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One More Chapter
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020
Copyright © Natalie Normann 2020
Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Natalie Normann asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008362683
Ebook Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9780008362676
Version: 2020-02-28
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Natalie Normann
About the Publisher
For Maria – for always having my back and for telling me sternly to get in the coffee line
Chapter 1
‘Karl, stop it. I don’t want to hear it. You’re such a liar.’
The wind swooshed past Ninni’s ears as the bike crossed the Puddefjord Bridge and entered Bergen, making it hard to hear him through the earphones. Next to the bike, Frikk panted and grinned, having no problem keeping up the pace.
‘I know the truth now, you bastard.’
The wind eased as Ninni lowered the speed through the narrow streets. Karl kept talking and the more he said, the angrier she got. She approached the roundabout leading to the bus station and slowed down even more.
‘Shut up, shut up, shut up,’ she finally yelled. ‘You have been lying to me for two years, and you’re still lying to me. Now, go to hell and have a miserable life.’
Ninni clicked off the phone and slowed down to manage the turn. She didn’t even feel a bit relieved after yelling at Karl. The whole morning had been a nightmare. All she wanted to do was escape to the island, her only safe haven.
When the phone rang again she decided to ignore it and pulled at the earphones. Turning into the roundabout, she didn’t pay attention for a second.
The screeching from car brakes and Frikk suddenly barking woke her up.
Ninni lost control of the bike. She tried to avoid hitting Frikk and fell headfirst into the flowerbed in the middle of the roundabout.
For a moment she was so stunned she couldn’t breathe. Frikk put his wet nose on her face and she felt a rush of relief.
She sat up and shook her head. Before checking herself, she ran her hands over the dog to make sure he was okay. He licked her face. The wagging tail showed her everything was fine.
‘Good boy, Frikk,’ she muttered.
The car stood partly on the pavement, with the motor running. There was damage in the front where it had hit a fence on the other side of the road.
The driver didn’t come out of the car. She could see the airbag hadn’t deployed. Was he hurt?
Ninni tried to get up but her knee hurt, as did her elbow.
She finally managed to get on her feet and limped over to the car. She knocked on the window.
‘Er du skadet?’ she asked in Norwegian.
She fumbled with the earphones, pulling them out, while she knocked again. Perhaps he needed an ambulance. She could barely see him through the tinted windows.
Finally the door opened and the driver stepped out. He had a look of stunned horror on his face.
‘Er du skadet?’ Ninni tried to see if he had any injuries but, lucky for him, he looked fine.
‘Sorry, I don’t understand,’ he said, looking confused and dazed.
Ninni repeated the question in English.
‘What? No, I’m not hurt. That’s what seat belts are for. What about you?’
‘I’m fine.’ Ninni looked properly at him for the first time.
He was driving a shiny car and wearing a fancy suit. No wonder he thought the road belonged to him. Idiot, she thought, relieved now.
He looked down and discovered Frikk, who bared his teeth for a second. ‘Is the dog okay?’
‘He’s unharmed, and no thanks to your driving,’ she said.
The driver looked surprised. ‘This wasn’t on me. Are you insane, coming into the road like that?’
Ninni’s anger flared up. ‘Are you insane? You could have killed us! Damned idiot,’ she added for emphasis. She held onto Frikk. He didn’t look terrifying, but his bite was sharp.
The driver pointed at the bike. ‘You came flying out of nowhere. Why on earth would you ride across a roundabout like that?’
‘I did not come flying out of nowhere. I was following basic traffic rules, which you clearly haven’t mastered. Oh, and if you haven’t already noticed, you were driving the wrong way through the roundabout!’ Ninni waved her hand in his face. ‘You shouldn’t be allowed in a car.’
That shut him up. He turned around and looked at the road with a deep frown.
She knew all about his type. Driving a powerful car, blasting music and not caring about anyone but himself.
Frikk was right beside her, staring at the stranger with his ears perked. A quick look in her backpack and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the computer wasn’t damaged.
Ninni then picked up the bike and examined it. Everything worked. She scowled at the driver again.
‘You’re lucky there’s no damage. This is an antique bike.’
‘I didn’t see you,’ he said again.
‘And that’s why you shouldn’t drive,’ Ninni said.
‘Listen, I’m sorry. Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘You are really lucky,’ she said when she limped back to the bike. ‘If you had hurt my dog I would have reported you to the police in a second.’
‘You’re limping.’ He finally looked worried.
‘It’s just a scratch. I’ll live. But you should return that car to the rental company and walk to wherever you are going.’ She refused to show him that it hurt. ‘Idiot,’ she said again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘You should be. Learn to drive on the right side of the road and the correct way through a roundabout!’ she said.
Ninni pushed the bike across the street and locked it in the stand by the entrance to Bystasjonen, the main bus terminal. Her father would pick it up later and take it to the bookshop. It would be safe there.
She looked across the street. The driver was standing next to the car, talking on his mobile. Should she have offered to help him contact the car rental company? She thought about it, then decided no. He was unhurt and more than capable of handling it on his own.
The bus that would take her and Frikk south along the coast already waited outside the station. Cigarette smoke wafted towards them. Ninni spotted the driver, leaning against the side of the bus. He frowned at Frikk, who was shaking himself.
‘He’s filthy,’ he said, shielding the cigarette with his other hand. ‘And so are you. What did you do? Roll in the mud before you got here?’
Ninni touched Frikk’s head. ‘I have a ticket for him. He’ll be no bother.’
The driver shrugged. ‘You’re the only passengers. Hop in.’
Ninni found a seat for them at the back. Frikk crawled under the seat and promptly fell asleep. The trip to Haugesund, the only place where they could take the ferry to the island, would take at least three hours, more if the roads were busy.
Ninni rubbed her eyes and leaned back. As soon as the bus left the station, she fell asleep and dreamed of Karl.
***
It was midday when they finally arrived on the island. Ninni grabbed the end of a hawser from the deckhand and jumped down onto the pier. She fastened the thick rope like an expert and grinned at the man.
‘You’re putting me out of work,’ he said.
‘Just protecting my island from pirates,’ she said, laughing at him now.
‘Have a good stay,’ the deckhand said.
‘Thank you. I will.’
Ninni looked around, breathing in the cool, fresh air. The rain had stopped on the way over and the skies parted to let in a bit of sun.
This was the best place on earth. Her grandparents’ old house was the safe harbour she always returned to. The only place to nurse a broken heart.
In a few weeks the small harbour would teem with boats of all sorts, from sailing boats and fancy yachts to fishing boats and rowing boats. Now the only other boat moored at the pier was a rickety old wooden rowing boat.
Ninni released Frikk from the lead. He shook himself again, sending droplets of water all over her. That was what happened after spending an hour outside on the deck. She had no patience for sitting in the salon. She needed to be outside, to scream against the wind.
Frikk looked at her and whined.
Ninni grinned. ‘Run along then, you silly dog. Tell Alma I’m coming.’
Frikk shot off like a cannonball.
Ninni followed at a slower pace. The island corner shop, the landhandel, was located a short walk up from the pier. The house was small and white, as were most of the houses on the island.
Frikk burst inside the open door and a few seconds later Alma came out, scolding him and petting him at the same time. She smiled when she spotted Ninni.
‘You’re early this year. I thought you would celebrate 17th of May with your dad,’ she said when Ninni approached her.
She opened her arms and Ninni walked into the hug. ‘I just needed to get away,’ she said.
‘It’s lovely to see you, my sweet.’ Alma let her go. ‘Is your dad coming too?’
‘He’s busy with the bookshop, as always. And he has his duties tomorrow.’ Her father played trombone in one of the marching bands and always joined the parade on 17th of May.
Alma was tall and wiry, and looked a lot younger than her seventy-six years. ‘I know, I know. He’s married to his books, isn’t he?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Ninni said.
‘Well, we’d love to see more of him. I remember when he was a schoolboy and used to steal toffees from the jars. Little rascal. So adorable in his dungarees and wellingtons.’
Ninni thought of her tall, burly father and smiled. ‘I’ll be sure to tell him exactly that.’
Alma pulled her into the shop. It smelled of fresh coffee and pastry. ‘I wasn’t expecting you until June. Any particular reason?’
‘No, not really. I’ve just been working really hard for the last few weeks and I felt like a change. You know, I’ve had lots of translation work lately, deadlines and such,’ Ninni said, hoping she sounded normal.
‘You look pale and thin.’ Alma tilted Ninni’s chin towards her and looked her in the eyes. ‘Man trouble?’
Ninni snorted. ‘You should be a detective.’
‘So it’s a man. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that I don’t have to worry about that any more. You want to talk about it?’ Alma let go of Ninni’s flushed face.
‘No, thank you. It’s over and done with.’
Alma filled a mug of coffee from an old filter machine in the corner and put it in front of Ninni. ‘Here. I’ll bring you something to go with that.’
Ninni lifted the mug and sipped from it. ‘You make the best coffee,’ she said, avoiding any more discussion on the topic. She didn’t even want to think about Karl.
‘Here, eat something. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.’ Alma put a plate in front of her.
Ninni looked at the bun. Sticky coconut icing and a yellow custard centre covering a golden wheat bun. It smelled of home and everything cosy. ‘My favourite. Thank you.’
Alma didn’t ask any further questions. She understood. ‘Fresh from the oven this morning. We have been baking for the last three days to be ready for tomorrow. Do you need any groceries?’
Ninni hesitated, but Alma lifted her eyebrows. ‘I bet there’s no food in the house. Neither you nor your dad have been here since Agnar’s funeral in January. I’m guessing the only things to eat in the house are stale Christmas biscuits and perhaps a marzipan pig or two.’
‘I can guarantee you there are absolutely no sweets. I made sure of that. For now, I just need the basics, fresh food to last me a few days while I settle in.’
While Ninni was enjoying the pastry, Alma went quickly round the shop, filling a basket with the essentials.
‘Do you need any shampoo, stuff like that?’ she called out from behind one of the aisles.
‘No, just bread and milk, butter and cheese. And some apples. Everything else is there. You know Pappa, he fills up the house like the Russians are invading or something. Loads of fish and meat in the freezer and plenty of canned and dry food in the pantry.’
Alma set down two heavy carrier bags on the floor next to the door. ‘I’ll put it on your dad’s bill.’
‘Sure,’ Ninni said. She’d pay him back. ‘Has anything new happened this winter?’
‘Not much. Sigrid and Olav’s barn finally fell over in one of the storms. It’s been rotting away for years, so it was a matter of time. They are planning to rebuild it. God knows how those hippies plan to pay for it. Do you know Sigrid told me that she’s determined to clean all their clothes in the stream and not in a washing machine, because it’s too modern?’
‘Sounds exhausting,’ Ninni said.
‘God, when I think back to how we used to boil clothes with that ugly pine soap until the skin on our hands cracked. I cried with happiness the first time I got a washing machine in my house. They are weird.’
The hippies owned a smallholding on the south side of the island, where they grew organic food to sell in town.
‘Then there’s a new problem with Agnar’s farm,’ Alma continued. ‘Turns out he had a will.’
‘A will? I didn’t know he had any relatives.’ Ninni was curious. Agnar had been their only neighbour on the north side of the island.
‘Nobody knows who’s in the will except the lawyers Agnar used to set it up. They’re not talking to us, only to say they are looking for relatives. Which is a lot of malarkey. Agnar didn’t have any family left. I told them that but they still need to earn their fees, of course. Leeches, the lot of them.’
Agnar was the cranky farmer who had died just after the New Year. He’d also been the largest landowner on the island. He’d owned the ground that most of their houses were built on.
‘I knew he wasn’t well,’ Alma said, shaking her head. ‘He refused any help. He just became more and more of a recluse. I tried to get him to see a doctor. He looked so frail towards the end. But you know how they are, these men, stubborn as mules and half as good-looking.’
‘I remember him being so sweet to me when I was little, before he started isolating himself. I thought he was related to you?’
‘No, not at all. We moved here after the war when I was four years old. Agnar was born in 1952 and such a surprise to his parents.’ Alma laughed a little. ‘I think they had given up hope of getting any children by then. And what makes it so sad is that Agnar was the last one in his family. We all wonder what will happen to the farm and the land when those lawyers give up this futile search for a relative. That bastard Haldorsen called in just a few days after the funeral, wanted us to support him in buying Agnar’s land. He thinks he can just waltz in and get his dirty hands on our island.’
‘Pappa said no.’ Ninni knew her father had received the same offer.
Alma pulled a face. ‘We all said no, of course. Again.’
‘What will happen if they don’t find any family?’ Ninni knew Haldorsen. He had tried more than once to buy their property. Her father always turned him down.
‘If that happens, the farm goes to the state and they will sell it on the open market, with no regard to the rest of us. Nobody wants Haldorsen getting his greedy claws into the island. Jens is looking through the old church records to see if we can find a relative. I wish Agnar was related to me or to Jens. We could have made a claim,’ Alma said.
‘I’ll ask Pappa. Maybe we are related to him. You never know. Our family has been here for a very long time,’ Ninni said before stuffing the last piece of bun in her mouth.
‘I hope that’s true. Haldorsen would have to give up then. Your dad would never sell,’ Alma said and laughed.
‘Neither would I.’ Ninni got up from the chair. ‘I have to go. Frikk hasn’t been fed properly all day. He’ll eat me if he has to wait much longer.’
‘Before you go, I could use your help tomorrow. We are one short, unfortunately. Britt is taking the trip to visit her mother in Haugesund after the parade.’
‘Where do you need me?’ Ninni was happy for the distraction.
‘The ice cream stand and probably a lot of other places. And then there’s clean-up duty later. You know how it works.’
‘Yes, I do. And you’re lucky, you know. My bunad is here on the island.’ She smiled and picked up the bags of groceries. ‘These weigh a ton.’
‘You need to eat.’ Alma patted her cheek. ‘My door is always open. You can tell me all about your broken heart when you’re ready.’
‘I will.’ And her heart was broken. But Ninni couldn’t handle kindness. Not now.
She walked slowly up the narrow hill, eager to get home. Frikk was running in circles around her, thrilled to be back.
Inside the house it was dark and dusty. Ninni opened a few windows and hung the bedding over the windowsill to let it air out. She found food for Frikk, who wolfed it down in warp speed and then settled down on the outside doormat with a happy and heavy sigh.
She put on the kettle and made herself an instant coffee, not bothering with the coffee machine. It took ages, and then the coffee always got cold before she remembered to drink it.
With the warm mug in her hand, she went outside and sat down on the step to enjoy the silence and the wind – the smell of the island, she thought, and took a deep breath. Salty seawater and freshly cut grass, the sweet scent from the early blossoms on the old apple tree and the sharper scent from the juniper bushes by the road made her close her eyes for a moment. It was so good to be here, so safe. Perhaps she would never leave. Perhaps that would make her feel like herself again.
Then her thoughts turned to Karl and she burst into tears.
Chapter 2
The sound of a marching band woke Jack up. A really bad, out-of-tune band with more enthusiasm than talent. More than one band by the sound of it, and all of them playing different melodies.
For a second he tried to remember if he had drunk anything last night – some strange Norwegian brew that gave hallucinations and amnesia? The drive from Bergen to Haugesund had taken a lot more than the three hours the car rental firm had said and since he had a later start than expected, thanks to that crazy woman at the roundabout, he had missed the last boat to the island.
The rental firm in Bergen had exchanged the car for him and made him fill out a report on the incident, before informing him that he was lucky he had bought the extended insurance package. He didn’t feel lucky, he felt stupid after telling them that he had driven on the wrong side of the road.
On the bright side, the road trip from Bergen had lifted his spirits, as had the trip on the car ferry. The countryside was not like any countryside he had seen, all mountains and ragged coastline. When he’d arrived in Haugesund he was promptly told by the hotel that there were no cars on that island. No cars? It was ridiculous.
Jack hoped it was a bad dream, but the music continued after he opened his eyes. Sound hallucinations were a symptom of brain cancer, weren’t they? He pulled a hand slowly through his hair. It wasn’t a hallucination from a really bad hangover either.
Reluctantly, he got out of bed and walked over to the window. He pulled the curtains aside and peered outside, not quite sure what he was looking at.
‘This is weird,’ he said.
The hotel window had a view over a small square and two streets. Further down he spotted a bridge. When he had arrived the night before, he hadn’t really got much of an impression. It was just empty streets with lots of white houses.
Now the streets were filled with people. It looked as if there was a huge fancy dress party for the entire town. ‘Weird,’ he said again.
Lots of women dressed in long skirts with embroidery everywhere, others in summer dresses and colourful summer coats. Most of the men he saw wore suits and ties, but some of them had costumes as well, reminding him of Morris dancers.
There were Norwegian flags absolutely everywhere. Along the street stood flagpoles, outside every shop smaller flags decorated the shop fronts, and there were flags on the front and back of taxis and buses passing by on the upper street. There were small flags on people’s bicycles and babies’ prams, even flags fluttering from dogs’ collars. Children and teenagers had flags painted on their cheeks or forehead, some on their whole face.
And so much noise. There were the marching bands he couldn’t see, only hear. Then there were whistles and horns blaring, and yelling from hordes of children running around with plastic trumpets in their hands.
Jack rubbed his head and stretched. One thing he knew for sure, it had nothing to do with him. All he had to do was find the boat to the island and get on board. The sooner he got a good look at the property, the sooner he could sell the place and head back home to London, to his proper life. With money in the bank, he hoped.
After a quick shower, he packed the suitcase and took the lift to the reception. Someone had put a flag on the wall inside the lift.
The receptionist wore a long, pleated dark blue skirt, a white puffy shirt, a red vest with sequins on and, for some reason, a pin made of red, white and blue ribbons. She was blonde and good-looking, almost as tall as him. And she looked at his outfit with a slight frown, before putting on a professional smile.
‘I’ll have your bill ready for you in a second, Mr Greene. Have you had breakfast? The restaurant is open all day today. The breakfast on 17th of May is always special. If you’re lucky there might even be Champagne and strawberries left,’ she said in the singsong accent he had noticed most people had when they spoke English.