The Last Boat Home (21 page)

As quietly as she could, she pulled open the drawers of her dresser and grabbed the warmest clothes she had, tugging one jumper after another over her head until her trunk was stiff with wool. Her boots were downstairs in the hall. She cast about the room for something to wear on her feet and chose a pair of shag socks and some summer plimsolls: they would have to do. Before returning to the window, she snatched the bedspread that a great aunt had crocheted and rolled it into a scarf.

Petter remained crouched on his perch. ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed.

‘Just getting some things.’

‘What, are you packing a case? Come on, let’s go.’

Else placed one foot on the windowsill and drew herself onto the ledge. Her hands gripped the sides of the window frame for balance. She looked across to Petter, now straddling a branch with both of his arms outstretched.

‘Are you ready?’ he asked.

‘Ready,’ she said. Else’s pulse knocked like a fist in her skull. She took a deep breath before she dropped into the night.

Falling, flying, sinking, sinking. The black sky closed over her head like water. A snap, a crack; a solid something struck her chest. A cry from somewhere she could not fathom. Scrabbling for a hold, legs kicking the air. Petter’s eyes, his fingers clamped above her elbows. Boring into her flesh. Pinching her skin. His hands dragging her up and up.

‘I have you,’ he said.

‘Don’t let go.’

‘I told you I was a good catch.’

Else gripped his arm. With his help, she managed to tuck her body over the branch on which he sat. She lifted one leg, twisting up and around until she had hauled herself into a sitting position.

‘I left my moped parked off the road,’ Petter said.

Else nodded at her parents’ window. ‘Come on. We have to hurry.’

She tried to listen again for her father’s snores, but her heartbeat muffled all other sound. She gripped the branch with hands that shook and, as quickly as she could, shinned down the tree trunk.

By the time her shoes touched the ground, Petter was halfway across the yard. She raced after him, sliding through the mud beside the vegetable plot. An animal smell wafted from the crumbling barn, accompanied by the sound of the cow’s sleepy huff. Else’s own breath panted as she ran. Her socks and plimsolls sucked up spring melt. The cold water swamped her toes, icing her flesh to the bone.

At the edge of the property Else scrambled up the hill to the road, rocks crunching underfoot with every step. The branches of the birch trees on either side of the path blotted out the moonlight, stretching and joining like fingers clasped in prayer. Else had the sense that they were advancing on her, that the trees were closing ranks, a holy army bent on thwarting her
escape. It was a relief when the hill plateaued and she was able to outrun them.

She found Petter waiting for her on his moped. She could make out his smile and his hand fumbling for the key.

‘Not here,’ Else whispered. ‘Let’s push the bike further down the road.’

‘Wooohoooo!’ Petter howled.

‘Shut up! What are you doing?’

‘We made it, didn’t we?’

‘They could still wake up. The engine’s too loud. Let’s just …’

But he was already turning the key. The engine snarled to life. ‘How’s that for a daring rescue?’

Else hurried forward and swung her leg over the saddle behind him before lacing her arms around his waist. Her chest was still heaving from the effort of her run. She was aware of his back pressing against her and she did her best to calm her breathing.

‘So where have you been? They said at school you were ill. What did you do to get locked in your room?’

When she did not answer, Petter snorted.

‘Suit yourself,’ he said and nudged the pedal with his foot.

The moped jerked and took off down the road, while his question hummed in her ears. What had she done? Else knew what she had done. She had been careless. Stupid. Sneaking off with Lars to the caretaker’s shed – of course her father had found them out. For the first time since Petter’s arrival, she let herself feel her disappointment: it should have been Lars, not him. But Lars had not come. He had been at the market buying sugar peas; he had carried on with life as normal. It was Petter who had climbed the morello tree.

Else squeezed her arms tighter around his stomach. If she could convince him to drive her to town, then someone would help her – either that, or she would catch the first coach out. She brought her lips close to his ear and shouted over the motor.

‘I need to get into town! Do you hear me, Petter? I said I need to get into town!’

Petter lifted a hand from the handlebar and batted his ear. The moped zipped on and desperation tied a knot in her throat. But she would bide her time. She would make him see. As soon as they stopped, she would explain and he would do as she asked.

The wind was savage, stinging her eyes. Else ducked her head, but it found her behind the shelter of Petter’s shoulder. It buzzed in her ears, a murmuring swarm that pricked her nose and throat with every breath. Her toes curled with the cold, but the air smelled of sea salt, of wet manure and early spring. She drew it deep into her lungs, ignoring the bite. She had escaped.

For some moments, she let herself go to a wild, bouncing joy. She raised her face to meet the wind. Freedom rushed at her in a blur of shadows.

Petter pressed the brakes of his moped. Its engine became shrill and, with a yank of the handlebars, he swerved headlong into the gloom at the side of the road. A jagged track opened under the moped’s wheels. They bumped over rocks embedded in the earth and raised tree roots which slowed their progress almost to a standstill.

‘Where are we?’ she asked.

‘Don’t you know? Tenvik’s paddock is ahead.’

‘But why have we come here?’

‘I told you. It’s a party.’

‘But I have to get into town,’ Else said.

Petter released the pedal and the moped came to a stop. The engine sputtered and was silent. He fixed the kickstand with his boot.

‘Don’t you hear me?’ Else said. ‘I have to get into town.’

He clambered off the saddle, pulling himself from her arms.

‘But it’s the middle of the night.’

‘You have to listen …’

‘Else, what’s wrong? Why do you have to get into town?’ Petter waited for an explanation, which melted like snowflakes on her tongue. She understood suddenly how hopeless it was. Even if he agreed, what good would it do? Who would believe her? Perhaps they already knew. Everyone knew about her father’s drinking. She thought of the townspeople whispering in the churchyard, of how they watched her parents hurry off every Sunday to catch the ferry. Her mother’s make-up did a poor job of covering the welts on her cheeks. Certainly, they knew. They shook their heads over the beatings, but did nothing to intervene. Why would they now? If she went to them for help, they would deliver her to her father. She had no choice: she would have to run away. But she had no money. She had nothing but the clothes on her back. What coach driver would take her if she could not pay for her ticket? If she spent all night begging, they would send her away, each one in turn.

‘Well?’ Petter said.

‘Please,’ she said, no longer sure of what she was asking.

He fished his Zippo lighter from his pocket and rolled its flint with his thumb. It flared in a puny flame that burned a patch out of the darkness.

‘If you want to go to town,’ he said, ‘you can walk. I’m going to the party.’

Petter strode down the track, leaving Else alone on the moped. She watched him go, her heart a dead weight in her chest. An image of her mother, battered and bloody, flickered behind her eyes. She blinked it away; she must not think about that now.

The light that bobbed with Petter’s movements began to dwindle. Else dismounted from the bike and ran to catch him up.

The forest closed around them. The trees threaded their branches into a net which collected the moonlight overhead, spilling chilly streams through isolated holes of sky. Under her boots, the ground
was frozen and littered with sloughed-off branches. Petter swore each time he tripped over one. Else pushed deeper into the night, leaving footprints of cracked ice in her wake. Her socks squelched with mud and water. She wrapped the bedspread around her shoulders, but it did little to ease the cold. Her teeth rattled in her mouth. Blood cooled in her body; she felt it sluggish in her veins.

She paused when a twig snapped nearby. She heard grunting, the lope of hooves. She grabbed Petter’s arm and the Zippo’s flame blew out.

‘What’s that?’ Else asked.

‘Deer,’ he whispered.

A shadow charged the darkness. Then silence settled over them. Petter sparked his lighter. He held it close to his cheek.

‘Will Lars be there?’ Else asked.

Petter sniffed. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘It’s the last party. The circus men are leaving tomorrow.’

‘They’re leaving?’ she said.

‘They’re going back to the circus. The new season is starting.’

She did not hear his second sentence. His words repeated in her ears.

The circus men were leaving.

First thing tomorrow, the trio of men who had stayed behind to find work for the winter would hitch up their trailers and travel north to rejoin the circus. To Haugesund. That was where Valentin had told her the new season would begin. Else thought of their costumes on the night when she had followed Lars under the curtain of the Big Top. She remembered the colours, the sparkle and shine under the lights.

And then there was Valentin.

She cleared her throat and blinked at Petter. ‘We should get going,’ she said.

‘Now you want to go to the party?’

‘Why not? That’s why we’re here.’

Else stumbled after him through the wood, dismissing the heaviness of her legs and allowing herself to think only of the strong man. Instead of the circus giant in the Big Top’s ring, she saw the man who had shared his chicory with her in the barn. She remembered the last time she had seen him, when he had knocked on the dining room window and pointed a finger at her father. ‘You,’ he had said. Valentin had stopped him. No one else ever had.

‘Petter,’ she said. She laid a hand on his arm and he paused. His eyes looked wounded in the Zippo’s thin light.

‘What is it?’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for springing me.’

He smiled at that. ‘It was something else, wasn’t it? And that jump of yours, God, don’t you know anything about athletics?’

He prattled on while Else tried to formulate a plan. Again and again, she arrived at the one thing that had changed.

The strong man was leaving.

A
LOW RUMBLE
of laughter brought her out of her thoughts. She saw the smudge of light in the darkness just as Petter pointed towards it.

‘Almost there,’ he said.

He hurried on and Else struggled to keep up. The glow spread as they drew nearer, tinting the night little by little and revealing the pine needles that laid a blanket under her feet. Clumps of rotting weeds were dotted in the earth, frozen and tangled like balls of knitting. Frost twinkled on the tree trunks, crusting the bark with a snowflake skin.

Else stopped at the edge of the forest. The bonfire crackled beyond the cover of the trees, releasing wisps of wood smoke into the air. Its light caught on the faces of the circus men who lolled
on upturned crates, toasting themselves and punctuating their language with the laughter she had heard. Else recognised Yakov by his crooked eyelid, Oleg by the ponytail that hung over his shoulder. A petrol can sat between them in the mud. There was no sign of Valentin.

Behind the men, the two trailers were parked at the mouth of the track that led to Tenvik’s farm. Else saw a silhouette dance across their walls. She took a step forward and the trees on either side of her fell away. Another couple sat further along the fire’s perimeter. Lars was with Rune: the captain and his first mate. He was tipping the contents of a petrol can into a mug that he steadied between his boots. When he took a sip, his mouth screwed sideways. He wiped his eyes. His shoulders began to bounce in the easy laugh she knew so well.

Lars at the market. Lars buying sugar peas. Lars drinking moonshine without a care in the world.

‘Are you coming?’ Petter asked.

He was already clear of the trees when she followed him onto the field. The bonfire had made short work of the residual snow. The ground was sodden and her feet sank into it. Else’s toes recoiled from a fresh gush of water as she looked again to the trailers, which loomed like whales beached in the mud. Nothing moved there but the darting shadow and light.

‘Else!’

Lars’s shout echoed in the darkness. Else pursed her lips and glared at the fire.

‘Else! Petter! Over here!’

She stood her ground when Petter broke away from her to join the others. She was not about to jump to Lars’s call – not a chance. Without so much as a glimpse in his direction, she began to pick her way over to the circus men. She did not get far. Yakov was watching her from under his half-mast eyelid. He lifted a mug to his lips and his gaze dipped the length of her body. Else
crossed her arms over her chest when his tongue flicked the corner of his mouth. She yanked the bedspread tighter around her shoulders.

‘Else!’ Lars said.

This time, she went to him.

‘There you are,’ he said. His voice slurred in a way that reminded her of her father. Rune’s face was loose, his nose running. Petter had taken his place with them next to the fire.

‘Do you want some?’ Lars asked.

‘No,’ Else said.

‘It’s bloody rancid. You know how we got it here?’

‘Petrol cans,’ she said.

‘Petrol cans!’ he said. ‘Pretty clever, eh?’ His cheeks plumped in a smile. Else wanted to hit him.

‘Your father’s going to skin you alive,’ she said.

‘
Skål
,’ he said and raised his mug to her.

Rune cheered while he drank and Else peeked at Yakov. He had resumed his conversation with Oleg, but still he watched her.

‘Where have you been?’ Lars asked. ‘I heard you were ill.’

‘Yes,’ Else said.