Ruby
“Did the British recapture Narvik from the Germans?” I ask. My knowledge of history is pretty sketchy, and I know little or nothing about the role Norway played in the Second World War.
Hanna blinks. She turns to look at me as if she’s forgotten I’m here. We’ve been sitting at the kitchen table for some time, our bowls of porridge long finished, and I’m glad to see she has warmed up thoroughly after her swim.
“The Norwegians, British, and French fought to retake Narvik. The bombardment was brutal, but the Germans hung on for weeks.” She falls quiet, fiddling with the cuff of her cardigan. Then she meets my eyes. Beneath the surface of her blue-grey gaze, I can see strong currents of pain, running deep.
In the silence that follows, I can’t help reaching across and very gently laying my hand on her arm. She flinches as if my touch is an electric shock, and I quickly put my hand back into my lap. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Hanna,” I say softly.
She gets to her feet abruptly, pushing her chair back from the table and picking up her empty bowl.
“Well,” she says, and her voice holds a little of the steely determination that must have helped her through those terrible times, “that’s quite enough sitting around for one day.
Let’s tidy up here, and then we can take Pip up the hill for a run.
I’ll show you the layout of the croft from there. ”
As I wash the dishes at the sink, I’m left with the distinct impression that something has shifted between us. I gaze out of the window to where the waves fling themselves against the little island, throwing handfuls of spray across the water where Hanna went swimming earlier.
Despite her age and apparent fragility, I have a growing suspicion that she may actually be the tougher of the two of us, as strong as Nordic granite.