I noticed, in the direction of Derry’s room. “That’s very kind. I’ve just . . . felt a little down lately.” Her eyes fell on my forearms. “You’ll know what that feels like.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, overly sympathetic.
“I meant to ask,” she said then. “Coco’s birthday party. What did you have in mind?”
I stared blankly. What did I have in mind? I had all but forgotten that she was turning a year old in a matter of days, and completely overlooked the fact that this may require a birthday celebration of some sort. It had been some time since I celebrated my own birthday, and the last birthday party I could remember attending was Meg’s. There was a large bonfire, a druid pop band, and we all had to come dressed as pagan gods. I didn’t think this kind of thing would sit all that well with Tom.
Maren was still staring expectantly. “Well . . .” I said, straining to think what a child’s birthday party might involve. I’d never exactly had one of my own, at least not one that didn’t involve adults getting drunk on cheap cider, fighting in the street, and getting arrested by the police. I couldn’t quite imagine Tom going for that sort of party either. “We could . . . get some . . . balloons?” I said. This prompted a nod. Good. “And . . . a cake?”
“Very good,” Maren said. “Shall we go tomorrow?”
Another stupid stare. “Go? Go where?”
She looked puzzled. “To Ålesund. Coco’s birthday is on Friday.”
“Ah, yes,” I said. “Yes, let’s . . . go to Ålesund.”
It was the first time I’d taken the girls out for the day, and to be honest I was quite excited. Also I was clueless about what we should pack, so I brought everything—bottles, almond milk, sandwiches, three changes of clothing for both girls, nappies, two different pushchairs, and a spare bag filled with toys—and we all piled into Maren’s Volvo.
It was astonishing how much the landscape had changed since I first arrived in Norway. I mean, everything was still there—I don’t mean that an earthquake had happened or anything—but the seasons transformed the landscape entirely. The emerald-green cliffs with gushing white waterfalls and a turquoise fjord I’d seen back in August were now dark brown, with snow dribbling down the dark curve of rocks, like the ginger cake with white vanilla icing we used to get at school. The fjord was shining silver, as though filled with mercury instead of water, and the cliff beneath Granhus looked like a hunk of pewter instead of rock. It was magical; the villages and homes dotted all along the banks of the fjord had their window lamps on—a Norwegian tradition for fisherman who are yet to return home—and so all the pockets of the fjord shimmered with gold lights. Like a glittery biscuit crumb, to continue the dessert analogy.
I felt awkward with Maren in the car, given that I’d just uncovered her slightly unhealthy fascination with her dead employer. And the collection of images of the murdered girl, Ingrid, was unnerving, too. I thought back to our conversation in Maren’s bedroom on the night that Tom gave her a bollocking. Just as I was scratching around my brain for a decent conversation starter, I sensed she was feeling awkward, too.
“When we spoke before, I think I spoke out of anger,” she said carefully, glancing in the rearview mirror at Gaia, who was scribbling in her art book.
I waited for Maren to explain which conversation she meant. The logbook? Whether honey was vegan or not? The chat we had about Tom?
“Things have not been the same, since . . .” she said with a meaningful stare. I’ve never been particularly talented at reading between the lines, but I deduced she meant since Aurelia died. “As you can imagine.”
“Of course,” I said.
“To be honest, I’ve been giving some serious thought to the future. I think that, once I’ve done what I need to do, I’ll move on.”
“Move on?” I said. I checked that Gaia was distracted before leaning closer to Maren. “Do you mean quit?”
“I mean move on,” she said, flinching at the word “quit.” “I’d intended to work for Aurelia for as long as she needed me. The rest of my life, if that was required.”
I waited for something more, but it didn’t come. “How did you begin working for Aurelia?” I asked.
She smiled sadly. “I had met Aurelia briefly seven years ago, back in London.