Summer Island
NATALIE NORMANN

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.

Champagne for breakfast? Weird brew, he thought. But he had had enough of restaurants for a while. ‘No, thank you. I’m fine. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but what are you wearing?’

‘Oh, this is a bunad,’ she said, blushing when she smiled.

‘Is that like a work uniform? Because I didn’t see anyone wearing a costume like that when I arrived last night. And now it’s everywhere,’ Jack said.

She laughed. ‘Today is 17th of May.’ She seemed a bit taken aback that she had to explain the obvious to him.

‘Yes, I know that, but why all the ruckus?’ Jack noticed that there were flags inside the reception as well. Even the flower decorations had flags, and the flowers were red, white and blue.

He was distracted by a group of people entering from the street. They were dressed for a party, all suits and dresses. Almost all of them had red, white and blue ribbons attached to their jackets or coat collars.

‘Constitution Day,’ the receptionist said with a huge smile now.

Jack smiled back. She was cute. ‘I know that too, but I have no idea what it means.’

‘It’s the day we celebrate our constitution. It’s a really big deal in Norway. Everybody dresses up, eats and drinks, has fun, gives congratulations to each other. There are parades of school children all over the country. It’s one of the best days of the year, especially if you’re a kid. You’ll see when you go outside.’

‘Right. So all this is normal?’ he said and pointed to the chaos outside.

‘Only today. Tomorrow we all get back to our boring selves. With massive hangovers for some of us, of course.’ She was laughing at him now. ‘Would you like a ribbon? If you don’t mind me saying so, you look a little underdressed.’

Jack looked at the ribbon she held out to him and shook his head. He didn’t think it would improve much on his jeans and sweater. Probably should have taken the suit, he thought. ‘Thank you, but I don’t think so.’

He gave her his credit card and paid for the room.

‘I’m supposed to take a boat from here to this island.’ Jack pushed a note towards her. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t pronounce it properly.’

‘You can get the boat from Risøy. Walk straight down here, cross Haraldsgaten and Strandgaten, go across the bridge and go right until you come to the jetty. It’s easy to find and should take you about ten minutes to walk.’

Jack thanked her. He pointed to the left. ‘Just go that way, right?’

‘Of course. You can’t miss the bridge even if you try.’

She handed him back his credit card and a receipt. ‘I hope you have a pleasant stay, Mr Greene.’

‘Thank you.’ Jack looked outside. More people. It looked confusing. ‘Just across the two first streets, yes?’

‘Yes, but you’d better hurry. The parade will pass by any minute on Haraldsgaten. When that happens, it may take you some time to cross. Every school in town is there. That’s a lot of children.’

A parade, Jack thought as he made his way outside, pulling the suitcase behind him.

It took him a minute to realise that there was purpose in the chaos he had observed from the hotel room. People walked downhill, lining up on either side of the lower street. A sign on one of the buildings caught his eye. “Haraldsgaten” it said. Okay, so this was the first street.

The marching band music was getting louder. Jack followed the stream of people. He was tall, so he could see banners and flags coming towards them.

He looked at his watch. Not that it mattered what time it was. He had no appointments, no job to go to any more, no stress. He was free to do whatever pleased him. Plenty of time to cross a couple of streets and get into a boat to a godforsaken island.

He threaded between prams and hordes of small children clutching plastic trumpets and small, bright coloured windmills for some reason. Even the little ones wore bunads.

It was massive and it looked like people had fun. He envied them a little, the way everyone seemed to belong. He stopped in front of a barrier, like the ones used at concerts. The only opening was by a stern-looking policeman.

Jack walked over to him. The policeman looked him over.

‘Excuse me, but I’d like to cross. I have a boat to catch on the other side of that bridge,’ Jack said and pointed.

The policeman frowned. ‘Today?’

‘Yes, that would be nice. I’m told the boat leaves on the hour.’ Jack pulled out the envelope again. He held it up, feeling rather foolish.

‘Why are you going to the island today?’ The policeman looked him over with growing suspicion. It made Jack wonder about what kind of island he was going to.

‘Apparently I’ve inherited a farm there,’ Jack said. ‘It sounds absurd, I know. When the first email arrived, I thought it was one of those scams, you know? From Nigeria or Russia, only this was from Norway. So I deleted it. And then I deleted the next one. Then a letter came in the post from a British law firm, and I knew it was real. At least I think so. I’m going to the island today to check it out.’

What am I doing? he thought. Babbling on like a maniac.

Not that it mattered much. The policeman was clearly not listening to him any more. Instead he was staring over his shoulder and grinning from ear to ear.

‘Hang on. See the girl carrying the school standard? That’s my kid.’

He pointed and Jack looked. A girl of about twelve was using both hands to hold onto a school standard that looked far too heavy for her.

Her face lit up when her father waved at her. She had one of those bunads on. Behind her followed lines of children, all dressed to the hilt, waving flags, singing and yelling.

‘Looks great,’ Jack said.

‘You bet she does. Strong too. Those standards are bloody heavy and she has to carry it all the way through town. Okay, stay close to me; I’ll get you across.’

Jack followed him as he held up a hand like a traffic constable. The band stopped walking, creating a bit of a ruckus behind them as some children walked into the ones in front. Jack ran across. He turned to wave at the policeman, but he was already lost in the crowds.

Jack pulled his suitcase behind him. The noise from the parade faded. He thought about what had happened the day before. He’d been on his way from the airport to the lawyer’s office when he’d hit that girl. God, he could have killed her. That would have been something for the papers, he thought. Sacked Chef At One Of London’s Hippest Restaurants Kills Norwegian Woman.

At the lawyer’s office everything had been very clinical. An hour later, he’d stood outside again with a large brown envelope in his hand – the papers that proved he was the rightful owner of Agnar Berget’s farm. He couldn’t bring himself to think of Agnar as his father. It was too odd.

Jack put his hand in his pocket and felt the key. One key for a whole farm. It was … weird.

Perhaps he could call his dad from the boat. He knew the trip would take about thirty minutes.

He stopped on top of the bridge to have a look around. The harbour was filled with all sorts of boats, everything from small motorboats to large ferries, even a few rowing boats. Not one without a flag or two, he noticed.

Along the pier there were restaurants, already filled with people. So not everyone was taking part in the parade, he thought, and started walking again.

Someone pointed out the ferry for him and he found a place outside. The weather was sunny and windy. He was surprised. In Bergen he’d been told that in Haugesund it was always raining.

Not today, he thought, feeling the sweat on his back.

He stayed on deck until it got too windy. There were a few people on board. They looked at him, but no one talked to him.

Jack rang his dad, who answered at once.

‘What’s that noise?’ Paul asked.

‘Boat engines, I think. I don’t really know.’

Paul laughed. ‘How are you liking it so far? Did you meet the lawyer?’

‘Yesterday. He gave me an envelope and a key. One key for a whole farm. I’m guessing it’s filled with rotten outbuildings and a house the wind blew upside down.’

‘Well, yes, but is it an adventure?’

Jack looked out of the window. It had salt water stripes from the seawater constantly showering the glass. ‘It’s okay, I guess. Bergen was a proper town. This town, Haugesund, is a lot smaller. They don’t even have cars on this island, Dad.’

Paul chuckled. ‘The fresh air will do you a world of good. Do some fishing, enjoy the sun and get your head straight. You need to learn to relax, Jack. You need an adventure.’

‘I’m pretty sure I’ll be bored out of my mind after a few days,’ Jack said.

‘Oh, by the way, that Fedra called again. Are you really not taking her calls?’

The last thing Jack wanted was to discuss Fedra. ‘What did you tell her?’

‘I told her the same thing I told her last time she called, that I have no idea where you have gone, how long you will be gone and that she should stop harassing me. She didn’t like that,’ Paul said.

I bet she didn’t, Jack thought. ‘Just block her, Dad. I’ll talk to her in a few days.’

Jack didn’t feel very encouraged when he put the phone back in his pocket. Not even a tiny bit. He knew all too well how persistent Fedra could be. She wouldn’t give up.

Chapter 3

Ninni handed a strawberry ice lolly to a five-year-old boy, who took it with both hands. His eyes were bigger than the lolly.

‘Are you sure you can eat that? I think it’s your third one,’ she said.

He carefully released the grip of one hand and held it up, spreading his fingers out. ‘This many. That’s more than anyone else has eaten,’ he said, beaming with pride.

‘Good luck,’ Ninni said.

I wouldn’t like to be your parents later tonight when the belly-ache starts, she thought. But on 17th of May the tradition was unlimited ice lollies and hot dogs for kids, or at least as many as they could eat.

She was manning the ice cream and hot dog stand outside the shop. Alma was inside, handing out soda and coffee to the adults. The island’s small children’s parade was over, and now there was ice lollies and sweets until the dance on the pier later. Even though it was technically a school night, most children would stay up, enjoying the party.

‘Excuse me?’

She looked up and saw a man towering over her. He wasn’t wearing the expensive suit, so it took her a few seconds to recognise him.

‘You!’

He was standing there, like a tourist. How strange was that? It made her wonder if he had followed her after the accident. But why on earth would he follow her and then wait to approach her until the next day? It didn’t make sense. ‘Oh, God, are you stalking me?’

He frowned. ‘Excuse me?’

Ninni raised her eyebrows. ‘Excuse you? I’m not excusing you for anything. You’re obviously a crazy person.’

He lifted his hands in defeat. ‘I’m sorry. I have no idea who you are.’

Ninni was outraged. ‘You ran me down with that stupid driving of yours yesterday. You shouldn’t even be walking into revolving doors. Are you stalking me or something?’

He looked horrified for a moment. ‘No, are you mad? I had no idea you were here. How would I know that? I’m just visiting. I’m sorry, but I didn’t recognise you in your bunad.’

‘Who are you visiting?’ She couldn’t believe it.

‘I’ve always wanted to see a proper Norwegian island,’ he said and then he smiled.

Ninni didn’t like the jolt in her stomach. She glared at him. Dressed in jeans and a grey sweatshirt, he stuck out among all the people in their party clothes. He was pulling a suitcase behind him. Perhaps he really was a tourist. And he was so out of sync with everyone because of the way he dressed it was ridiculous.

‘I’m a bit lost, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘This is a bit overwhelming. I’ve never been to a Constitution Day before.’

She frowned. ‘We don’t bite.’

He smiled back at her. ‘Do you promise?’

Was he flirting with her? She hoped not. That would be too weird. And for some absurd reason it made her feel guilty. For what, she had no idea. As if she was cheating on Karl, and that made her mad.

He really was a complete idiot if he thought flirting would get him into her good graces. What a prat, she thought.

‘Ice cream or hot dog?’ she said quickly, to avoid confusion. Whether for him or for herself, she didn’t care to know.

‘Excuse me?’ He was staring at her with an intense look in his eyes.

‘You look hungry. A hot dog is probably better for you.’ Ninni took a bun from the grill and put a steaming, slightly burned hot dog in it. Then she pointed at the sauces. ‘Ketchup or mustard, mayo or shrimp cocktail, onions or red beets?’

‘That sounds a bit too much, to be honest. I don’t really like frankfurters,’ he said, looking at the hot dog.

‘Then you’re in luck. This is not a frankfurter; it’s a grilled sausage wrapped in bacon. A Norwegian speciality.’

He looked baffled for a moment, then laughed. ‘That doesn’t sound half bad, actually.’

His smile was lovely, she thought. ‘Try it. It’s good, I promise.’

‘I haven’t had any breakfast.’ He took a bite of the hot dog and chewed carefully. ‘Good,’ he said and took a bigger bite.

‘Are you visiting anyone on the island? Perhaps I can find them for you. I know everyone here.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m just passing through. I needed a holiday and Norway sounded interesting.’

‘Okay. Are you camping? I’m asking because you don’t look like an ordinary camper. No backpack or tent, or anything like that.’ He was a strange man, she thought.

He smiled at her. ‘I have accommodation, thank you.’

Ninni frowned. That sounded odd, she thought. ‘So, you are staying at the B&B, then? I didn’t know Britt had opened for the season,’ she said.

Those blue eyes bore down on her. ‘Do you live here on the island?’

‘I live in Bergen, but my family have a house here. I usually stay during the odd weekend and most holidays.’

She held out her hand, determined to get more information about him. ‘I’m Ninni Toft.’

He took her hand in a warm, firm grip. ‘Jack Greene,’ he said and let go of her hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

Direct approach usually worked best, in her experience. ‘Why have you really come to our island, Jack?’

‘For a short holiday,’ he said, serious now.

She looked over her shoulder to see if Alma could come, but there was a long queue of customers inside and outside the shop. ‘There’s a dance here on the pier later. Lots of food. You are welcome to join us, of course. I’m sure Britt will bring you.’

He looked at her properly, then. His eyes shifted colours suddenly, more like the sea in the morning, and he looked oddly familiar. ‘Maybe I will,’ he said with a smile. ‘Can I have more of that food, to take with me?’

She thought it an odd request, but still. He was English.

‘You know, in case I don’t make it to the pier dance? I would go to the shop, but it looks closed.’

‘It opens again at ten tomorrow morning.’ Ninni pointed at the grill with burgers and more bacon sausages. ‘The fish burgers are highly recommended. The fish was caught this morning.’

He looked interested. ‘Two, please.’

Ninni found a Styrofoam container and made up a couple of fish burgers for him, adding the relish and remoulade without asking, then she put it all carefully into a carrier bag.

When he held out his hand to take it from her, she shook her head. ‘Money in the tin first,’ she said, nodding at a tin on the desk, filled with banknotes and coins.

Jack smiled. ‘Of course. How much do I owe you?’

‘Twenty kroner per burger, and ten for the hot dog.’

He handed her a hundred kroner note and got the burgers.

‘Thank you. Want something to drink with the food? I only have Solo and still water left, I’m afraid.’

‘What’s Solo?’

Ninni showed him the bottle of bright orange fizzy drink.

‘You don’t have any wine?’ He looked at the bottle with a frown.

‘No, this is a hot dog stand, not a restaurant, I’m afraid. Do you want it?’

‘Sure. Thank you.’ Jack put it in the bag.

Ninni counted the change and handed it to him. ‘Here you go.’

‘Thank you. Perhaps I will see you later,’ he said.

A group of children ran towards her, screaming for ice lollies, and Ninni was distracted. When she looked up again, he was gone.

Alma will want to know, she thought. An Englishman who didn’t want to say why he was on the island and seemed confused.

We’ll see if he comes to the dance; I’ll introduce him to Alma. She can use her mind-reading abilities on him, she thought, before concentrating on the children.

‘Line up, little monsters. There’s plenty of goodies for all of you.’

***

It took a fair bit longer than ten minutes to get to the farm. The road Jack followed wasn’t much of a road. No wonder he missed the fork and had to walk back. The lawyer’s map wasn’t much help.

But here he was, standing in the farmyard, eyeing his new property.

Jack looked around. It wasn’t like any farm he had ever seen. Not that he knew much about farms. Born and raised in London, most of his farming knowledge came from TV shows. And this was far from anything he could have imagined. Everything was built with timber, for one thing.

The house itself wasn’t much to look at – a two-storey building with a narrow entrance door, built on a stone or brick foundation, he had no idea. The house was painted white, although the paint had peeled in some places.

On the other side of the farmyard was a small barn or stable.

‘God, I hope there are no dead cows in there,’ he said out loud to himself.

The farmyard also had other buildings, mostly sheds of some sort. The barn was red and sagging a bit, and for some reason it had a lawn on the roof. A bit behind stood a house built on four cairns. How odd, he thought. Why would anyone want a house built on cairns?

The phone pinged and he read the message. Holly, of course.

Dad says you’re in shock. Is it a huge farm? Will you make millions from growing strange Norwegian vegetables and become too good for the rest of us?

Jack grinned. He put the bag with food on top of the suitcase before answering.

I’m already too good for you lot. You should know that by now.

He sent the text and hoped she’d be satisfied. Knowing his little sister, he would get a barrage of texts if she was bored. But the text brightened his mood.

Jack walked around the side of the main house. ‘Wow,’ he said.

The views were stunning. A huge fence surrounded the house, and on the other side was a large field with rows of what he assumed were constructions of dry hay. A small path through a fence led down a garden to a snug beach with what looked like a couple of boathouses, jutting out over the water. After that, open sea as far as the eye could see.

‘Wow,’ he said again.

He took pictures with his phone, of both the view and the buildings, and sent them to his dad.

Finally he ran out of things to do. He had to go inside.

He brought the suitcase and the bag with him to the front door, pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He hesitated with his hand on the door handle. For a moment he remembered every horror movie he had ever seen.

‘This is stupid,’ he said and stepped into the empty hallway.

He walked inside, leaving the door open behind him and the suitcase nearby, just in case. Inside he turned on the light. A single light bulb dangled from the ceiling. Agnar wasn’t much of an interior decorator, Jack thought.

Along the wall were pegs, loaded with clothes – jackets of all sorts, some older than him, Jack reckoned. On the floor were wellingtons and clogs, slippers and sailing shoes. All worn out, all in a heap. Not a tidy man either, he thought.

The rug on the floor was worn thin and faded. Jack frowned. The house smelled of dust and something else he couldn’t identify. He sincerely hoped they had buried the body and hadn’t just left the poor man in the house. He did not want to meet his biological father like that.

He walked further in. The hallway had three doors, all closed. The first was to a drawing room filled with heavy, dark furniture that reminded him of old black-and-white movies. It looked like no one had been in there for ages. The dust was thick on every surface. And on the floor were stacks of newspapers and magazines.

One of the walls was covered in old photographs. Jack looked at them, one by one. Family photos, some so old they were black and white. His biological family, all of them, and he had no idea who any of them were. It was unsettling to see his own features on some of them. He had always been the odd one out with his blue eyes and blond hair in a family dominated by brown hair and brown eyes. But here, in these photographs, people looked like him. It gave him the creeps, so he backed out of there and decided to explore the rest of the house.

The second door led to the kitchen, a wobbly Formica table by the window and two metal chairs with spindly legs. The kitchen was clean, apart from the dust here too, but there was still cutlery on the counter by the sink.

The fridge was empty. Someone had cleaned out whatever food had been there. He wouldn’t survive on a couple of fish burgers for long. Perhaps he could ask the brown-haired girl, Ninni, where he could buy proper food. And, if he was honest, he wouldn’t mind seeing her again.

He put the food and the bottle of fizzy drink in the fridge and went to see the rest of the house.

The third door led to a combined bedroom/TV room. The TV was old and small, with something he guessed was an aerial protruding from the back of it. Probably black and white as well. He wasn’t optimistic about a Wi-Fi connection out here. More stacks of newspapers and magazines, alongside wobbly stacks of paperback books.

He looked at the sofa bed. ‘I hope he didn’t die on that.’

On one of the old side tables there were more photographs. He picked up one and almost dropped it.

It was his mother with a man he assumed was Agnar. He could see the likeness to himself. Same colouring, same nose and jaw line.

He put it down again.

‘I can’t stay here,’ he said aloud, as if someone could hear him.

Jack turned around and walked outside, closing the door behind him.

For a moment he just stood there, trying to breathe and not run. There was nowhere to run to, even if he tried.

He thrust his hands in his pockets and walked round to the garden. There was a wooden bench under a small tree. He sat down and closed his eyes.

This was all wrong. He shouldn’t be here. What was he doing, inheriting a farm from a man who’d been nothing more than a sperm donor? He had no connection to this past, this house or this island at all, and especially not to the stranger who had died and left him this white elephant.

You could have told me something about him, Mum, he thought. Something that I could have connected to. Perhaps she’d meant to, when he got older. ‘Too late, Mum. Too late.’

Jack groaned. He should be in London right now, working in the restaurant, prepping food and doing what he loved. Instead he was sitting like an idiot on a bench under a tree, talking to his dead mother.

He looked up at the leafy branches. He didn’t even know the name of the tree.

All of a sudden the absurdity of the situation caught up with him and he burst out laughing.

***

Ninni flipped over another burger. Around her, music filled the night air. Alma’s husband, Jens, had brought his accordion and Olav and Sigrid played flutes. It had been a hot day, and the heat still lingered in the air.

She sighed with contentment, feeling her shoulders sinking. All the fuss earlier in the day, all the speeches about the constitution, the wreath at the memorial for the fallen soldiers, the children’s parade and all the rest were over. It was time to simply enjoy the evening.

Everyone had gathered on the pier and for once it wasn’t raining. The wind was mild and filled with the promise of summer. It would be bathing weather any time now. Not many 17th of May’s came with sunshine and clear skies. On the island, May usually was a wet and windy month. This year it was so warm everything had turned green three weeks ahead of schedule. It would be unsettling if they didn’t enjoy it so much.

Ninni handed out burgers to anyone passing by. There was no need to take money; people put it in the tin by the table and somehow that always covered the costs.

Alma found her through the crowd. ‘Why isn’t anyone helping you?’

‘When I’m fed up I’ll just leave and someone else will take over. It’s a miracle,’ Ninni said, smiling at her.

‘Have you seen him?’ Alma stretched her neck towards the north path.

‘No, not yet. He might not come.’ Ninni put buns next to a couple of burgers and wafted away the smoke.

‘It’s so strange.’ Alma wrung her hands. ‘Who is he? And he spoke English? Are you sure?’

Ninni flipped the burger. ‘Oh, yes. He is English, Alma. I’m able to hear the difference between English and Norwegian. It’s all in the ear, you know.’

‘Yes, yes, but I don’t understand what he’s doing here. Britt says nobody has booked with her. So where’s he staying? And why would he lie about it? It’s so annoying.’

Alma took the plate Ninni handed her and looked at it. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Jens told me you haven’t eaten all day. Eat. It’s good.’ Ninni gave her a stern look. ‘Why is this man bothering you?’

Alma picked at the bun. ‘I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling. What if he’s a bad man, come to murder us all? Perhaps he heard that we never lock our doors and plans to rob every house.’

Ninni thought of Jack. ‘I hardly think so. Did you see him through the shop window?’

‘Yes, I did. And there was something about him,’ Alma said.

Ninni thought about his eyes. She hadn’t thought much about anything else since he’d talked to her. ‘I’m sure he will tell us all about himself sooner or later. And, if not, he’ll be gone in a few days’ time, he said so himself.’

‘Hmm,’ Alma said before taking a bite of the burger. ‘This is good.’

‘Of course it is. Making great burgers is my special talent.’ Ninni handed her another plate. ‘Here, take this to Jens and enjoy the evening. Dance. Let Olav and Sigrid do the music for a while.’

Alma looked amused. ‘Dance? I’d most likely break my hip.’

‘I doubt that. I’m not sure if the flautists can do Chuck Berry.’

‘They wouldn’t know who that is, would they? They play weird meditation music or depressing folk music. It’s just sad.’ Alma shook her head.

‘Go and eat. I’ll be here for another thirty minutes, then I’ll come over.’

Alma nodded. ‘Okay. But let me know immediately if that man turns up. I want to talk to him. I can’t relax until I know what’s going on,’ she muttered to herself and turned to join Jens and the others.

Ninni flipped another burger. She didn’t worry about Jack Greene. Her thoughts went to Karl. If he was here, she would push him in the sea. Simply for being a mean bastard.

Chapter 4

An insistent bird was singing outside. Ninni opened her eyes and looked at the familiar ceiling. This had been her father’s room when he was a boy. Model aeroplanes were hanging from the rafters and boyhood books from the fifties and sixties, even some from before the war, on the shelves mingled with her own collection from her childhood, including handwritten manuscripts from when she thought she’d be a writer.

It was too early to get up, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep any more. She was surprised she had slept at all. All day yesterday she had kept so busy she’d hardly had any time to think of Karl. There had just been fleeting moments, and then she’d found something new to distract her.

The Englishman was one such distraction. Alma hadn’t stopped going on about him. The others had got involved and he’d become the topic for the rest of the night. Nobody knew where he was staying and nobody had seen him since he’d left the harbour.

Ninni had tried to stay out of it. Speculations seldom led to any real answers. It was a waste of time, considering he was only passing through.

When she’d come up to the attic the night before she was overtired and sad. Now she felt more relaxed, more like herself.

The magic of the island, she thought, and sat up so abruptly Frikk almost fell out of bed. He jumped down and went over to the door. He barked a few times, wagged his tail and finally pressed his nose against the door.

‘I’m coming, I’m coming. You’re the nuttiest dog I have ever met. And I’ve met a few.’

Ninni went downstairs and let him out, leaving the door ajar, then had a shower and made coffee.

Frikk came bouncing back after doing his business. Tongue lolling and tail wagging, he flopped down next to her. Ninni filled his water bowl and rubbed his ears.

‘We have to inspect the island today,’ she said. ‘A lot has been going on since we left.’

Frikk lapped the water, making noises and splashing the floor.

Ninni looked at the computer on the kitchen table. Next to it lay the stack of reference books she needed for the next assignment. But today translating contracts for an oil company didn’t tempt her. She needed a day off.

The phone pinged and she looked at it. Karl. She deleted the message at once, then blocked his number.

Ninni filled a thermos with more coffee, putting a spoon of chocolate powder in it and shaking it well.

‘I’m bringing some salami for you and a sandwich for me. Think you can handle that?’

Frikk was looking at her as if he understood every word.

I’m talking to the dog as if he will turn around and quote Ibsen back at me one day, she thought, rolling her eyes.

Before she changed her mind, she grabbed a bright green sweater, put on a pair of jeans and red trainers, and headed out.

She always did the “grand tour” on the first day on the island. Even if it was only a weekend trip or midwinter. The tour always made her feel better.

Ninni looked down towards the sea. Waves were lapping in with the tide. She spotted litter among the pebbles and sighed. Why would people just throw their rubbish overboard? It made no sense.

Downhill from their house, she caught a glimpse of Agnar’s farm. The house was snuggled on the high ground in a cove. He had access to one of the best beaches on the island and yet, at some point, he had put a tall fence around the entire property.

‘It’s to keep the landlubbers out,’ he had said once when she’d asked him. For a long time she had looked out of her window every morning to see if the giants had invaded his garden.

Frikk leaned against her leg. Ninni stroked his soft head.

‘You know, if Haldorsen gets the land he’ll build a huge marina down there. With loads of boats and cabins and building work for who knows how long. We don’t want that, do we?’

Frikk just wagged his tail, not in the least worried.

Ninni sighed. It would ruin the island. She loved everything here, every tree and bush, stone and beach. She didn’t want anything to change, at least not for the worse.

They continued on the path. Ninni noticed that the birds were busy and noisy. Frikk noticed too and made it his mission to scare them all out. Ninni kept walking. Her head felt clearer by the second.

After a half-hour walk, they arrived at the foot of the island’s only mountain.

‘It’s not much of a mountain, is it?’ she said to Frikk. But it had the best view and she always climbed to the top.

Frikk had run halfway up before she caught up with him. Twenty minutes of hiking brought them to the top.

A cairn rose above them. Ninni sat down on the ground, facing the sea. She leaned against the base of the cairn and didn’t mind the stones poking at her back. To sit like this was more than enough right now. There would be bad days ahead, but she would be fine in the end. She hoped.

Frikk put his head on her leg and grinned.

‘You never took to Karl, did you? You’re so much smarter than me. I wish I could have sussed him out the way you did. It would have saved me a lot of misery.’ She scratched him behind the ear. ‘Thank God it’s over. I’ll never see him again. Not ever.’

She sipped coffee from the thermos and shared a sandwich with Frikk. Perhaps she would survive this after all.

‘There’s more to life than a broken heart, Frikk,’ she said, feeding him the last piece of salami. ‘It’s hardly the end of the world.’

Frikk snorted and shook his head. Ninni laughed.

A moment later, she jumped to her feet. ‘Let’s take the boat out.’

The dog was happy to do whatever she wanted and followed her down the path that snaked past Agnar’s house. It looked lost, with dark windows. She shivered and hurried by. There was something unsettling about the empty house.

Their boathouse was on one side of the path, Agnar’s boathouse on the other side. It was rundown and the wood was silvery from the rain and the wind. But it was solid. Her grandfather had built it with his own hands. There was a small living space in the loft, as in most of the boathouses on the island.

The boathouse had a pier with a homemade diving board jutting out into the water. In the summer they would jump from the board and climb up the ladder on the side. Her mother hated staying on the island. She was convinced there were eels hiding in the flowing seaweed, waiting to attack her, and refused to swim. At most, she would sit on the beach and let the waves lap over her feet. Mostly she complained about the bad weather and how boring it was.

Ninni grinned at the memories. Her mother now lived the beach life in Spain. No seaweed, no eels, not even crabs, she had said before moving there for good. Just plenty of people living the good life and playing lots of bridge.

And she was right. The beaches in Spain were wonderful, but this was better.

Ninni bent down at the corner of the boathouse and pulled out the key from under the stone where they always hid it.

Inside the boathouse the familiar smell of old tar and dried seaweed wafted out. She inhaled it all. Over her head, her grandmother’s old fishing nets still hung over the rafters.

Her boat was a small plastic one with an outboard engine. The family boat was larger and made of wood by her grandfather and her father. As always, she stroked her hand over the wood. It felt like silk. There were so many memories connected to that boat. She smiled at the thought of them. First time she caught a fish by herself; at four in the morning when the ocean surface was quiet like glass; first time she fell out of a boat and her grandmother laughed so hard she fell after her; first time she got bitten by a crab. And the picnics on the smaller beaches, with all of them going, filling the boat with fishing gear and blankets and enough food to outlive Robinson Crusoe.

‘But you’re too heavy for me to drag you out today. Also, I’m not in the mood for rowing you, you big old beast,’ she said.

She loosened the ties for the little boat, threw in one of the otter boards and started pushing it.

Frikk watched from the outside as she pushed her boat down the little slope next to the pier. The old outboard engine was heavy, but not so heavy that she couldn’t carry it.

The water lapped over her trainers when she made the final push to get the boat on the water. She wasn’t sure just how cold the water was, but she didn’t mind. She climbed up to the pier again and secured the rope after pulling the boat alongside it. Frikk barked twice. She looked at him. The dog was standing on the edge of the pier, knowing full well what was about to happen.

She pulled off her clothes, down to her underwear. There was no one around now anyway. Then she ran onto the diving board and jumped, screaming as the cold water hit her. She was grinning when she swam up to the surface and discovered Frikk was still standing on the pier, wagging his tail.

‘Get in here, you chicken.’

The dog jumped and splashed around her while she swam towards the pier again.

This was the way to rid herself of Karl and all that had happened.

***

A piercing scream followed by a big splash woke Jack up. He looked around, wondering what the hell was going on and where he was. A dog was barking and then there was another splash.

Shocked, he stood up from the deckchair he had slept in when he couldn’t get himself to sleep inside the house. He was stiff and cold, and felt like the biggest idiot on the planet. No one could ever know that he had been too spooked to sleep inside.

He pulled the blanket over his shoulders and peered over the fence. It took him a second to realise the noise came from one of the boathouses on the beach.

Jack shaded his eyes. He recognised the dog and knew it was Ninni splashing around in the water. What was she doing? Was she in trouble?

He walked towards the gate in the fence, not very keen to jump into the water after her, but if she really was in trouble then he had no choice.

Before he managed to open the gate she came up from the water, calling the dog to follow her. She was wearing nothing but a bra and a flimsy pair of knickers, obviously not expecting anyone to see her. Jack couldn’t look away. Especially when she stretched her arms in the air and he was sure his heart stopped.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She jumped out into the water again, splashing about with the dog swimming around her like a barking seal. Finally she pulled herself up into a yellow plastic boat and dragged the dog after her.

She pulled on a sweater, then started the engine of the boat.

Jack stood there until the boat disappeared around a headland. He let his breath out slowly.

I’m now reduced to a Peeping Tom, he thought, grinning at the image. But she was worth it. Mad woman, though. The water was probably freezing this far north. He shook his head. Who in their right mind would go swimming this early? He thought about Vikings and trolls, and all the other things about Norway he had no idea about. Perhaps the women were all mad from the cold weather? Or perhaps they all went mad as soon as the sun warmed their brains? Hopefully she would do this every morning. It would be worth getting up early for.

Jack looked at his watch. It was far too early to call an estate agent who could take a look at the property and tell him what it was worth. The lawyer had given him loads of paperwork, and the name of someone who’d shown interest in buying, but he wasn’t going to be stupid. He would get a second opinion, to be sure.

Jack yawned and stretched his back. He couldn’t sleep another night in the chair without doing some serious damage. Sooner or later he would have to sleep inside. Or perhaps he could get a tent and sleep in the garden.

He chuckled. The first thing he had to do was go shopping. Ninni had said the shop opened at ten. In the meantime, he could have another look around the house, take a look upstairs to see if there was a decent bedroom he could use. In case the garden tent didn’t work out.

There were bushes along the fence – some sort of berry bushes, he wasn’t sure what kind. And something else caught his eye.

Jack bent down and pushed aside something that looked like weeds. ‘Chives,’ he muttered.

He pulled a small leaf of something else and rubbed it between his fingers. Basil. Did Agnar cook? It seemed he had a kitchen garden of sorts.

That was interesting. A cook. But not for a living, he thought. Agnar had been a farmer and a fisherman. He was nothing like him. Lots of people liked to cook. It didn’t mean anything.

Jack picked up the blanket from the chair and walked inside the house. He ignored Agnar’s TV lounge and went into the kitchen. All of a sudden he saw signs of someone with more than just a casual interest in cooking.

The knife rack on the side was top-notch. Inside the cupboards he found spices, all sorts of dried herbs and lots of garlic. Everything had been put in small glass jars and carefully labelled with a felt pen.

Jack took down a jar and looked at it. Estragon, the label said. He opened it and the sharp smell of anise filled the air.

‘Not too bad,’ he said aloud, enjoying the smell of tarragon.

He opened the fridge and took out the leftover fish burger Ninni had sold him. The bun was a bit soggy, so he peeled it off. The sauce on the burger was interesting. Not mayo, he thought. It was tart and sweet, with a definite hint of dill. His stomach reminded him it was breakfast time and he wolfed down the food.

‘This is so good,’ he said to himself, making a mental note to ask Ninni how they were made.

He put on the kettle and sipped the cold drink while he waited for the water to boil. It was orangey and fresh, and a bit sweet. Better than nothing, he thought.

Without hesitating any more, he went upstairs to see what was up there.

He almost hit his head on the ceiling beams. Apparently Agnar’s people were shorter in the olden days, he thought. On the landing there were only two rooms, the doors wide open. Inside the first room he found an old-looking double bed with white covers. Someone had put sheets and furniture covers on almost everything.

Jack pulled the covers off the bed. The mattress didn’t look too bad. He pushed at it with one hand. Firm. Perhaps this was a better place to crash than in a rickety old deckchair.

From the window he could see the whole bay. Far out he spotted Ninni’s boat. She seemed to be just sitting there. Mad woman, he thought.

He took a quick look into the second room. It had two single beds and a tallboy in a corner. The whole room had last century written all over it. Or the century before the last. There were thick layers of dust everywhere. Dust and dead flies.

Jack walked back to the larger bedroom, opened the windows and lay down on the bed. He closed his eyes. It was after all barely six o’clock and the shop wouldn’t open for another four hours.

He fell asleep in seconds, the thin curtains wafting in the wind, bringing in the sweet smell of spring.

***

Ninni looked down into the water. It was so clear she could see all the way to the bottom where the line from the otter board was visible only because of the colourful fishhooks.

‘No fish today, Frikk. Have we scared them away?’

The dog peered down into the water, just like her. He barked a couple of times.

‘That’s not helping,’ Ninni said.

She pulled up the line and started the engine. ‘I think we’ll try further out.’

The boat dipped and jumped on the water and the seawater hit her face. Ninni laughed. It felt so good.

Frikk stood in the front of the boat. His tail wagged like mad.

Ninni turned the boat into the next cove and slowed down, finally stopping a few lengths from land.

She dropped the line again. Once in a while she pulled at the otter board, hoping to get a fish to bite. She couldn’t help it, she started to think about Jack Greene. Alma was right. There was something about him.

What was he doing here? It was so utterly weird that a stranger should just show up out of the blue like that, without explaining anything. As if he had fallen from the sky. Britt had been adamant that he wasn’t staying with them. So where was he? Sleeping in someone’s barn? In one of the boathouses?

She pulled at the line again and this time something nibbled at the hooks. Frikk barked.

‘Okay, okay. I can hear you. Don’t scare the fish, please.’ Ninni wound up the line and looked into the water at the same time.

‘There’s two of them. A pair of fine cods for dinner.’ She managed to get the fish into the boat and discovered there were a couple more at the end. Ninni took them off the line and dropped them in the bucket. ‘Alma will love these.’

She sat back down in the boat and opened the thermos. The coffee was delicious. ‘Later this week we’ll put out some crab pots. That would be tasty.’

Ninni sighed. ‘Karl loved crabs. The more, the better. He ate the whole thing. But mussels are his favourite.’

She looked at the dog. Frikk lifted his ears as if he understood every word.

The sun was heating up. She leaned back and closed her eyes. It was hard to remember a May that was this warm. It would rain again soon, of course, but that only meant this fine day had to be enjoyed to the fullest.

Another swim, she thought. Then more coffee and perhaps breakfast was a good idea.

She turned the boat towards land and headed back. The best place to swim was in the bay.

***

Jack stepped out in the yard with a mug in his hand. He sipped the tea and pulled a face. The tea was probably as old as the house. All he had found in the house was a sad box of Lipton Yellow that didn’t smell of anything. There was no milk or sugar, of course.

He poured the tea out onto a patch of grass, then left the mug on the step. Time to shop for food.

Jack walked along the path back to the pier. He felt better after a few hours of proper sleep, a short shower and the knowledge that the house didn’t spook him any more. And he was famished.

The shop was open when he arrived. He looked at the sign above the door. Joker, it said. Funny name for a store, he thought. He hadn’t noticed much the night before.

He went inside and looked around. The shop looked like a mix between a grocery store and a haberdashery. There was a post office desk at the back and an ATM in the corner. There was also a rack filled with magazines and books, another with colourful yarns, and even one with all sorts of DIY tools. The rest was food. He couldn’t see anyone in there, but figured they would show up.

Jack grabbed a wire basket by the door and started roaming. Everything was labelled in Norwegian so he had to use his imagination and some wild guesswork. Yoghurt was easy, while butter was more of a challenge. He couldn’t find any cheddar, and pulled a face when he saw the price of Jarlsberg.

He was pleased to see that none of the vegetables and fruit were wrapped in plastic. He could squeeze the produce, sniff it even, and the prices weren’t half bad. Although the selection wasn’t impressive.

‘Trenger du hjelp?’

Jack discovered an elderly man talking to him. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t speak Norwegian.’

The man’s face lit up in a huge grin and he pointed at him. ‘You’re the Englishman,’ he said. The thought seemed to thrill him.

‘I guess I am,’ Jack said, taking an instant liking to him.

‘I’m Jens Mikkelsen. Pleased to meet you.’

Jens held out his hand and Jack shook it. ‘Jack Greene.’

‘Nobody knows where you disappeared to after talking to Ninni last night. My wife was quite upset about it. She does not approve of things happening before she knows everything about it. Is it true? You didn’t have a place to stay last night?’

‘No, not really. I have a place to stay. Is your wife Alma Mikkelsen, by any chance?’ Jack remembered the lawyer mentioning Alma. She ran the island, he had said with a sneer. She was the one to ask if he wanted to know anything.

Jens chuckled. ‘That she is. She is also the shop manager and the mayor, and usually the one most on top of things. There’s no use trying to stop her. She’ll just waltz right over you.’

‘I have no sense of rhythm, I’m afraid.’

Jens looked in his basket. ‘But you do have taste for food. Are you a foodie, by any chance?’

‘Something like that. Do you have any coriander or avocados?’

‘I’m not sure what coriander is, so probably not. Avocado I do know, but we don’t have any at the moment, I’m afraid. You can order whatever you want and we’ll get it from the mainland for you, free of transport charge.’

Jack took out a green pepper from his basket. ‘So this is about it?’

‘For the more exotic stuff, yes. Most people on the island have their own kitchen gardens, I’m afraid. Oh, and just so you know, the root vegetables, all of them, are grown right here on the island,’ Jens added with a happy smile.

‘Isn’t it too early to harvest anything from a garden? What do people do in the meantime? Watch the seedlings grow?’ Jack started to empty the contents of the basket onto the counter.

Jens chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t put it past some of them. But to answer your question, we do have a good selection of vegetables in the frozen section over there.’

Jack couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing. ‘I’ll check it out,’ he said. ‘What about cheese?’

‘Well, follow me; we’ll see what we’ve got.’ Jens trotted over to a small fridge. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any Stilton or cheddar; Norwegians don’t like it much, I think. But we do have Norzola, which is as close as you get to blue cheese. Not sure what you would make of Old Cheese,’ he said with a wicked grin.

‘I guess that depends how old it is,’ Jack said, intrigued now.

Jens chuckled and pulled a small black package from one of the shelves and held it up.

‘This, my friend, is a fresh mould cheese, made from cultured milk. You will not get it anywhere else in the world. You see, this is proper Viking cheese, and only the bravest dare taste it,’ he said, his eyes challenging him.

‘Viking cheese?’ Jack took the cheese from him. ‘I’ll give it a try.’

‘Oh, yes. The Vikings used it as an aphrodisiac. However, I doubt that would work today. The smell of the cheese is a bit pungent.’

‘How do you use it?’

Jens smiled. ‘I put some on bread with lots of butter and perhaps a dollop of lingonberries. Alma refuses to eat it if there’s no bacon. Other people eat it with mayo or just put lots of butter on it, or eat it as it is.’

‘Do you have any eggs?’ Jack dropped the cheese in the basket.

‘Not yet, I’m afraid. Perhaps later today. We get them fresh from one of the farms, and the hens can be temperamental.’

Jack hid a smile. ‘But you have oils, right?’

‘Of course, over here.’ Jens showed him a small rack with a few bottles of Greek olive oil and some rapeseed oil. ‘When I tell Alma you have been here, she’s going to want to know where you are staying. Everyone is wondering about that!’

‘Are they?’

‘Oh, yes. Some people think you may be a burglar and will murder us in our beds. Not me,’ he added.

Jack smiled. ‘You can ease everyone’s curiosity. I’m staying at the Bergets farm.’

For a second Jens stared at him. ‘Oh,’ he finally said. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. So you can tell people that I’m harmless and don’t sleep in a ditch.’ Jack was enjoying himself.

Jens shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just so very surprised. We thought the lawyers who run the place now, such as it is, couldn’t rent it out. They are doing a poor job looking after the farm, by the way. Mostly we have taken care of the necessary things.’

‘Like what?’ Jack put the groceries on the counter.

Jens shrugged. ‘We’ve kept up with the grass.’

He looked at him as if he expected Jack to know what he was talking about.

‘Sorry?’

‘The winter grass. It needs cutting at least twice every season and now, because of all this fine weather, it has been growing a lot faster than normal, so we have cut it a bit earlier than usual. You won’t have to cut it again now until July, I should think. And if you’re really lucky, and the weather stays nice, you can cut it again in September.’

‘Okay,’ Jack said, wondering what the man was talking about.

He watched as Jens put the groceries through the ceremony of the till, and followed the instructions on the pad with a little help from the shopkeeper.

‘Pin kode is the same as a pin code, you know,’ Jens explained.

It looked like a spelling mistake to Jack. He stuffed everything in an old backpack he had found in the house and walked towards the door. In the doorway he turned.

‘Why do I have to cut the grass?’ he said.

‘Because of the animals, of course,’ Jens said, beaming at him.

‘It’s something we all do. You’ll save a fortune on it in the winter.’

‘Do you have animals to feed?’ Jack asked.

‘Not us. Alma and I have a cat, but he doesn’t eat grass, of course. But we all help. You will find that in rough times we tend to stick together and when someone needs help we do a dugnad.’

Must be some sort of Norwegian custom, Jack thought when he headed back. Jens seemed to think he knew what it meant. No matter. He was leaving soon.

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