Ben sat back and closed his eyes to the sun for a moment. “My Danish is almost perfect.”
She giggled like a schoolgirl and then slapped him lightly on the leg. “Not yet. You’re very arrogant, but that’s to be understood.”
“Me? Why?”
“Ah, so modest, too. Come, beautiful, bad boy, my garden doesn’t dig itself. Did you get everything on the list?”
“Yes, Mother…” He grumbled it in jest, but she paused in picking up her handbag.
“Mother. Yes. I like that. In that case, son, let’s get back into that very silly car of yours and go home.”
§ § §
Later that evening, while Ben was drinking some wine after his swim, Ingrid came out of the house with an album. She set it down and proclaimed with a flourish, “I’ve found Nikolas and Aleksey, would you like to see?”
Ben just nodded. Yes. He would.
She opened it to a picture familiar to anyone who’s ever been to primary school. Clearly, the yearly photo of children was an international thing. She pointed. “Here they are in their first year. Five years old. Look, that’s me in the front. I didn’t teach the very young ones then.”
There was a row of children sitting in the front on the ground cross-legged. Side by side were the identical Nikolas and Aleksey. Their hair was exceptionally blond, and they were very thin, even then, bony knees and elbows in their shorts and short-sleeved shirts. Ben couldn’t tell them apart. She turned to the next photo, aged six. They were now standing, but, other than that, there was no difference. Aged seven was missing, as was aged eight, but then, there they were, aged nine. They were still smaller than the other boys in their row but wiry and agile looking. One of the twins was smiling at the camera nicely. One was staring up, as if he’d just seen something in the sky that interested him more than standing there and being good. Ben smiled. He was fairly sure now which twin was which. Ingrid then turned to the next photo. They weren’t in it. “I think this was taken the summer after they left. They were very lucky their father came for them. We all thought them so lucky after what had happened. But we missed them. Well, we missed Nikolas.” She chuckled.
Lucky. Ben blew out a small breath and turned away. He couldn’t bear it.
It didn’t get dark until almost eleven at night now, being the peak of the summer, and Ben took every moment of daylight to work on his Danish, reading in the garden or occasionally watching television with Ingrid. He could understand the news quite easily. Shows left him struggling occasionally, but gradually, he could even understand most of what was being said in those.
Texts from Nikolas were very sporadic now. They were travelling in places without good connections. Ben didn’t mind so much. It was worse, somehow, being reminded, having to lose him each time when their short communications were done. Last time, he’d asked his hopefulhow is heand Nik had repliedvery sick.
§ § §
Missing Nikolas began to resemble missing his mother in Ben’s mind. There was a similar sense of desolation and loneliness to not having Nikolas around as there had been for the first few months when he’d been unable to accept his mother’s desertion. He refused to give into the feelings, however. He wasn’t eight. If his frantic attempts to keep busy sometimes resembled a small boy running to the moors and living rough, searching desperately for unconditional love, then he ignored the similarities and told himself that at least keeping busy improved his language skills. Once he’d made a first foray into reading, he found this the easiest way to avoid thinking about Nikolas at the same time as becoming really proficient in Danish. He became an almost daily visitor to the library. Gabby was as good as her word and took him under her wing. She seemed to sense his wariness of the other, younger librarians (if not the provenance for such caution), particularly Amy, and always looked after him herself. Ben found her almost motherly presence completely restful and reassuring. It actually amused him to think of telling Nikolas, when asked, that yes he’d had girlfriends on Aeroe—an elderly widow and a spinster librarian.
§ § §
Ben noticed the change in the sea first. One evening, walking in to start his swim, the cold hit him. He did his usual distance but getting out was unpleasant, and he jogged back to the house and into his room, glad to get into a warm shower.
Ingrid mentioned it next, picking up some leaves from the lawn and saying wistfully, “We must think about getting wood in for the winter. It comes along every year more quickly.”
Ben straightened, did a calculation in his head, and realised he’d been on Aeroe for three months. It was October. He hadn’t heard from Nikolas since the end of September.
The days continued to pass in his simple routine. If he wasn’t running or swimming, he was working on his Danish, always Danish, reading, writing now, listening to the television and chatting with Ingrid. The Red Shoes were long forgotten. Now, following Gabby’s recommendations, he had a roomful of books. He’d rented some audio books as well and listened to them as he fell asleep, anything not to have to think about Nikolas.
One day, Ingrid came up to him in the garden, watching him for a while. The days of just wearing shorts were well over. He was warmly dressed and working on raking the leaves. “Would you like to visit the Mikkelsen summerhouse? I’ve contacted the caretaker, Hans, and he offered to show us around it this afternoon. Of course, I taught him. Very silly boy, and he didn’t marry well. Dreadful Swedish woman—Agna. But one mustn’t speak ill of foreigners, I suppose.”
Ben straightened and nodded. “I heard it was empty.”
“Oh, yes. Quite. I don’t believe anyone has lived in it since Nina and her babies. But it’s well cared for. Too well, some say. God alone knows what Agna will do if anyone from the family ever wants to live there again. She seems to think of the place as hers. Which I suppose she would after so long.”
§ § §
They drove over that afternoon. The estate was at the top of the island. They passed through forests and then emerged back again at the coast, and there it was, a large villa perched on a headland with formal gardens running down to the sea. The caretaker was waiting for them, introduced himself as Hans, apologised that his wife was home in Sweden visiting family, and began to chat to Ingrid as he led them through the courtyard to the door.
Inside was like a scene from an old movie. Everything was covered in dustsheets and seemed to have a timeless quality to it as if the owners had just stepped out for a moment. Ben could understand Hans’s chatter quite well, but he wasn’t listening. He wandered around touching things Nikolas had touched, walking where he’d walked. He wondered whether, if he’d been here alone, he’d hear an echo of a young boy’s voice, high pitched, excited, running through his life with a zest for living until all the joy was taken from him.
In one room, in a bay window, there was a grand piano. He pulled the sheet off and sat at it. He tapped a note. It was all he could do; his childhood hadn’t included piano lessons. But then it hadn’t included vicious sexual assault either. He closed his eyes. Everything ached for Nikolas now. Not just the physical things, which ached continually despite his extreme regime, but everything, his heart, his thoughts, hissoul. With a clench of his jaw, he closed the lid and pulled the sheet back.“Spirit of place. I have felt it in places also.”
If anywhere held the spirit of the Nikolas he loved, then this was the place.
CHAPTER EIGHT
