The Last Boat Home by Dea Brovig Page B

three. Shewriggled her toes in her boots as she glanced at the fjord, where a lonely skiff with a sagging tarpaulin was docked at the Elvebakken pier. Her knuckles were winter rough. She brushed the coarse peaks across her lips before tucking her fists under her armpits. She wished she had remembered her gloves. She would have to be sure to bring them tomorrow.
    When she squinted up the road and noticed Yakov Bezrukov, it was too late to steal into the kiosk unseen. The circus performer seemed not to care about the woman hunched in her coat who gaped when he closed in on Else.
    ‘I thought we would have met again before now,’ he said. ‘Have you been ill?’
    ‘No,’ Else said.
    ‘I’m glad to hear it. Then why haven’t you been to the paddock with your boyfriend?’
    The kiosk door opened, spilling a hot coffee smell onto the street. Petter and Rune followed Lars out of the shop. He clapped Yakov on the shoulder as if greeting a friend.
    ‘And here he is,’ Yakov said. ‘The man who knows about things.’
    ‘How’s work?’ Lars asked.
    ‘Not good. We’re thinking of moving on.’
    ‘You can’t do that,’ Lars said. He tore open a packet of Prince and offered it to Yakov. ‘Do we still have a deal for Saturday?’
    ‘We do,’ Yakov said.
    He helped himself to two cigarettes, balancing one behind his ear before biting the other between his teeth. He levelled his gaze at Rune for the seconds it took him to produce a matchbook from his pocket.
    Once Rune had lit Yakov’s cigarette, Else returned to her study of the road. She was not convinced by Lars’s plan to smuggle homebrew to the circus men, however infectious his excitement might be. The risk of being found out was too high, and whatwould her mother do then? The weeks since the accident had been hard enough. Else thought of her bent over the sewing machine, her eyes on the cloth and her slipper steady on the foot pedal as if the back door had not just crashed open and her father was not reeling down the corridor. When his snoring began, her mother would snip the thread with her scissors and tidy away her sewing box before joining him in their bed.
    At the top of the hill, a man wearing a lusekofte emerged from the grocery. Else measured his descent and lifted her rucksack over her shoulder.
    ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said.
    ‘But I bought gum,’ said Lars. ‘Don’t you want any?’
    ‘I have to go.’
    ‘See you tomorrow,’ Petter said.
    ‘Are you catching the ferry?’ asked Yakov. ‘Well, so am I. I’ll walk you down.’
    ‘I’ll come too,’ Lars said.
    Yakov snorted two jets of smoke through his nose and he and Lars accompanied Else to Havneveien. They matched her strides while Lars reviewed the details for Saturday night: how much liquor to bring, when the boys would arrive at the paddock. Else surveyed the harbour before bolting under the ash trees that lined the pavement. At least there were not many people about. The thought of sitting with the circus man all the way across to the public dock made her mouth dry. She hoped the ferry would be empty. She hoped it would be full.
    At the base of the Longpier, Lars’s hand grazed her elbow. ‘Stay a little,’ he said. ‘You still have time.’
    Yakov grinned and sucked a long breath from his cigarette. He tossed it into the water and climbed aboard the ferry.
    ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Lars, ‘of where we could go, now that the paddock’s been taken over. Can you meet me on Friday?’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ Else said.
    ‘I’ll be at the bus depot at seven.’
    ‘I don’t know,’ she said and again her eyes swept the harbour to check if anyone was watching. She was about to refuse, but saw herself sitting alone once more in the dining room when she could be with Lars. Why shouldn’t she meet him? No one would miss her. It would be easier than it ever had been before.
    ‘Where would we go?’ she asked.
    ‘Somewhere warm,’ Lars said. ‘I’ll make