Page 277 of These Tears

‘Markus maintains they were ceremonial. Jakob maintains Markus was lucky to have retained all his teeth.’

‘The kidnapping?’

‘Also bad.’

‘And I nearly froze to death.’

She winces. ‘Jakob punched Markus, you know.’

My mouth drops. ‘You mean that wasn’t a joke?’

The youngest Nielsen has become very proficient in avoiding me since then. I’ve wondered if it’s just embarrassment, but clearly there is also the small matter of Elias having rearranged his face on my behalf.

‘He was one of the masked guys, remember?’ Her mouth twists with mortification. ‘He also doesn’t know when to shut up. And when everyone started shifting blame and doubting things, your man swept in and set us all straight.’

The wind moves through the grass, pressing warmer thoughts into the earth as the tangy scent of pine around us bristles. Somewhere behind the house, one of the hens makes a sound like a judgemental old woman. Brute is already on his feet checking out the noise.

Regardless of my disdain for these dogs, I feel somewhat grateful to have them, after all.

For protection.

Protection…

I look down at my ring finger, then at the house behind me. The one Elias built for survival. For protection. He filled it with things he holds close to his heart: his mother’s trinkets, books…

And planted me inside.

It should mean something, shouldn’t it?

‘Did Elias really ask you to come here?’ I ask. ‘Jakob, that is. Sorry.’

‘Yes. And you can call him Elias. That’s his legal name in England.’ Inga looks towards the trees. ‘Frida named him Jakob because she loved the old meaning attached to it: the one who follows at the heel. I think she suspected Arthur would do something. She wanted to believe Jakob would follow the trail back home whatever happened. Mamma used to say it suited him because he was born following Aunt’s sorrow into the world. The Cranes gave him a different name out of spite, I’d say.’ Her eyes trail the road that has long swallowed him. ‘They’re both wrong. Jakob is the one who survives being dragged behind everyone else’s choices and still finds his own way home.’

The silence changes.

Inga folds the cloth napkin over the remaining bread. ‘He asked me to come. To make sure you ate. To make sure you were not alone too long. That you’re alright.’

You’ll be alright here?

That question again.

‘Why? He’ll be here soon.’

Her fingers tighten around the folded cloth.

‘Because he does not know how to leave something precious behind without expecting the world to try and take it.’

That lands hard. My lungs expand but can’t seem to release the air.

Because I know how true this is. I’ve seen it first-hand.

I glance at the woman, at the same open honesty she’s shown me so far – and the lack of judgment I absolutely expected.

The restraint around me begins to loosen.

And I start telling her things. About my life. My passion. My wounds. Elias’.

I leave out the truth about my arrival here. Because I still haven’t worked out which parts of us I chose – and which parts were chosen for me.