Chapter Nine
Driving the Atlantic Ocean Road feels like flying over the sea.
Joy dressed warmly for her excursion and after a brief wait in the Triton Lounge with other passengers, she’d followed instructions to disembark and join coach number eight, which would be waiting beyond the port’s gates.
A huddle of chattering guests descended the stairs, quilted and booted, many wearing scarves and bobbble-hats, and pompoms bounced with every careful step.
Coats rustled and boots clomped as they trudged through security.
Outside it was still dark and Joy soon found herself joining a queue to board the coach.
‘Hei!’ said a female guide, ticking Joy’s name off a list. ‘My name is Ingrid. Please take a seat.’
As the coach door hissed open, Joy wondered who she’d sit next to.
She climbed the steps and, to her surprise, saw that the first row of seats was occupied by Kenneth and Barbara.
Joy wondered what had happened to their private boat trip to the fjords and was tempted to stop and ask the couple.
But noting that Barbara wore her fur hat pulled low over her face, her expression a scowl as she stared straight ahead, Joy decided against it.
Kenneth, looking glum too, was winter-ready in a bright yellow cagoule with a thick fleece collar.
A trapper hat covered his head, the ear flaps snug against his cheeks.
Both gripped walking poles folded across their knees and pointedly ignored the other passengers joining the excursion.
Halfway down the aisle, Joy found a seat. As she eased her coat off and bundled it onto her lap, a woman stood beside her.
‘You’re a WI member,’ the woman said, ‘I saw you at the meeting. Is anyone sitting here?’
‘Yes, I was and er … no.’ Joy felt a flutter of panic. Was she in the wrong seat?
‘Judy Carrington,’ the woman announced and sat down.
‘Joy Bradley, hello again.’
‘I see the Montgomery Joneses have hogged the front of the coach,’ Judy remarked, removing her embroidered felt hat and fluffing out her curls with a toss of her head. ‘I’d have thought mingling with the common folk would be beneath them.’
‘Do you know them?’ Joy asked.
‘Only from a previous cruise.’ Judy sniffed. ‘Both a pain in the arse.’
‘I thought they’d booked a customised excursion today,’ Joy commented.
‘The tour guide probably got wind of their reputation and decided to cut their losses.’
‘Are they difficult?’
‘Worse than difficult. On a Med cruise last summer, there was an incident in Santorini. Something about a private yacht and an irate Greek ambassador.’
‘Goodness!’ Joy’s eyes were wide.
‘Seemingly, it ended with Mrs Montgomery Jones, in a hysterical state, banging on about diplomatic immunity. God knows what happened.’
‘Today’s trip might be quite tame in comparison,’ Joy said.
‘Indeed,’ Judy said and raised her eyebrows.
Judy began to question Joy on her WI membership and told her she was silly to let it lapse.
She rattled on about how being a member ensured she had friends, and when she booked holidays through WI Life magazine, plenty of company.
‘You get a decent discount too,’ she added.
‘Solo travel has never bothered me. I’ve travelled everywhere, including Europe and Asia, and I fancy one of those Nile cruises next.
I’m not the type to sit at home twiddling my thumbs. ’
Joy didn’t suspect that Judy sat twiddling anywhere. The confident woman threw herself headlong into conversation with strangers and was soon nattering with the sisters in adjacent seats to them.
Staring out of the window, Joy saw that the sun had risen and the town of Molde was slipping by.
She watched a woman wearing a bright pink puffa jacket ride a bicycle, with a dog sitting upright in a basket on the handlebars.
People huddled in layered clothing, queued by a bakery window, and Joy imagined the sweet delights inside.
Ingrid explained that the town was known as the Town of Roses, and in summer, the parks and gardens overflowed with the sweet-smelling blooms.
Everywhere looked picture-perfect beneath a soft blanket of cloud where peaked roofs were dappled with ice, and buildings, painted yellow and blue, lined the snow-covered road.
Ingrid told them that the mountains appearing in the distance were named the Romsdal Alps, and the first part of their journey would involve a one-hour drive before they reached the Atlantic Ocean Road.
Joy thought that the wintery scene felt unreal, as though someone had taken a brush and painted the landscape.
Heading westward, the coach drove through a long, dark tunnel that opened to flat farmland and small villages.
Joy stared at wooden houses nestling between forested, sloping hills, where the area was deserted, with not a soul about.
As Ingrid informed everyone that the coast would soon be in sight again, Joy’s eyelids grew heavy.
Her thoughts strayed to dinner the previous evening and how she’d spoken about Tom.
It hadn’t been her intention to be so candid, and feeling anxious that she’d disclosed too much, she’d had a restless night.
But now, lack of sleep caught up, and lulled by the motion of the coach and the murmur of Judy’s voice, she slipped into a light doze.
A little while later, Joy felt Judy nudge her arm, and as she opened her eyes, she saw that the coach was pulling into a parking area.
‘Wake up, you don’t want to miss anything,’ Judy said and, unfolding her hat from a pocket, thrust her arms into her coat before sliding out of her seat to be first out as the doors opened.
Joy realised that she’d missed Ingrid’s commentary and wondered where they were.
But when she alighted, she saw that they were alongside a café, built into a wall of steep rock, and as a brisk wind blew and snow clung to their coats, passengers hurried inside.
Joy suddenly felt nervous and clutched the strap of her bag, as she scanned faces that hurried by.
When Henry approached, she impulsively called out, ‘Hello, are you going to the café?’
‘Ah, Joy,’ Henry replied. He produced a balaclava and pulled it on. ‘I don’t fancy the queue for coffee, and there’s a short walk I’d like to do.’ He wrapped a scarf tightly, then slipped his hands into fleecy gloves.
‘Would you mind if I came with you?’ Joy asked.
For a moment, she half-hoped that Henry hadn’t heard. She’d put him on the spot, but to her relief, Henry smiled.
‘Be delighted, normal conversation will be a pleasure,’ Henry said, ‘I’ve been stuck on the bus with a woman who said she’s an artist and she’s been sketching my face for the last hour, as well as providing a running commentary on her bizarre life.
’ Henry rubbed his chin. ‘She told me that I have the jawline of a Greek philosopher and an aura of one who keeps secrets.’
Joy remembered Lucinda Green, the artist she’d encountered at the Emerald Art Studio. ‘She sounds quite a character,’ Joy said, her nerves easing as they began to walk along the path that followed the coast.
‘Mad as a hatter if you ask me, and she kept waving an empty cigarette holder.’ Henry shuddered. ‘She suggested I pose for her in a life drawing class.’
Joy smiled and thought that Henry had no intention of disrobing for a room full of pensioners wielding charcoal sticks and making eye contact with parts he’d prefer to keep private.
The wind was sharp, and as they rounded the corner of the rock, an icy gust blew up. Joy braced her shoulders and thrust her hands into her pockets. Meanwhile, Henry was fumbling with his camera.
‘Look!’ Henry called out, the wind tearing the words from his mouth as he pointed.
Joy turned, and her first sight of the Storseisundet Bridge almost took her breath away.
The vast steel and stone structure rose from the water like a mythical monster, its curves almost vanishing into the clouds.
In a dramatic arc, the steep road seemed to drop dramatically to disappear into the deep abyss of the sea.
‘My goodness,’ Joy gasped as she held her phone up to capture the image. ‘It’s magnificent.’
Henry pointed his lens and clicked away, focusing on the bridge. ‘More like a work of art than a road, eh?’ he called out.
As they walked along a path beside the rocky coastline, Henry explained that the inlets and coves attracted marine wildlife, including birds, seals, and whales, and in good weather it would be a popular spot for fishing as the waters teemed with life.
Henry paused to listen for the distant call of a seabird and, taking his camera, scanned the sea.
To his delight, a lone puffin bobbed about, its vivid beak a splash of bright red against the steely grey.
Henry focused his lens and was thrilled to witness the bird’s black and white plumage, sleek with seawater.
As he clicked away, he knew that its small, webbed feet would be paddling for all their might beneath the surface.
When the bird took flight, Henry turned to Joy. ‘My friend Audrey will be thrilled when I show her these photographs,’ he said. ‘I like her to feel as though she’s experienced the trip with me.’
When they returned to the café, and stepped into the warm, cosy room, Joy felt relieved that she was accompanied by Henry and didn’t have to stand like a wallflower on her own.
She’d enjoyed his company and found Henry interesting.
Removing her gloves, she felt her phone vibrate and taking it from her pocket she glanced at the screen. It was Susan.
‘Coffee?’ Henry mouthed.
Joy nodded as she took the call. ‘Hello, Susan, how are you?’ she said.
‘At last, I’ve finally located you and you haven’t jumped overboard.’ Susan sounded tense. ‘I’ve been calling for days, why haven’t you picked up?’
Joy rolled her eyes. Less than forty-eight hours at sea was hardly days. ‘I didn’t have a signal,’ Joy said.