. “And this is Leif.”
Joni smiled, lips parting over straight white teeth. “Good to meet you.”
A sunburst of lines appeared around his eyes as he smiled. “You’re the singer in Horse Fly!” He uncurled his fingers from his beer, wiped them against his T-shirt, then reached across to shake her hand.
She shook it, smiling easily.
“Joni surprised us!” Maggie beamed. “The four of us holiday together every year—but we didn’t think Joni would make this one.”
“Every year?” Leif asked.
“Since we were eighteen,” Joni said proudly.
“Although the trips usually involve a pool and cocktails,” Helena added.
“How long have you known each other?” Leif asked.
Maggie leaned across the table to refill their glasses. “Forever,” she said, catching the edge of a slur in her voice. “These are my best people.”
“We met at secondary school,” Helena said. “Maggie and I used to bus in from the wrong end of town.”
Their school covered a large catchment area, from the council-owned houses where she and Helena lived to the leafy village where Joni and Liz grew up in detached houses with pretty gardens.
“Wrong or right end, it didn’t matter,” said Liz, who was leaning back in her chair. “We were all in the same tutor group. Four to a bench. It was love at first sight.”
Leif smiled. “You’ve stayed close all this time.”
“We’re family,” Joni said, putting her arms around Liz and Maggie, who were sitting on either side of her.
Liz said, “Remember that school residential trip when they put us in separate rooms? We snuck out with our sleeping bags and slept in the boat shed so we could be together!”
“Which would’ve been fine,” Helena said, “except Joni decided to take out a rowing boat so we could stargaze—and one of the security guards spotted us.”
“Always leading us astray,” Liz said, grinning at Joni. “Remember when you dared us to nick a DVD from Blockbuster, and that kid on the counter chased us down the street?”
“Or the time you organized a rave in the quarry,” Maggie said, “and it got shut down and we were delivered home by the police!” It had been worth the monthlong grounding just to dance in that echoing quarry, music thumping through her whole body.
There was something about Joni that always made Maggie feel excited by life.
When she and Aidan had married, Joni had given them a wedding gift for their home, but she’d also bought something separate—Just for you, she’d whispered, pressing it into Maggie’s hands.
Maggie had opened the beautifully wrapped package alone and discovered a set of stunning paintbrushes and acrylics, with a note reading, Stay you.
Always create. A flush of shame traveled through her insides as she pictured the paints, still unused, tucked at the back of her wardrobe, ready for the right time.
She pushed the thought aside. Tonight wasn’t about regrets.
“You have a lot of history,” Leif said, smiling.
Maggie liked seeing their friendship through Leif’s eyes, as something golden and easy. The four of them had traveled through career highs and lows, failed romances, the arrival of children, the loss of parents—and been there for each other throughout it all.
Their annual holiday was more than just a quick blast of sunshine or fresh air. It meant everything to Maggie. When the four of them were together, she was reminded that her younger self was still there, glimmering beneath the responsibilities of adulthood, polished fresh by her friends’ company.
“Have you been to Norway before?” Leif asked.
They shook their heads.
“You’ll love the mountains. They change you. You can’t go into the wilderness without uncovering your wild self.”
Helena asked, “Have you always lived here?”
“Yes. My grandfather built the original lodge. Then my parents took over and ran it for twenty-five years. We lost my father three years ago and it’s been too much for my mother to manage alone—she isn’t in good health—so now I look after it.
We renovated last year for the first time since the seventies. ”
“You’ve done an incredible job,” Helena said. “I love how the lodge has a traditional feel, yet the open glass sides feel so fresh and expansive.”
“Thank you,” Leif said, his face flushing with pride.
“When a place is passed down through the generations, does it become a pressure?” Maggie asked, interested. “Do you feel like you have to stay here?”
Leif shook his head. “It’s everything, this place. We have the mountains. The coast. The lake. Hot sun in summer. Snow in winter. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
Maggie smiled to hear him talk so passionately about his home. Raising her glass, she said, “To you and your lodge.”
Leif lifted his beer and clinked it against her glass.
Ahead of them, the dining-hall door swung open, and a rangy guy who looked to be in his late twenties exploded into the room.
A faded rucksack hung off one shoulder, and an orange wool hat was pulled low over the back of his head, a wash of dark hair falling across his forehead.
He was unshaven, a black tattoo stamped on the near side of his neck.
The barmaid stopped midstep, eyes stretching wide in surprise.
A group of young women paused from drinking, a whisper passing among them.
Leif was completely still—eyes pinned to the incomer.
The man crossed the space, his gait loose, arms swinging. His gaze searched the crowd, jaw jutting forward, as if silently demanding, What are you looking at?
“Who is that?” Maggie whispered, feeling the atmosphere in the room tighten.
Without taking his eyes off him, Leif answered: “My brother.”
The table jarred as Leif got to his feet, sending their drinks sloshing.
The brother’s gaze landed on Leif—and he halted.
Leif and his brother faced each other.
Every person in the lodge seemed to be holding their breath. The singer had paused between songs. Leif’s brother said something in Norwegian, his face serious.
Leif returned his stare.
Then Leif’s brother opened his hands expansively, his face cracking into a smile. He stepped forward.
There was just a beat of hesitation before Leif did the same, embracing him as he said, “Erik!”
As they clapped each other on the back, Maggie caught Leif’s sidelong glance. His gaze searched out Bj?rn and Brit, who were sitting at a corner table.
Brit’s eyes had widened and the drink she held had begun to tremble. Bj?rn sat rigid, hands gripping the sides of his chair, knuckles white. Both of them were staring at Erik as if they’d watched the devil walk in.