Summer Island Read online

  ‘You look hungry. A hot dog is probably better for you.’ Ninni took a bun from the grill and put a steaming, slightly burned hot dog in it. Then she pointed at the sauces. ‘Ketchup or mustard, mayo or shrimp cocktail, onions or red beets?’

  ‘That sounds a bit too much, to be honest. I don’t really like frankfurters,’ he said, looking at the hot dog.

  ‘Then you’re in luck. This is not a frankfurter; it’s a grilled sausage wrapped in bacon. A Norwegian speciality.’

  He looked baffled for a moment, then laughed. ‘That doesn’t sound half bad, actually.’

  His smile was lovely, she thought. ‘Try it. It’s good, I promise.’

  ‘I haven’t had any breakfast.’ He took a bite of the hot dog and chewed carefully. ‘Good,’ he said and took a bigger bite.

  ‘Are you visiting anyone on the island? Perhaps I can find them for you. I know everyone here.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m just passing through. I needed a holiday and Norway sounded interesting.’

  ‘Okay. Are you camping? I’m asking because you don’t look like an ordinary camper. No backpack or tent, or anything like that.’ He was a strange man, she thought.

  He smiled at her. ‘I have accommodation, thank you.’

  Ninni frowned. That sounded odd, she thought. ‘So, you are staying at the B&B, then? I didn’t know Britt had opened for the season,’ she said.

  Those blue eyes bore down on her. ‘Do you live here on the island?’

  ‘I live in Bergen, but my family have a house here. I usually stay during the odd weekend and most holidays.’

  She held out her hand, determined to get more information about him. ‘I’m Ninni Toft.’

  He took her hand in a warm, firm grip. ‘Jack Greene,’ he said and let go of her hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Direct approach usually worked best, in her experience. ‘Why have you really come to our island, Jack?’

  ‘For a short holiday,’ he said, serious now.

  She looked over her shoulder to see if Alma could come, but there was a long queue of customers inside and outside the shop. ‘There’s a dance here on the pier later. Lots of food. You are welcome to join us, of course. I’m sure Britt will bring you.’

  He looked at her properly, then. His eyes shifted colours suddenly, more like the sea in the morning, and he looked oddly familiar. ‘Maybe I will,’ he said with a smile. ‘Can I have more of that food, to take with me?’

  She thought it an odd request, but still. He was English.

  ‘You know, in case I don’t make it to the pier dance? I would go to the shop, but it looks closed.’

  ‘It opens again at ten tomorrow morning.’ Ninni pointed at the grill with burgers and more bacon sausages. ‘The fish burgers are highly recommended. The fish was caught this morning.’

  He looked interested. ‘Two, please.’

  Ninni found a Styrofoam container and made up a couple of fish burgers for him, adding the relish and remoulade without asking, then she put it all carefully into a carrier bag.

  When he held out his hand to take it from her, she shook her head. ‘Money in the tin first,’ she said, nodding at a tin on the desk, filled with banknotes and coins.

  Jack smiled. ‘Of course. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Twenty kroner per burger, and ten for the hot dog.’

  He handed her a hundred kroner note and got the burgers.

  ‘Thank you. Want something to drink with the food? I only have Solo and still water left, I’m afraid.’

  ‘What’s Solo?’

  Ninni showed him the bottle of bright orange fizzy drink.

  ‘You don’t have any wine?’ He looked at the bottle with a frown.

  ‘No, this is a hot dog stand, not a restaurant, I’m afraid. Do you want it?’

  ‘Sure. Thank you.’ Jack put it in the bag.

  Ninni counted the change and handed it to him. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Thank you. Perhaps I will see you later,’ he said.

  A group of children ran towards her, screaming for ice lollies, and Ninni was distracted. When she looked up again, he was gone.

  Alma will want to know, she thought. An Englishman who didn’t want to say why he was on the island and seemed confused.

  We’ll see if he comes to the dance; I’ll introduce him to Alma. She can use her mind-reading abilities on him, she thought, before concentrating on the children.

  ‘Line up, little monsters. There’s plenty of goodies for all of you.’

  ***

  It took a fair bit longer than ten minutes to get to the farm. The road Jack followed wasn’t much of a road. No wonder he missed the fork and had to walk back. The lawyer’s map wasn’t much help.

  But here he was, standing in the farmyard, eyeing his new property.

  Jack looked around. It wasn’t like any farm he had ever seen. Not that he knew much about farms. Born and raised in London, most of his farming knowledge came from TV shows. And this was far from anything he could have imagined. Everything was built with timber, for one thing.

  The house itself wasn’t much to look at – a two-storey building with a narrow entrance door, built on a stone or brick foundation, he had no idea. The house was painted white, although the paint had peeled in some places.

  On the other side of the farmyard was a small barn or stable.

  ‘God, I hope there are no dead cows in there,’ he said out loud to himself.

  The farmyard also had other buildings, mostly sheds of some sort. The barn was red and sagging a bit, and for some reason it had a lawn on the roof. A bit behind stood a house built on four cairns. How odd, he thought. Why would anyone want a house built on cairns?

  The phone pinged and he read the message. Holly, of course.

  Dad says you’re in shock. Is it a huge farm? Will you make millions from growing strange Norwegian vegetables and become too good for the rest of us?

  Jack grinned. He put the bag with food on top of the suitcase before answering.

  I’m already too good for you lot. You should know that by now.

  He sent the text and hoped she’d be satisfied. Knowing his little sister, he would get a barrage of texts if she was bored. But the text brightened his mood.

  Jack walked around the side of the main house. ‘Wow,’ he said.

  The views were stunning. A huge fence surrounded the house, and on the other side was a large field with rows of what he assumed were constructions of dry hay. A small path through a fence led down a garden to a snug beach with what looked like a couple of boathouses, jutting out over the water. After that, open sea as far as the eye could see.

  ‘Wow,’ he said again.

  He took pictures with his phone, of both the view and the buildings, and sent them to his dad.

  Finally he ran out of things to do. He had to go inside.

  He brought the suitcase and the bag with him to the front door, pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He hesitated with his hand on the door handle. For a moment he remembered every horror movie he had ever seen.

  ‘This is stupid,’ he said and stepped into the empty hallway.

  He walked inside, leaving the door open behind him and the suitcase nearby, just in case. Inside he turned on the light. A single light bulb dangled from the ceiling. Agnar wasn’t much of an interior decorator, Jack thought.

  Along the wall were pegs, loaded with clothes – jackets of all sorts, some older than him, Jack reckoned. On the floor were wellingtons and clogs, slippers and sailing shoes. All worn out, all in a heap. Not a tidy man either, he thought.

  The rug on the floor was worn thin and faded. Jack frowned. The house smelled of dust and something else he couldn’t identify. He sincerely hoped they had buried the body and hadn’t just left the poor man in the house. He did not want to meet his biological father like that.

  He walked further in. The hallway had three doors, all closed. The first was to a drawing room filled with heavy, dark furni
ture that reminded him of old black-and-white movies. It looked like no one had been in there for ages. The dust was thick on every surface. And on the floor were stacks of newspapers and magazines.

  One of the walls was covered in old photographs. Jack looked at them, one by one. Family photos, some so old they were black and white. His biological family, all of them, and he had no idea who any of them were. It was unsettling to see his own features on some of them. He had always been the odd one out with his blue eyes and blond hair in a family dominated by brown hair and brown eyes. But here, in these photographs, people looked like him. It gave him the creeps, so he backed out of there and decided to explore the rest of the house.

  The second door led to the kitchen, a wobbly Formica table by the window and two metal chairs with spindly legs. The kitchen was clean, apart from the dust here too, but there was still cutlery on the counter by the sink.

  The fridge was empty. Someone had cleaned out whatever food had been there. He wouldn’t survive on a couple of fish burgers for long. Perhaps he could ask the brown-haired girl, Ninni, where he could buy proper food. And, if he was honest, he wouldn’t mind seeing her again.

  He put the food and the bottle of fizzy drink in the fridge and went to see the rest of the house.

  The third door led to a combined bedroom/TV room. The TV was old and small, with something he guessed was an aerial protruding from the back of it. Probably black and white as well. He wasn’t optimistic about a Wi-Fi connection out here. More stacks of newspapers and magazines, alongside wobbly stacks of paperback books.

  He looked at the sofa bed. ‘I hope he didn’t die on that.’

  On one of the old side tables there were more photographs. He picked up one and almost dropped it.

  It was his mother with a man he assumed was Agnar. He could see the likeness to himself. Same colouring, same nose and jaw line.

  He put it down again.

  ‘I can’t stay here,’ he said aloud, as if someone could hear him.

  Jack turned around and walked outside, closing the door behind him.

  For a moment he just stood there, trying to breathe and not run. There was nowhere to run to, even if he tried.

  He thrust his hands in his pockets and walked round to the garden. There was a wooden bench under a small tree. He sat down and closed his eyes.

  This was all wrong. He shouldn’t be here. What was he doing, inheriting a farm from a man who’d been nothing more than a sperm donor? He had no connection to this past, this house or this island at all, and especially not to the stranger who had died and left him this white elephant.

  You could have told me something about him, Mum, he thought. Something that I could have connected to. Perhaps she’d meant to, when he got older. ‘Too late, Mum. Too late.’

  Jack groaned. He should be in London right now, working in the restaurant, prepping food and doing what he loved. Instead he was sitting like an idiot on a bench under a tree, talking to his dead mother.

  He looked up at the leafy branches. He didn’t even know the name of the tree.

  All of a sudden the absurdity of the situation caught up with him and he burst out laughing.

  ***

  Ninni flipped over another burger. Around her, music filled the night air. Alma’s husband, Jens, had brought his accordion and Olav and Sigrid played flutes. It had been a hot day, and the heat still lingered in the air.

  She sighed with contentment, feeling her shoulders sinking. All the fuss earlier in the day, all the speeches about the constitution, the wreath at the memorial for the fallen soldiers, the children’s parade and all the rest were over. It was time to simply enjoy the evening.

  Everyone had gathered on the pier and for once it wasn’t raining. The wind was mild and filled with the promise of summer. It would be bathing weather any time now. Not many 17th of May’s came with sunshine and clear skies. On the island, May usually was a wet and windy month. This year it was so warm everything had turned green three weeks ahead of schedule. It would be unsettling if they didn’t enjoy it so much.

  Ninni handed out burgers to anyone passing by. There was no need to take money; people put it in the tin by the table and somehow that always covered the costs.

  Alma found her through the crowd. ‘Why isn’t anyone helping you?’

  ‘When I’m fed up I’ll just leave and someone else will take over. It’s a miracle,’ Ninni said, smiling at her.

  ‘Have you seen him?’ Alma stretched her neck towards the north path.

  ‘No, not yet. He might not come.’ Ninni put buns next to a couple of burgers and wafted away the smoke.

  ‘It’s so strange.’ Alma wrung her hands. ‘Who is he? And he spoke English? Are you sure?’

  Ninni flipped the burger. ‘Oh, yes. He is English, Alma. I’m able to hear the difference between English and Norwegian. It’s all in the ear, you know.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but I don’t understand what he’s doing here. Britt says nobody has booked with her. So where’s he staying? And why would he lie about it? It’s so annoying.’

  Alma took the plate Ninni handed her and looked at it. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Jens told me you haven’t eaten all day. Eat. It’s good.’ Ninni gave her a stern look. ‘Why is this man bothering you?’

  Alma picked at the bun. ‘I don’t know. I just have a bad feeling. What if he’s a bad man, come to murder us all? Perhaps he heard that we never lock our doors and plans to rob every house.’

  Ninni thought of Jack. ‘I hardly think so. Did you see him through the shop window?’

  ‘Yes, I did. And there was something about him,’ Alma said.

  Ninni thought about his eyes. She hadn’t thought much about anything else since he’d talked to her. ‘I’m sure he will tell us all about himself sooner or later. And, if not, he’ll be gone in a few days’ time, he said so himself.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Alma said before taking a bite of the burger. ‘This is good.’

  ‘Of course it is. Making great burgers is my special talent.’ Ninni handed her another plate. ‘Here, take this to Jens and enjoy the evening. Dance. Let Olav and Sigrid do the music for a while.’

  Alma looked amused. ‘Dance? I’d most likely break my hip.’

  ‘I doubt that. I’m not sure if the flautists can do Chuck Berry.’

  ‘They wouldn’t know who that is, would they? They play weird meditation music or depressing folk music. It’s just sad.’ Alma shook her head.

  ‘Go and eat. I’ll be here for another thirty minutes, then I’ll come over.’

  Alma nodded. ‘Okay. But let me know immediately if that man turns up. I want to talk to him. I can’t relax until I know what’s going on,’ she muttered to herself and turned to join Jens and the others.

  Ninni flipped another burger. She didn’t worry about Jack Greene. Her thoughts went to Karl. If he was here, she would push him in the sea. Simply for being a mean bastard.

  Chapter 4

  An insistent bird was singing outside. Ninni opened her eyes and looked at the familiar ceiling. This had been her father’s room when he was a boy. Model aeroplanes were hanging from the rafters and boyhood books from the fifties and sixties, even some from before the war, on the shelves mingled with her own collection from her childhood, including handwritten manuscripts from when she thought she’d be a writer.

  It was too early to get up, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep any more. She was surprised she had slept at all. All day yesterday she had kept so busy she’d hardly had any time to think of Karl. There had just been fleeting moments, and then she’d found something new to distract her.

  The Englishman was one such distraction. Alma hadn’t stopped going on about him. The others had got involved and he’d become the topic for the rest of the night. Nobody knew where he was staying and nobody had seen him since he’d left the harbour.

  Ninni had tried to stay out of it. Speculations seldom led to any real answers. It was a waste of time, consider
ing he was only passing through.

  When she’d come up to the attic the night before she was overtired and sad. Now she felt more relaxed, more like herself.

  The magic of the island, she thought, and sat up so abruptly Frikk almost fell out of bed. He jumped down and went over to the door. He barked a few times, wagged his tail and finally pressed his nose against the door.

  ‘I’m coming, I’m coming. You’re the nuttiest dog I have ever met. And I’ve met a few.’

  Ninni went downstairs and let him out, leaving the door ajar, then had a shower and made coffee.

  Frikk came bouncing back after doing his business. Tongue lolling and tail wagging, he flopped down next to her. Ninni filled his water bowl and rubbed his ears.

  ‘We have to inspect the island today,’ she said. ‘A lot has been going on since we left.’

  Frikk lapped the water, making noises and splashing the floor.

  Ninni looked at the computer on the kitchen table. Next to it lay the stack of reference books she needed for the next assignment. But today translating contracts for an oil company didn’t tempt her. She needed a day off.

  The phone pinged and she looked at it. Karl. She deleted the message at once, then blocked his number.

  Ninni filled a thermos with more coffee, putting a spoon of chocolate powder in it and shaking it well.

  ‘I’m bringing some salami for you and a sandwich for me. Think you can handle that?’

  Frikk was looking at her as if he understood every word.

  I’m talking to the dog as if he will turn around and quote Ibsen back at me one day, she thought, rolling her eyes.

  Before she changed her mind, she grabbed a bright green sweater, put on a pair of jeans and red trainers, and headed out.

  She always did the “grand tour” on the first day on the island. Even if it was only a weekend trip or midwinter. The tour always made her feel better.

  Ninni looked down towards the sea. Waves were lapping in with the tide. She spotted litter among the pebbles and sighed. Why would people just throw their rubbish overboard? It made no sense.

  Downhill from their house, she caught a glimpse of Agnar’s farm. The house was snuggled on the high ground in a cove. He had access to one of the best beaches on the island and yet, at some point, he had put a tall fence around the entire property.