The light breeze felt cool on my newly exposed scalp. After three hours of snipping, washing and colouring, we stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine.
My reflection stared back at me from the salon window. My hair, now a deep, glossy raven black, shone in the fading light. Those long wavy locks were gone, cut short to the nape of my neck, the sides shaved. The violent slash of pink stood out like a neon sign against the raven black. Never again would anyone mistake me for a victim.
I had shrugged off my old skin. I had cast aside the girl Lars had broken. His victim was no more. The woman looking back at me from the glass didn’t flinch. She stood tall, her jaw set firmly, her eyes defiant.
When I stepped away, my boots echoed on the pavement. The sharp click of each step was precise and deliberate. People’s heads turned as I passed. I didn’t dodge their shoulders. I looked each one of them in the eye, waiting for them to blink first.
“The girl’s got her swagger on!” Lela chuckled as she walked beside me. Her voice was warm against the background murmur of the city.
“I feel good, Lela. I feel like I’m ready to start facing things again.”
“You’re looking great, babe! Although I think we might need to come back next week and pick you up some new threads. I’m not sure that ripped jeans and a Bon Jovi t-shirt are the right vibe for a sharp bitch with attitude.” She laughed again with that infectious laugh of hers.
Despite the late hour, the road bustled with energy. Music and laughter poured out of the many bars, restaurants and cafés that lined the street. The hum of chatter filled the air, people brushing shoulders as they passed by.
Unconsciously, I ran my hands over my clothes. Lela’s clothes. The soft blue denim and the slightly faded black fabric of the Bon Jovi t-shirt felt worn but comforting against my skin. They felt familiar, like a childhood friendship. They felt like Lela.
But perhaps she was right. Perhaps they were too safe. A sudden chill prickled across my skin. I knew I couldn’t hide behind her forever. My stomach knotted into a hard, heavy lump as my eyes caught a flash of vivid pink in the window of a passing car.
I had vowed to move on. I needed to move on.
People had used me for so long. So many had taken advantage of me. They had all just taken from me whatever they wanted. I spotted a man watching me from the window of a cafe. My hands curled into a fist, my nails digging into my palms sharply. His eyes carried that same predatory look, that same lingering gaze I had seen so many times before.
Andrew, Asmund… how many men had there been? Just like the man in the cafe, none of them had really cared for me. They had seen me as nothing but a pretty doll, a plaything for their own amusement.
But this doll had just grown teeth.
My head turned towards Lela, her long hair swaying as she walked alongside me. Together, we stepped off the cobblestones of Karl Johans Gate and crossed Eidsvolls Plass, a small green in front of the Norwegian Parliament building. The pale gold front of the building rose majestically, with the red and blue flag fluttering lazily from the flagpole on its roof.
As we made our way towards Aker Brygge, we left the historical buildings behind us. Polished grey granite, red brick and glass replaced the intricate stone facades. Finally, we arrived at the edge of the Oslofjord, an area that as a child, I remember being loud and intimidating. It was the sort of place that you avoided. But now it was an area in transition. The rough, soot-stained warehouses and workshops had mostly been demolished or cleaned and transformed. Steel fencing and scaffolding surrounded the old, abandoned husks of buildings that had once teemed with activity. The screech of metal cutting and the acrid stench of diesel oil had been replaced with laughter and the warm scent of coffee.
We arrived at Bellariva around half-past six. The small, weathered brick building of the Italian restaurant sat low and squat, nestled tightly between two abandoned warehouses. The large, green, white and red painted double doors swung open with a creak to reveal a long, narrow interior.
The room was alive with the excited chirrup of conversation and occasional clink of glasses. A wall of warm air and the sharp scent of balsamic and roast garlic hit me the moment we stepped inside. Photos and paintings of the sights of Rome lined the bare brick walls. Round tables covered with white cloths were crammed into every available nook and cranny. Dull metal rails, which would once have guided the movement of heavy machinery, still ran from back to front across the rough concrete floor, a relic of the building’s industrial past.
A waiter, clipboard tucked under his arm, stepped up to us.
“Good evening, ladies.” He spoke with a thick Italian accent.
“Good evening!” Lela said, “We’re a little early, I’m afraid. We’ve got a table booked at seven o’clock for Lela Thorne.”
Flipping open the blue clipboard, the waiter ran his finger down the paper, his eyes scanning the list of names as he went.
“Ah yes, here you are, Miss Thorne. That’s no problem at all. I can fit you in now.” He said, ticking her name off and tucking the clipboard back under his arm with one hand, while straightening his black waistcoat with the other.
Following him, he led us, weaving through the tightly packed tables to a secluded corner. Seating us beneath a massive painting of the Colosseum, he reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved a box of matches. As he struck the match across the box, it gave a sudden hiss and pop as the flame sprung to life. Leaning over, he lit a large white candle nestled in an old, wax-covered bottle in the centre of the table.
“Your table, ladies. Perhaps I could get you a coffee while you wait for your friend? Or something stronger, maybe?” The waiter said, the candle flame casting flickering shadows across his face.
Lela looked over at me, with a spark lighting up her eyes. I returned her gaze, my smile mirroring hers. She knew me well enough; she didn’t have to ask. “We’ll have a couple of glasses of limoncello, please?”
“Bellissimo, two limoncellos.” The waiter replied with a sharp nod before stepping away.
Sitting down, we faced each other, Lela’s finger unconsciously tracing the bruise under her eye.
“Does it hurt?” I asked her softly.
Her lips pressed into a tight, thin line, a small wince creasing the corners of her eyes. “It throbs a little.” She admitted, the crow’s feet deepening. “It’s worse if I laugh or smile.”
“I’m so sorry, Lela, I really am. I didn’t mean-”
“Heidi, don’t!” Lela cut me off mid-sentence. “We’ve been over this. It wasn’t you. I know that. It was Lars. It was what he did to you. This…” she said, her hand rising to her purple eye, “… this was just your way of venting off, getting rid of all that hurt.”
My chest tightened. After everything that I’d done, how could she forgive me so easily? Memories flashed before my eyes. Asmund’s voice echoed in my ears, his musky aftershave stinging in my nostrils. His face stared at me from inside my head before twisting and dissolving to be replaced by Lela’s. Her eyes were wide with fear. The dull thud, my fist striking her face thumped in my ears.
Yet, even after all that, she was still here, still by my side. Always my steady, unwavering support.
When the waiter returned, he was carrying a small silver tray upon which sat two small, fluted glasses, each filled with a cloudy, yellow liquid.
“Your limoncello, ladies.” He said, setting them down in front of us with a delicate clink, the crystal shining in the candlelight. The sharp sweet burst of citrus rose from the glasses, cutting through the heavy smell of garlic. “Are you ready to see the menus?”
“Thank you.” Lela said, looking up at him. “We’ll wait just a while longer if that’s ok? She shouldn’t be too much longer.”
She? Ingrid?
A cold, frantic fluttering filled my stomach, my breath freezing in my chest. What was I supposed to tell her? I couldn’t let her know the truth, not about Lars, the cabin or the bodies I had abandoned there. A chill surged down my spine, making my shoulders jerk.
Lela’s hand slid on top of mine, warm and steady. How did she always seem to know what I was thinking?
“Hey!” she whispered softly, her wide eyes locked on mine. “You don’t have to share anything that you’re not ok with. Lars already told everyone that you were in Copenhagen. Just stick to his story.”
I nodded slowly as my best friend continued, “We’ll just say that things didn’t work out, so you decided to come back.” She looked at me with those deep brown eyes, her tone lifting as she reached for her glass, plucking it up in a featherlight grip. “Anyway, enough of all that. This is about moving forward and putting all that behind you.” She raised her glass. “To the new you! Skål!”
She was right, of course. My fingers wrapped around the cool glass. I lifted it to hers, the tiny beads of condensation catching the flickering light of the candle. Gently, I tapped the rim against hers with a delicate clink. “Skål!” I repeated before placing the glass to my lips. The ice-cold liquid cascaded down my throat. At first, a wave of sweetness struck my palate before the sharp, crisp bite of lemon zest hit me.
Suddenly the candle flame lurched, and a long shadow stretched across the white tablecloth.
“Hey, Le!” a voice said in a soft, hushed tone.
Ingrid stood beside our table. Her long hair was tied back in a ponytail, her hands adjusting the cuff of her long, grey coat.
A wide smile cracked on Lela’s face. My best friend sprang to her feet, her arms wrapping around Ingrid, pulling her into a tight embrace. Their kiss might have seemed like nothing more than a friendly greeting, but it lingered on just a moment too long.
My head snapped around. A sound like a viper hissed in my ear. With my breath frozen in my lungs, my eyes darted, searching the dark corners of the room. There was nothing there, just still emptiness.
Just my imagination, perhaps.
No, the sound had come from Ingrid. Her lower lip was shaking, her eyes widening in shock.
“What happened?” She said, raising a hand, lightly caressing Lela’s cheek.
My breath hitched. Did Lela glance my way for just a moment? I waited. Waiting for the point of her finger, the accusation that must be coming.
“Oh, a couple of drunks got rowdy at the Kjelleren last night, and I got caught between them.” Lela lied dismissively, “Gunnar dealt with them. I’m fine.”
“I’ve told you, that place is too rough! And now look what’s happened. It’s full of drunks, bikers and metalheads. I really wish you’d go back to playing at the bars and pubs you used to.” Ingrid said chidingly as the two settled into their chairs.
“And what’s wrong with bikers and metalheads?” Lela chuckled, giving me a quick wink and Ingrid a playful elbow in the ribs. “I’m fine, honestly. It looks far worse than it is. Anyway, we’ve got more important things today, look who’s back.”
“Heidi! I hardly recognised you with your new look!” Ingrid’s attention shifted onto me, her deep blue eyes boring into me. “Le said that you had come back to Oslo. I’m sorry to hear that things didn’t work out for you in Copenhagen.”
“That’s ok, things often don’t work out how we’d like them to. I’m doing my best to try to forget about it.” I tried to force a smile, keeping my voice flat.
The waiter returned with the menus before either of us could say anything more. My eyes scanned down the list of dishes. I ordered a seafood risotto for myself, and Lela and Ingrid both went for linguine and meatballs.
“Can we get a bottle of Chianti, please?” I added once he had taken our orders.
“Of course, madam.” The waiter said with a nod as he backed away before shortly returning with our wine and food.
“I’m so sorry to hear about your parents,” Ingrid said, her eyes examining me from over the rim of her wineglass.
My parents! The air vanished from my lungs at the mention of them. An icy tingle spread over my body. My mind, in all its jumbled confusion, had hardly given them more than a second thought. I had tried to shut out all the pain and hurt. I had stuffed them away in a box where I didn’t have to face the truth. But the new Heidi wasn’t about running and hiding; she was determined and resolute.
What had happened to them?
“Lela!” My gaze snapped from Ingrid to the dark-haired woman who sat beside her. “I need to find out what happened to them, to Mum and Dad.”
“Have you spoken to the police?” I heard Ingrid’s voice.
“I can’t speak to the police!” I snapped in response. My tone caused a nearby couple to glance over at us.
How could I speak to the police? But where else could I look? How else could I understand?
My mind was a whirlwind, thoughts and emotions suddenly bursting forward and tumbling over themselves. I needed to know. I needed more than the scraps of information Lars had tossed me and the few snippets that Lela was aware of.
“Look, Lela, I wonder if there’s something in Dad’s things that might give us a hint. A clue or something, I don’t know. We need to go back to the house tomorrow, see if we can find something.”
“I think we’re going to see Silence of the Lambs at the Colosseum tomorrow?” Ingrid’s squeaky, high-pitched voice sliced through my thoughts like a scalpel.
Lela looked up at me, her eyes wide with pity. Pity was the one thing I didn’t need right then. “Oh, babe, I’d really love to help but promised Ingrid this weeks ago. I really think the best thing for you tomorrow would be to get some rest. I’ll go up to the house with you on Monday when you’re thinking clearer.”
Rest? My body recoiled in a sudden jerk, my jaw clenched tightly, eyes narrowed and my muscles tensed. The candle flame flickered before going out, plunging our table into shadow. Did she see me as just some weak and broken girl? All they saw was the old Heidi, but I wasn’t that girl anymore.
“She’s more important to you than me?” I spat the words across the table with venom. The white-hot bubble of acidic rage began to rise inside me. “Going to the cinema matters more than my dead parents?”
Lela and Ingrid shifted, their eyes darted from me to each other, their hands meeting underneath the table.
“Heidi, I didn’t mean…” Lela began.
My knuckles turned white as I gripped the seat of my chair tightly.
“No, Lela!” I snarled. “You two see your film. I’ll catch a bus up to the house by myself. It’s fine.”
A heavy silence fell over the table. The only sound was the low buzz of conversation, like a swarm of insects in my head.
Then I heard it again, unmistakable this time. Its rusty voice grating from somewhere deep inside me, rasping over the background hum, “She doesn’t need you anymore. She’s moved on. Take back what’s yours.”