CHAPTER SEVEN
That night, his few clothes unpacked into the old drawers, the doors open to the sea, Ben lay in the huge bed alone. Radulf, banned from the immaculate white cover, seemed happy enough in his basket on the floor. Ben felt again that huge sense of dislocation and hollowness he’d begun to feel every time he stopped moving, stopped going forward. He turned his head on the pillow to where Nikolas’s head would be lying if he were there. He could picture him down to the tiniest detail, the cluster of burn scars on his back he refused to explain, the pale inside of his upper arm which always seemed cool, his prominent collar bones, the hollow of his throat, his eyes…Sometimes, these looked as dark as the bitterest chocolate, but when the light caught them just right, they were amber, like a cat’s, watchful, predatory, beautiful. He put out his hand and placed it on the sheet just where Nikolas would lie. It was cool to the touch, smooth and empty. He closed his eyes to the emotion that was building and refused it. Then his phone buzzed. He hadn’t heard from Nikolas since he’d left for Denmark. He snatched it up and read Sorry. Been travelling. How r u?
Ben hesitated then replied: Ok.
Not so good then
Not so good. How r u? How leg?
Leg? What leg? We are in dacha on Black Sea. It very hot.
How is he?
I tell u if things change
You b with me if things change
Yes
I have 2 go.
It was usually how Nik finished their conversations, not him, but he couldn’t say more. He put the phone aside and went out into the garden then opened the gate and walked onto the beach. The sea was fairly calm. He went down to the edge and stood in the cool water, his feet disappearing in the wet sand. This was the water Nikolas used to swim in every morning. The same water now around his feet…When he’d calmed and recovered himself, he wiped his face and went back to the house. He could hear his phone ringing and got to it just in time.
“Ben?”
He sat on the edge of the bed, his very recently recovered equilibrium gone. He couldn’t answer, because he knew his voice would break. He swallowed desperately and clenched his jaw. “Yeah.”
“I―I can’t talk long. It’s against our agreement.”
“I know.”
“But you’re okay?”
“Course.”
“I…I wanted to say Happy Birthday.”
Ben frowned then glanced at the clock. Just gone midnight. He was thirty years old. It was too much. His face crumpled, and he bit his upper lip, blinking.
“Ben?”
“I’m here.”
“Just, by the sound of it.”
“Yeah. Just.”
There was a muttered expletive and then silence. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”
Ben gave a rueful laugh. “I’m harder than I thought I would be.”
Nikolas laughed, too, and the tension between them eased. “That wouldn’t be a wise subject to visit, perhaps.”
“No.” He sighed. “Thanks for calling, though.”
“Of course. I must go.”
“Okay.”
“Ben?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“I love you.” The phone was cut off quickly. Ben stared at it then grinned. Best birthday present ever. He lay back on the bed and turned again to the space Nikolas should be occupying. I love you. It was only the second time in almost five years Nikolas had told him this. He was clearly not the only one suffering from the separation.
§ § §
Every day, Ben worked in the garden. The difference between the amount of work he was able to do and what Ingrid could do was incredible. He’d mown the lawn, tidied all the beds, and begun on the huge job of pruning the largest of the trees before the week was out. Every day, she stayed out in the garden with him, working happily alongside him, talking to him and making him talk to her. Considering there was so much age and differing experiences between them, they never ran out of things to say. Ben wanted to know everything about Aeroe, and she was very content to talk about the island and all the people on it. She’d lived in London for many years, and he was very happy to talk about that place. She tried talking about art and music and literature but quickly realised these weren’t going to be long conversations. Then, one day, she came out with their morning coffee and had a book on the tray with her. Ben was throwing Radulf’s ball over the fence onto the beach, making him jump and chase to wear him out a bit. He sat at the small chairs and table when she called him. The book was called De Røde Sko: The Red Shoes. Ben thumbed through it. She smiled. “Read it. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
He nodded.
The days passed very quickly. Every morning he woke at five and went for a run. He ran for half an hour along the beach, through the dunes and up into a forest through the trails, and then turned and retraced his steps. Each day, he pushed himself to go a little further in his allotted hour, and by the end of the first month, he felt he was as fit as at any time since leaving the army. He worked most of the day in the garden, stripped to the waist and turning a deep brown, and then in the evenings he swam. He didn’t take Radulf on this activity, so he had to wait, barking on the beach while Ben swam across to a small sandbar about half a mile away and back.
By the time he fell into bed at night, he was exhausted and able to sleep for a few hours before his body, young and fit and used to almost constant sex, woke him again thrumming with need.
After a month, Ingrid suggested he accompany her into town. It was the first time he’d left his small retreat since he’d arrived. He offered to drive her in his Merc, and she agreed happily. She perched like a small, eager bird in the front seat, giving him unnecessary directions to Aeroeskoebing. She didn’t seem to understand he was following the small screen with the map on it.
When they reached the town, she handed him a list and told him she’d take Radulf for a walk around the harbour—that he was to do all the shopping they needed in the local market, and join the library. He nodded to both tasks, and agreed he’d meet her for lunch at the restaurant he’d eaten in on his first day on Aeroe. He wasn’t as confident with his language skills as he’d pretended to be with Ingrid and hesitated, watching her walking stoutly away with Radulf.
He reckoned library first so he didn’t have to carry bags around.
The library was situated in a surprisingly bright and airy modern building. Ben realised he’d never been in a library before and had assumed they would be darker and full of leather-bound books that smelt musty. This library had a large children’s section full of bright colours and beanbags and tiny plastic chairs around tiny tables. The adults’ section was attractive with computers and leather sofas.
Having got here, he was now at something of a loss. He spotted a young woman behind the counter who didn’t seem busy and went up to her. In his halting Danish, he explained that he wanted to join.
Ben always noticed the effect he had on people—he just didn’t give it any weight or let it affect the way he treated them back. Only occasionally was the reaction so noticeable that he found himself playing on their attraction to him. This young woman was extremely easy to flirt with. She had…assets—and the name Amy pinned to them quite provocatively. Ben wasn’t immune to a woman’s most obvious selling point by any means. It was unfortunate, however, to be forced to look at smooth skin, glossy hair and…assets…now—now that he was celibate. He usually dealt with such moments by returning to Nikolas and fucking him senseless.
He swallowed and forced his eyes down to the paperwork Amy handed him. When he produced his UK driving licence she seemed nonplussed and said something he didn’t understand, wandering away into the office.
She returned with an older woman who Ben assumed was the senior librarian. She gave Ben a quick once over and dismissed Amy to stack some shelves. Once she’d got her reading glasses in place she checked Ben’s licence. He gave her a winning smile. He didn’t mind giving them to old ladies. Things were subsiding nicely. He’d do penance for his reaction to Amy later. Or he’d do something. He was celibate—it didn’t mean he couldn’t take his own cock in hand and…or did it? Did celibates—he missed something the old woman had said and asked her to repeat it. She did and told him it was very rare for someone to be learning Danish—especially anyone English. He didn’t want to mention Nikolas, given things had only just gone down, so instead told her the information she’d asked for—where he was staying, how long for, what sort of card he needed.
Eventually he had his first library card in his hand. He felt quite proud. The old lady wanted to give him a tour, so he accepted gratefully. She was clearly a good judge of character and took him straight to the crime section. Ben chuckled when she handed him a couple of Scandinavian noir novelists. He put them back though and said haltingly that he’d only just coped with The Red Shoes.
Beaming, she led him back to the children’s section. Like a proud grandmother she handed him some boldly illustrated books. He thanked her, and she told him to always ask for her if he needed help in future. Gabby was her name, she said, and Ben felt that, as with Ingrid, he’d made a real friend on Aeroe.
Loaded down with children’s books, he then took Ingrid’s list to the market and wandered around, getting the things she’d asked for. It wasn’t until he was almost at the end, at the fish stand, that he realised no one had tried to speak to him in English. He’d had to repeat himself a couple of times, and he didn’t always understand what people said to him, especially if they were looking away, but, by and large, he’d conducted the whole morning talking in Danish without thinking too much about it. On a whim, he bought some flowers and made his way to the harbour. Ingrid’s face lit up at the flowers. She chastised him for profligacy but was sniffing and murmuring happily over them as they strolled to the restaurant. The owner recognised Ben and nodded politely.
“Table for two? Outside, if that’s okay.”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “Welcome to Danish.”
Ben laughed. “Is it good?”
“Couldn’t even tell you were from Iran now.”
“Ah, yeah, sorry. I needed to stop you all speak to me in English.”
“Speaking.”
“Thanks. Yes. I still have a lot to learn.”
“Not so much. You’re living with Ingrid?”
“Yes. Do you know her?”
“This is Aeroe, everyone knows everyone. Ingrid taught at the school. She taught me for five years.”
“She told me she was a teacher.” He smiled wryly. “She has me do homework now.” He showed him the stack of books.
“Let’s hope she doesn’t start putting you in detention.”
“Detention? I don’t know that word.”
The man frowned. “And I don’t know it in English or Farsi. We are stuck.” He held out his hand. “Alan Lund.”
Ben took the hand. “Ben Rider.”
§ § §
While they were eating and enjoying the very warm sunshine, Ben glanced over at Ingrid and asked hesitantly, “You taught young children, yes?”
She was browsing happily through his books and nodded. “Primary. Nearly forty years.”
“Did you ever…?” He stopped and busied himself feeding Radulf some more fish. “Did you ever teach―? Ack, I don’t know the word.” He looked annoyed but added in English, “Twins?”
She wagged her finger at him. “No English. But, yes, of course, over forty years you teach many different children.”
“Boys. Nikolas and Aleksey Mikkelsen.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Godtfred’s grandsons?”
“Yes.”
“Of course.” She smiled at some private memory. “I teach Nikolas more than little Aleksey, though.”
“More?”
She laughed. “Aleksey didn’t like school very much. He preferred being absent.”
Ben felt as if he’d walked into sunlit uplands. He was sitting with someone who knew Nikolas—Aleksey—when he was a boy.
“You know Nikolas and Aleksey? That’s marvellous. I’ve not heard of them or the family since Nina died. It was so very sad. Poor boys.”
“I know Aleksey. Nikolas is dead.”
“Oh. Poor Aleksey. He adored his brother. Although he was a very wicked boy.” She chuckled. “He buried—this means dig him in like in the garden?—he buried Nikolas up to his neck in the sand one day and told him it was going to be a very high tide. Poor little mite was there for hours until he came back and dug him up again. Very bad boy.” The fond smile on her face told Ben another story.
“Tell me about Nina.”
She shook her head, remembering. “She was the most beautiful girl on the island. She came every summer from their estates near Copenhagen when she was a child. She played like an angel, the piano and the cello a little as well. She became quite famous—for Denmark. Then one day, we heard she was married. A Russian. I think she met him on tour. And then, what a surprise, she comes here with her two babies. And stayed, even after the summer was over. It must have been quite lonely for her. And she must have been very sad.”
“Was it a surprise? When she dead?”
“Died. When she died. Yes, it was. Very much so. The poor boys. Aleksey especially.”
“Why Aleksey?”
“Oh, he tried to find her. Swimming out to sea for her. Hours every day. He was such a good swimmer. They couldn’t stop him. He almost drowned, too. He was so little. Eight? Maybe younger, I don’t remember.”
“Ten. He was ten.”
“So old? He was very small. Is he still small?”
“No. Taller than me. A little.”
She smiled. “Is he a good man?”
Ben was tempted to say define good, but he didn’t know the word for define. He shrugged. “Sometimes. Sometimes no.”
“So, you’ve been here a month. How do you think your Danish is coming along?”
Ben sat back and closed his eyes to the sun for a moment. “My Danish is almost perfect.”
She giggled like a schoolgirl and then slapped him lightly on the leg. “Not yet. You’re very arrogant, but that’s to be understood.”
“Me? Why?”
“Ah, so modest, too. Come, beautiful, bad boy, my garden doesn’t dig itself. Did you get everything on the list?”
“Yes, Mother…” He grumbled it in jest, but she paused in picking up her handbag.
“Mother. Yes. I like that. In that case, son, let’s get back into that very silly car of yours and go home.”
§ § §
Later that evening, while Ben was drinking some wine after his swim, Ingrid came out of the house with an album. She set it down and proclaimed with a flourish, “I’ve found Nikolas and Aleksey, would you like to see?”
Ben just nodded. Yes. He would.
She opened it to a picture familiar to anyone who’s ever been to primary school. Clearly, the yearly photo of children was an international thing. She pointed. “Here they are in their first year. Five years old. Look, that’s me in the front. I didn’t teach the very young ones then.”
There was a row of children sitting in the front on the ground cross-legged. Side by side were the identical Nikolas and Aleksey. Their hair was exceptionally blond, and they were very thin, even then, bony knees and elbows in their shorts and short-sleeved shirts. Ben couldn’t tell them apart. She turned to the next photo, aged six. They were now standing, but, other than that, there was no difference. Aged seven was missing, as was aged eight, but then, there they were, aged nine. They were still smaller than the other boys in their row but wiry and agile looking. One of the twins was smiling at the camera nicely. One was staring up, as if he’d just seen something in the sky that interested him more than standing there and being good. Ben smiled. He was fairly sure now which twin was which. Ingrid then turned to the next photo. They weren’t in it. “I think this was taken the summer after they left. They were very lucky their father came for them. We all thought them so lucky after what had happened. But we missed them. Well, we missed Nikolas.” She chuckled.
Lucky. Ben blew out a small breath and turned away. He couldn’t bear it.
It didn’t get dark until almost eleven at night now, being the peak of the summer, and Ben took every moment of daylight to work on his Danish, reading in the garden or occasionally watching television with Ingrid. He could understand the news quite easily. Shows left him struggling occasionally, but gradually, he could even understand most of what was being said in those.
Texts from Nikolas were very sporadic now. They were travelling in places without good connections. Ben didn’t mind so much. It was worse, somehow, being reminded, having to lose him each time when their short communications were done. Last time, he’d asked his hopeful how is he and Nik had replied very sick.
§ § §
Missing Nikolas began to resemble missing his mother in Ben’s mind. There was a similar sense of desolation and loneliness to not having Nikolas around as there had been for the first few months when he’d been unable to accept his mother’s desertion. He refused to give into the feelings, however. He wasn’t eight. If his frantic attempts to keep busy sometimes resembled a small boy running to the moors and living rough, searching desperately for unconditional love, then he ignored the similarities and told himself that at least keeping busy improved his language skills. Once he’d made a first foray into reading, he found this the easiest way to avoid thinking about Nikolas at the same time as becoming really proficient in Danish. He became an almost daily visitor to the library. Gabby was as good as her word and took him under her wing. She seemed to sense his wariness of the other, younger librarians (if not the provenance for such caution), particularly Amy, and always looked after him herself. Ben found her almost motherly presence completely restful and reassuring. It actually amused him to think of telling Nikolas, when asked, that yes he’d had girlfriends on Aeroe—an elderly widow and a spinster librarian.
§ § §
Ben noticed the change in the sea first. One evening, walking in to start his swim, the cold hit him. He did his usual distance but getting out was unpleasant, and he jogged back to the house and into his room, glad to get into a warm shower.
Ingrid mentioned it next, picking up some leaves from the lawn and saying wistfully, “We must think about getting wood in for the winter. It comes along every year more quickly.”
Ben straightened, did a calculation in his head, and realised he’d been on Aeroe for three months. It was October. He hadn’t heard from Nikolas since the end of September.
The days continued to pass in his simple routine. If he wasn’t running or swimming, he was working on his Danish, always Danish, reading, writing now, listening to the television and chatting with Ingrid. The Red Shoes were long forgotten. Now, following Gabby’s recommendations, he had a roomful of books. He’d rented some audio books as well and listened to them as he fell asleep, anything not to have to think about Nikolas.
One day, Ingrid came up to him in the garden, watching him for a while. The days of just wearing shorts were well over. He was warmly dressed and working on raking the leaves. “Would you like to visit the Mikkelsen summerhouse? I’ve contacted the caretaker, Hans, and he offered to show us around it this afternoon. Of course, I taught him. Very silly boy, and he didn’t marry well. Dreadful Swedish woman—Agna. But one mustn’t speak ill of foreigners, I suppose.”
Ben straightened and nodded. “I heard it was empty.”
“Oh, yes. Quite. I don’t believe anyone has lived in it since Nina and her babies. But it’s well cared for. Too well, some say. God alone knows what Agna will do if anyone from the family ever wants to live there again. She seems to think of the place as hers. Which I suppose she would after so long.”
§ § §
They drove over that afternoon. The estate was at the top of the island. They passed through forests and then emerged back again at the coast, and there it was, a large villa perched on a headland with formal gardens running down to the sea. The caretaker was waiting for them, introduced himself as Hans, apologised that his wife was home in Sweden visiting family, and began to chat to Ingrid as he led them through the courtyard to the door.
Inside was like a scene from an old movie. Everything was covered in dustsheets and seemed to have a timeless quality to it as if the owners had just stepped out for a moment. Ben could understand Hans’s chatter quite well, but he wasn’t listening. He wandered around touching things Nikolas had touched, walking where he’d walked. He wondered whether, if he’d been here alone, he’d hear an echo of a young boy’s voice, high pitched, excited, running through his life with a zest for living until all the joy was taken from him.
In one room, in a bay window, there was a grand piano. He pulled the sheet off and sat at it. He tapped a note. It was all he could do; his childhood hadn’t included piano lessons. But then it hadn’t included vicious sexual assault either. He closed his eyes. Everything ached for Nikolas now. Not just the physical things, which ached continually despite his extreme regime, but everything, his heart, his thoughts, his soul. With a clench of his jaw, he closed the lid and pulled the sheet back. “Spirit of place. I have felt it in places also.”
If anywhere held the spirit of the Nikolas he loved, then this was the place.