Ellie thought. What did she want to know? ‘She always acted as if I was the apple of her eye. So why did she do that to me? I’m not saying she should have done it to Abby or anything but . . . she loved me.’
‘Call her.’
Ellie shrugged.
‘Honestly. Don’t leave it,’ he urged.
‘How’s the pilgrimage been?’
He was amused. ‘That’s OK if you want to change the subject. The pilgrimage has been good.’
‘How come you’ve managed to take so much time off to do it? Do you work?’
‘I have a very demanding job in Oslo. Long hours. It’s a job I love.’
‘So . . .?’
‘I resigned. Or at least I told them I was coming out here. If they didn’t like it, they’d have to fire me.’
‘Wow, strong words.’
‘It was necessary. I’ll be sad to finish it.’ Fredrik paused. ‘My dad came out here earlier this year. He got to the halfway point – about two hundred and fifty miles – but then went back home. He said he’d been feeling a bit unwell. He called and asked me to go home and visit – he needed some help around the house.’
‘Something’s telling me you didn’t?’
‘I was in the middle of a project. I didn’t want to leave. I made a half-hearted promise to spend time with him in the summer, maybe even join him on the rest of his pilgrimage.’
‘But he’s not with you . . .’
‘He died in June. Got diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and was told he had three weeks to live.’
Ellie bit her lip. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘So that’s all I had left. Three short weeks.’
‘You mustn’t feel bad.’
‘I can’t help thinking about all those times I didn’t go home. This year wasn’t the only time. I just enjoyed my life, did what I wanted.’ He took a deep breath. ‘So I decided to get myself out here. Finish his pilgrimage. You want to see my route passport?’
‘Of course.’
‘Every time you get to a hostel you get a stamp.’ Fredrik pulled a folded cardboard booklet out of his pocket, worn and curved from use. He opened it up and ran his fingers along the first stamps, each a different design. ‘Most of these are my dad’s.’ He moved his finger along. ‘And these are mine. Now I’m doing it I miss him even more. Do you know what I mean?’
Ellie nodded and felt a little part of her heart tie with Fredrik’s. She wanted to put her hand on his but wasn’t sure . . . What the hell, she suddenly thought and felt his warm skin under hers. ‘I miss my mum,’ she said softly. ‘I know she’s not dead or anything,’ she added quickly, feeling embarrassed at him thinking she might be comparing her situation to his own tragedy, ‘she’s just not the person I thought I knew. I’ve lost that person and I’ll never get her back.’ Fredrik turned his hand over so he could link his fingers through hers, and Ellie felt as if she was fused to his rough palm. The point where they touched was all she could focus on, as if a current was running through them. And she knew he was feeling the same thing.
‘Got a dad?’ asked Fredrik.
Ellie shook her head.
‘So that makes us both orphans,’ he said.
She smiled at him.
‘You’re a survivor, Ellie, I can tell.’
‘Takes one to know one.’
Ellie looked at her hand, still clasped by his. What the hell.
‘Fredrik?’
‘Yes?’
She had to do it quickly or she’d lose her nerve. So she leaned in to kiss him. He hesitated for a tiny moment and then kissed her back. They pulled apart, eyes locked. So what next? thought Ellie. This felt like her moment, space and time that belonged only to her. She was aware of its fleeting nature, how it would drift away from her unless she grabbed it with both hands.
SEVENTY-FIVE
In the back of the surveillance van, Baroni sat listening to Fredrik and Ellie. She was flanked by two techie cops, who monitored a bank of screens that held views from the cameras fitted to the two unmarked cars parked at strategic parts of the village. One was directly opposite the row of buildings where the B & B was nestled in between the village hall and a delicatessen. Other screens were showing the views up and down the main street.
So Abby had gone off in a huff, thought Baroni. It must have been a while ago as none of