The Royals Upstairs

Chapter Thirteen

Thirteen

LAILA

“Bjorn, don’t touch that,” I warn. “I forbid you to touch that.”

He stares at me for a moment with his bright blue-green eyes, and I think maybe, just maybe, he’s not going to shove his hand into the bowl of freshly mixed cookie dough that I just put on the table.

But then that diabolical grin comes across his face, the one that makes him look like the kid from The Omen , and he plunges his hand right into the bowl, laughing as he goes.

“No!” I cry, trying to snatch the dough away from him, but he’s a quick little demon and he’s already got a handful of it, chocolate chips and all.

“That’s for the cookies,” I tell him, “not for you to eat.”

“But I’m hungry,” Bjorn protests.

“You’re always hungry,” I tell him. “You eat like a horse.”

“I do not,” Bjorn says indignantly. “I eat like a human being.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, you eat like a human being. But that doesn’t mean you get to eat the dough.”

Bjorn makes a face. “But it’s so good,” he says plaintively.

“No, it’s not,” I tell him. “It’s raw. You’re not supposed to eat raw cookie dough.”

“Why not?” Bjorn asks, shoving more in his mouth. “It’s delicious.”

“The raw eggs can make you sick,” I tell him. “Is that what you want? You want to feel gross and sicky?”

That makes him pause. It’s enough for me to grab him and take him over to the sink, kicking the footstool over to us and rinsing his hands off.

“I was about to ask how the Christmas cookies were coming along,” Ella says warily.

I look at her over my shoulder. She has Tor beside her, who looks bleary-eyed from his nap. Now that we’re back in the palace, I think everyone is still trying to catch up on all the lost sleep from being at the kikut.

“They were coming along great,” I tell her.

“I’m going to be sick!” Bjorn says brightly.

“I told him that the raw eggs could make him sick. Apparently he doesn’t care.”

I dry Bjorn’s hands with a clean dishrag and Ella sighs. “Oh Bjorn. Christmas Eve is tomorrow. Do you really want Santa Claus to skip this house because you’ve been eating cookie dough?”

That gets his attention. He looks crestfallen. “No…”

She crosses her arms and puts on her stern-mother face, which I’ll admit makes me want to straighten up and fly right.

“Then you need to be on your best behavior now, okay?” Under her breath she adds, “And after Christmas too would be nice.”

“Okay,” he says hesitantly, as if he’s entering a binding contract with his words.

With Christmas Eve tomorrow, everyone is scrambling to get everything done. Soon the kitchen is going to be packed with Sigrid and Ella making the meal, so I figured now was a good time to get started on the Christmas cookies, which is always a good activity to keep the boys busy and creative at the same time. The chocolate chip cookies aren’t traditional for the Norwegian Christmas Eve dinner, but the boys like them, so it’s pretty much a batch just for them, and certainly will be now that Bjorn got his hands in it. Later I’ll make some proper ones in a shortbread style, and then the boys can help with decorating a few.

“Do you have any Christmas traditions?” I ask Ella.

“Not really. Just the usual things like decorating the tree, making cookies, and opening presents on Christmas morning. I know you do it on Christmas Eve here in Norway, but in Liechtenstein we do a little of both.”

Sigrid comes in from the other room with a bag of turnips she must have gotten from the cellar. “Growing up we always made a big batch of lefse for Christmas. My favorite, providing it has enough butter,” I tell her.

“I’ve never had lefse,” Ella says. “What is it?”

“It’s a flatbread made from potatoes, similar to a crepe. My grandmother used to make it, and I continued the tradition.” There were so many holiday mornings where I would join my grandma in the cold kitchen, the fire slowly heating up the room, and help her get started on the lefse. I would roll the sticky dough between my hands into little balls, and she would make them flat and thin with the rolling pin.

“That sounds good. I’ll have to try it.”

Sigrid gives her a dry look. “Is that a hint for me to add it to the Christmas menu?”

Ella laughs. “I am sure you have enough on your plate.”

“I know how to make it,” I tell Ella. “It’s not hard to make, but it does take a little time.”

“Another time,” Ella says with a dismissive wave. “Your hands are full with the boys. Speaking of, I’m going to start prepping for tomorrow. Figure out what we’re going to wear to church. Do you need a dress?”

I give her an amused look. “Do you really think anything of yours will fit me? Don’t worry, I have some church-appropriate pieces.”

“Okay, well, if you need a handbag or something, let me know,” she says, putting Tor in his chair and leaving the kitchen.

“Do we have to go to church?” Bjorn asks, climbing onto a seat at the table beside his brother.

“You do,” I tell him as I grab the bowl of cookie dough and stick a spatula in it, giving it a stir. “It’s a special time of year.”

“And Santa is watching,” Sigrid adds over her shoulder as the turnips roll across the counter.

“Are you coming?” Bjorn asks me.

I nod. “I am. Going to church on Christmas Eve is my tradition too. I used to go with my grandmother to the tiny church we had in our village.”

“What other traditions do you have?” Bjorn asks. I’m actually touched that he’s asking me questions.

“For Christmas, well, let’s see,” I muse, taking a baking sheet and ripping it off before putting it on the table. “Cookies, of course.” I place the bowl of dough in front of him. “Now, if you promise not to eat it—that goes for you too, Tor—then you can help make the cookies. Just take a little bit like this and roll it in your hands and press it into the sheet like so.” I demonstrate while I tell him, “Actually, my grandmother and I started this tradition the year after…”

I trail off, not sure how much of my past to tell the kids. But even Sigrid is looking over her shoulder for me to continue, and I remind myself that sometimes kids can handle death more maturely than adults do.

“When I was eight, my parents died,” I say.

Bjorn’s eyes go round. “How did they die?”

“They went to a party in another town, and I had stayed with my grandmother. On the way back a landslide came down the mountain and buried them.”

Tor and Sigrid are listening intently now too.

“That’s awful,” Sigrid says.

“It was,” I say. I don’t talk about it often, and even though it was so long ago, it doesn’t stop me from getting a lump in my throat. “The first Christmas after they died, it was so hard. It felt wrong to celebrate it without them. So my grandmother said we should go and buy them gifts anyway. We went to Trondheim together to the department store. I picked out a mug I thought my mother would like, and a tie for my father, and we had them wrapped up. We put them under the tree.”

“Did you open them?” Bjorn asks.

I nod. “We opened them for our parents, just as we opened the other gifts we got from each other and friends. Then we put them in a box in a room downstairs. It’s filled with presents.”

“That is just lovely,” Sigrid says with a sniff.

When I look over at her, her back is to me, and she’s trying to hide her tears in the turnips.

“Are you getting them presents this year?” Bjorn asks as he mashes the dough onto the baking sheet.

I nod. “They’re in my room. I already picked them out. I got my mother a candle and my father some pipe tobacco. I got him a pipe last year, so…”

“They must have been nice people,” Bjorn says thoughtfully.

I give him a quick smile. “They had many friends,” I say. That’s the most I can say. They were nice to everyone, and that included me, but that’s pretty much where it stopped. They tolerated me, were polite to me, but in general didn’t want to have much to do with me. Which makes their death all the more complicated.

“It’s a hard time of year,” Sigrid says, “for so many people.”

“Oooh, what are you making?” Lady Jane says as she steps into the kitchen. “Cookies!”

Even though I shouldn’t be crying, even though it’s been so long, Sigrid is right in that it’s a hard time of year. I feel like if I don’t get out of the kitchen, I’m going to burst into tears.

I get up and muster a smile for Lady Jane. “I have to use the toilet,” I tell her. “Do you mind watching them?”

“Of course.”

I hurry past her and into the hall, the tears now starting to fall, and I’m almost to my bedroom just as James is coming out of his room.

He smiles at me, but it quickly turns to a frown as I try to hide my face and disappear into my room. “Laila?” he calls out.

I shake my head and try to close the door on him, but he pushes into my room and grabs hold of my shoulders.

“What happened? Is it your grandmother?”

I try to pull back. “No. Yes. I don’t know, I just…”

“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s okay.”

He shuts the door gently behind him, and I put my back to him, burying my face in my hands. I never let myself cry, and I can’t tell if I’m crying more because I’m hit with this unexpected wave of grief, or because I’m getting angry and frustrated for crying at all, and especially in front of James.

I try to get myself together, take a deep breath, and straighten my spine.

“Breathe,” he says from behind me, his voice soothing. “That’s all you need to do. Just breathe.”

Then he wraps his arms around me, and I turn around, collapsing against him. Burying my face in the crook of his neck, as if I’m trying to hide from the world.

“It’s okay,” he says again. “Let it out.”

I hug him back, wanting to feel something, anything, other than this ache in my chest and the emptiness in my heart. Why is this happening now? Why can’t I seem to keep it together, even after all this time?

He strokes my hair, and I cling to him like he’s a life raft.

Talking to Bjorn—a child who is so pure despite his devilish tendencies—made me feel like I was his age again. When all I wanted was for my parents to love me, and then they died before they even got a chance.

I’m not sure how long I hang on to James, but when I finally get myself together, I step back and wipe at my eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod. I’m not sure I’m okay, but I know I’m going to try to be.

“So what happened?” he asks.

“I was so stupid,” I say, feeling the tears start again. “I was talking about Christmas and…” It’s hard to explain it to him, but I try. “I was telling them about how my parents died. Then I told them about what we used to do to remember them, how we used to buy them presents even after they were dead.”

“Oh.” He sounds like he’s not really sure what to say, which is how I feel too. “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine.”

I pull away and walk over to the window, looking at the snow. The sun set a few moments ago, and twilight has descended already. The trees are barely visible against the darkening blue, and for a scary moment I’m afraid there’s a light inside me that’s being snuffed out as well.

“You used to buy Christmas presents for your parents?” he asks, and I hear him sit on the edge of my bed.

I roughly wipe at my cheeks. “I still do.”

“And your grandmother?”

My throat feels knotted up again. “No. But she did until…”

“Are you seeing her soon?” he asks.

I sigh. “I was supposed to go today, but…”

Suddenly I hear him get up, and then he’s right behind me, touching my elbow. “You didn’t go?”

I turn and frown at him, not caring that I’m an ugly mess. “I had to work. It’s a busy day in the house if you haven’t noticed. Lots of things to do.”

“You need to see your grandmother for Christmas.”

“She probably doesn’t even know it’s Christmas.” But as I say the words, I feel like I’m being knifed in the heart. I know he’s right. I’ve been beating myself up all day for not going. I even thought about tomorrow, but it’s hard when I’m going to be busy all day.

“Why don’t we go tonight?” he says.

I stare up at him, sniffing hard. “What? To see my grandmother?”

He looks at his watch. “It’s three. It’s early. Ottar can take us. I’ll go with you.”

I stare at him for a moment, trying to think. “I’ve got to work…”

“No. You don’t.”

Then he turns and opens the door, leaving the room.

I stand there, dumbfounded for a moment, then walk toward the hall and stop. I can hear him in the kitchen asking Lady Jane if she’ll watch Bjorn and Tor until we get back.

“Absolutely I will,” Lady Jane says.

I walk out toward the kitchen, and she comes out and gives me a sympathetic look. “Oh, Laila. Sigrid filled me in. I would be happy to watch the boys.”

“I’m supposed to make Christmas cookies too,” I protest feebly. “Proper ones.”

She looks aghast, with her hand on her chest. “You think I don’t know how to make proper Christmas cookies? Goodness.”

James gives me a look like, See? Easy .

I open my mouth to tell him that Ella and Magnus are the ones we need to be asking because they’ll have to arrange for substitute security with James gone, but he’s already going up the stairs two at a time, no doubt to request time off for me.

“He really is a good egg, isn’t he?” Lady Jane says, and from her tone I know she’s watching me intently.

I finally meet her eyes and try to smile. “He can be,” I admit.

Her smile turns coy before it goes sympathetic again, and she puts her hand on my shoulder. “Go and see your grandmother. It’s Christmas. I am more than happy to watch the boys.” She leans in close and lowers her voice. “Gives me something to do, you see. Not much use for a lady-in-waiting when Ella insists on doing everything herself.”

“Grab your things,” James says as he runs down the stairs. “I’m going to drive us. Ottar has the night off.”

“You?” I say. “Can you even drive on this side of the road?”

“And in snow?” Lady Jane adds.

“Har har,” James says, grabbing his coat from the hall and throwing it on.

I walk over to him, feeling nervous for some reason. “Did they really okay it?”

He gives me a funny look. “Of course. Did you really think they wouldn’t?”

Actually I know that both Ella and Magnus would have been more than happy to let me see my grandmother before Christmas, but I just didn’t want to bring it up. I wanted to be the perfect nanny for them, the one who is always reliable, never pushing things.

I swallow and manage a smile. “Okay.”

I go and grab my purse from my room but come to a pause. I walk over to my wardrobe and open the doors. On the top shelf is my plush polar bear, Knut. I grab him and head out the door.

“What’s that?” James asks as we head outside.

“It’s Knut,” I say. “A bear I’ve had since I was young. My grandmother gave it to me. I think this Christmas, I want to give it back to her.”

James doesn’t say anything else to that. Probably thinks I’m a little nuts for hanging on to a stuffed animal, but I don’t really care at this point. My grandmother may or may not remember me, but there might be a chance the bear will help. Maybe having something soft to cuddle and hold will give her a sense of love and peace.

Fuck. I’m starting to cry again. This is not how I want to spend my time with her.

We get in the car, and James drives off, the headlights of the SUV bouncing off the snow. Luckily the driveway is shoveled and so is the main road, and for now the sky is clear, little pinpricks of stars appearing above the tops of the trees. We don’t talk much on the drive, and I spend most of it with my head against the window, watching the darkened world go past, wringing my hands. I’m nervous, and I don’t know why. I guess I’m always a little nervous when I see her, but I’m especially so this time.

Fortunately the department store is open later than normal thanks to last-minute shoppers, so once we get into Oslo we park and brave the crowds. I want to get my grandmother a cloudberry cake, but if there’s something Christmassy, like a small version of a kransekake (a towering cake made up of circles stacked on top of each other to resemble a Christmas tree), then I’ll get that for her.

The minute we step into the department store it’s chaos; people absolutely everywhere in full panic, fretting over their forgotten lists, voices loud. I feel myself taking a step back inside myself and disassociating, but James slides right into bodyguard mode. He steps in front of me, twisted slightly, one hand back to make sure I’m right behind him. His protective instincts are in full swing.

We get to the cake counter, and with all the Christmas stuff gone, I’m lucky to get the last slice of cloudberry cake. I ask for the box to be wrapped with festive ribbons, and then James leans forward and says to the cashier, “Can I have a few extra ribbons?”

She looks surprised but hands them to us along with the cake.

“What is that for?” I ask him as we leave the store.

“I thought if you were giving your bear to your grandmother, he should have a ribbon or two. I’ll make Knut look real dapper.”

I give him a grateful smile, trying to ignore the flood of warmth in my veins. I think back to what Lady Jane said, that James is a good egg. I’m starting to think all the good parts of him outweigh the bad.

We leave the city core and drive up the hill, the snow getting thicker as we go. It’s a real cold snap this winter, and some say the harbor might completely freeze over soon. The roads to the care center are slippery. James handles it with ease, though, and soon we’ve arrived. I called Lisbeth on the way over so she’d know, and it’s not uncommon to have lots of visitors the day and night before Christmas Eve.

Once Lisbeth meets me inside, though, I’ve forgotten why this visit is different. Her attention immediately goes to James, her eyes sparkling.

“And who is this?”

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you she would have two visitors today, if that’s okay.”

“I’m James,” he says, flashing her a smile that’s both solemn and charming while extending his hand. “Friend of Laila’s.”

Lisbeth shakes it, seemingly lost for words. Sometimes I forget that James has this power over a lot of people, not just me. “Oh, you speak English. You’re Scottish.”

“Aye. Sorry about that.” Now he adds a devilish wink. I have to fight from rolling my eyes.

She gives me a look like, Wow, where did you find him? But I ignore it.

We walk down the hall to my grandmother’s room while Lisbeth gets her head back on straight, speaking in English so that James can understand. She tells us that my grandmother’s health has declined, particularly some heart murmurs and overall weakness, but that mentally she still has her bouts of clarity. For now she seems content, which is all we can really hope for.

“Bestemor?” I say as Lisbeth opens the door and we step into the room.

My grandmother sits by the window as always, even though it’s dark outside. There’s only her bedside light on, casting her in shadow. I reach for the light switch, but Lisbeth stops me.

“She likes it when it’s not so bright. The lights disturb her,” she says gently. “I’ll leave you two be. Let me know if you need me.”

She leaves the room, leaving the door half-open.

My grandmother still hasn’t looked at us, and I feel myself crumbling on the spot. James puts his hand on my shoulder and says to me in a low voice, “It’s okay. You’re here. You have presents. It’s Christmas.”

He’s reminding me of what I have in my shopping bag.

But before I can bring the bear out, my grandmother turns her head slowly to look at us. “Kolbjorn?” she asks, her voice shaking.

I still, my eyes wide. Kolbjorn was her husband. He died before I was born.

James gives me a look like he understands. He nods and slowly walks over to my grandmother. “Helge,” he says gently in broken Norwegian. “How are you doing?”

I notice he doesn’t correct her and tell her she’s wrong, probably because he doesn’t know enough Norwegian to do so. I’m grateful, because sometimes she can get scared when she gets confused. He also doesn’t say he’s Kolbjorn either.

“Oh,” she says delicately, fixing her eyes on him. “I am doing better now that you are here. I have been thinking a lot about you lately.”

James lowers his frame into the seat across from her. I can only stand where I am, Knut halfway out of the shopping bag, and hold my breath for fear of ruining the moment. The only part of me that moves are the tears running down my face.

“You are loved,” he says to her in Norwegian, and be still my heart. He doesn’t understand what she’s saying, but he can tell from the way she’s looking at him that it’s coming from a very loving place.

She gives him a genuine smile that shakes a little. There is no mistaking the affection in her eyes. “Do you remember when we would walk to the river and take a swim. That was when the furniture factory was there, do you remember? They would use the water for electricity. We would sneak upriver where no one could see us.” She giggles softly at that, pressing a hand to her mouth, as if remembering a scandalous detail, and suddenly I can see her in her prime, swimming with my grandpa, looking so damn beautiful.

James smiles at her, and it’s so warm that I swear it lights up the room. “You are loved, Helge,” he says, taking her hand in his, his voice adamant yet gentle. “You are beautiful.” He’s really pulling out all the Norwegian he knows. Well, thankfully not the swears.

My grandmother tilts her head, and I swear even in the dim light she has color on her cheeks. “You are handsome,” she says. “I’m glad that Laila has you.”

James freezes at the sound of my name. I blink, my heart hammering in my chest.

Did she really just say my name?

James’s head swivels toward me in surprise and then back to Helge.

“She is such a good soul, she has been through so much,” she says. “I wish I could tell her that.”

I’m not sure if my grandmother thinks James is her husband anymore. I know that it can bounce around like that and not match up. Even so, I take a step forward.

“Grandma?” I ask.

She turns her head to look at me. “There you are, Laila. Oh, what do you have with you?”

I break into the widest grin. “This? This is for you. It’s Christmas, Grandma. I had to get you a present.”

“A present?” she says, looking bashful. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Actually, I have two.”

I come over, and James gets out of the chair. He puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze, nodding to the door, to tell me he’s going to step outside.

I give him a grateful smile and sit down across from my grandmother, taking out Knut and handing him to her.

“Knut,” she says, and I laugh, so delighted she remembers his name. “Oh, he looks so handsome with his ribbons.”

“That’s for you,” I tell her, hoping she doesn’t notice the tears in my eyes. “I want you to have him. He will keep you company while you’re here.”

She blinks, and for a moment I think I’ve lost her, her face going blank as she stares at him. My chest grows cold. I shouldn’t have mentioned the space around her.

But then she frowns and nods. “Of course. I will take good care of him.”

I sigh in relief and grin at her, putting the cake on the window ledge. “And in there is cloudberry cake.”

“Oh heavens,” she says, watching as I open the box to show her. “I haven’t had that in years.”

I have to force the smile on my face through that one. She doesn’t remember all the times I’ve brought it for her.

“It’s a special occasion,” I tell her, my voice shaking slightly. “And you deserve it.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she says. “Shall we give some to your grandfather?” She looks around the room, as if looking for James.

I hesitate. On one hand I could bring James back in here, but what if this time she doesn’t see him as Kolbjorn but as a stranger. I decide to play it safe. “He’ll be right back. He’s smoking a cigar outside. Why don’t you and I have some cake, okay?”

“Okay,” she says with a smile.

I bring the plastic forks out of the bag, and we dig into the cake with the polar bear on her lap.

This might be the best Christmas I’ve had in a very long time, and I’m eternally grateful to James for suggesting it. No, for actually making it happen. Had he not pushed me, arranged this, I wouldn’t be here now with my heart so impossibly full.

I have a piece of cake and watch my grandmother enjoy hers, crumbs falling down on top of Knut’s head, but she just brushes it off and laughs.

I laugh too, relishing the love, pushing the sadness of the season away, if just for tonight.