The Day She Came Back(74)
How different my life would have been if I had moved here with my mum all those years ago. I might speak like you and might, right now, be sitting at home, waiting for you to alight from this train and come back . . . come back to me . . .
She particularly liked the little red barns that were dotted throughout the landscape, standing out among the beautiful blaze of autumn-bronzed leaves and reminding her of Monopoly hotels in both colour and design. The lights coming through the windows of the rural buildings illuminated the landscape in a honey-coloured arc. She could see from this one journey that this was a beautiful, beautiful place. Finally, the train pulled into the Nationaltheatret Stasjon and she and Sarah left the station, walking up the wide steps and emerging into the city.
Victoria’s first impression was that there were more trees than she might have imagined in the middle of a city. Walking along the street, she took in the glorious, ornate stone buildings, the fancy spires and the lines of flag poles – each one bearing the striking red, white and blue Norwegian flag – that led the eye up to a grand park at the top of a hill. There were eye-catching sculptures; clean, cobbled streets; vast fountains; and everywhere she looked were tall, beautiful people. She had read how Norway only had eleven hours of daylight at this time of year, but she knew that any lack of light was the very last thing she would remember about this, her first visit to Oslo.
‘This place is so beautiful!’ She spoke her thoughts aloud.
Sarah nodded and looked around as if seeing it through new eyes. ‘I never get sick of it.’
‘I bet. Bit different to Epsom.’
‘Just a bit. I would have followed Jens anywhere, but I’m glad it was to here. He is my reason, my anchor. He is the person in my life who listens, and I think we all need someone like that, that person to whom you can witter about everything and anything, from politics to bowel movements.’
Victoria felt her nose wrinkle in distaste. Sarah gave a wry smile. ‘It’s true. Everyone needs a listener.’
‘So how did you guys meet?’
‘We met in London; he was a law student on placement and I was a long-haired junkie working a couple of shifts in a coffee shop. I saw him. He saw me. And that was that.’ She shrugged her shoulders, as if it were a fait accompli. ‘All we had to do then was find a way and a place to be together.’
‘And that place was Oslo,’ Victoria guessed.
‘That place was Oslo. Come on, we can walk along the waterfront. I can’t wait for you to meet him. And for him to meet you.’
Victoria nodded and walked alongside, feeling none of the excited anticipation Sarah clearly felt. For her, the overriding sensation was still that this whole situation was strange, surreal and a little fearful. She wondered if it would ever change; she wanted so much to get to that bridge Sarah had described, the one where they met in the middle and started afresh, but with her hurt raw and her grief still all-consuming, she doubted that was going to happen any time soon.
The air was crisp and clean and the dark sky clear. Lights from the restaurant frontages, on the masts of boats and the subdued deck lighting of the many docks, as well as those on the quayside, where people sat sipping cream-topped hot chocolate or nibbling crêpes, were reflected in the still, cold water of the fjord, giving every view an ethereal, reflective quality. It was one of the most scenic places she had ever been. She thought how much Prim would have loved it and her heart flexed at the thought that she never got to see it. This was instantly followed by a flash of anger that, had her gran been honest with her, they might have both been able to come here . . . Such a bloody waste.
‘I love to see people in love,’ Sarah said, nodding towards the many couples strolling hand in hand, wearing thick coats to ward off the chill. ‘I think it is one of the most hopeful sights known to man. I think as long as people love one another, then there is hope.’
‘Hope for what?’ Victoria asked.
‘For everything!’ Sarah beamed at her. ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I was hanging out with someone for a while, but . . .’ She pictured Flynn sneaking along the hallway, hand in hand with Courtney. ‘He was a bit of a turd.’ She borrowed from Gerald. ‘And it all went a bit wrong. Horribly wrong, in fact.’
‘Well, his loss. You could have the pick, Victoria. My advice would be: stay away from turds.’ She smiled, seeming pleased to have finally, finally spoken her name without any hesitation. ‘Seriously, you could have the pick.’
‘I don’t know about that. Prim was always keen to remind me that the Cutter women looked like potatoes—’
‘Aaah, but only until they evolved into a chip!’ Sarah finished her sentence and they both laughed, spontaneously and without an edge, and it was nice, a hint maybe of how life might be if they could only reach that bridge . . . ‘I think I reached full chip at about twenty.’
‘Well, I’ve got that to look forward to then.’ Victoria held her eyes for a second, again a moment when they let their guards down and optimism bound them. It was almost intoxicating.
‘Many of my problems were of my own making, there’s no denying it. I felt caged, antsy, not just at home but in general. If ever I had to sit in a room – I wanted to run.’ Sarah kept her voice low. ‘But I remember before my life veered so wildly off track, being about your age and feeling that life was crushing me, coming at me from all sides. Mum was very controlling.’