I was just finishing the last of my breakfast. Toast with marmalade. The toast, still warm, glistened with melted butter and slathered with marmalade. Homemade marmalade, thick, orange and with just the right amount of bite.
I licked the few scraps of marmalade from the tips of my fingers, savouring the taste, the sticky, tangy, sweetness. Brushing a handful of fallen crumbs from my chest, I peeked out of the window into the road outside.
We lived in a relatively large house on the outskirts of Oslo. Behind the house, the Holmankollen, topped by its famous ski jump and the rugged mountains beyond rose into the sky.
Those mountains hold many dear memories for me, family hiking and camping trips in the summers or cross-country skiing when the weather turned cold in the winter. Lars and I used to spend hours in those wooded hills hunting for trolls. We never did see one, but we were convinced that they were out there, watching us.
That was before things changed between us.
In front of the house, the ground dropped away, giving us the most amazing views over the city. That particular morning I remember well, the sun gleaming off the calm waters of the Oslofjord and thinking to myself that it looked like a ribbon of silver stretching into the distance. Contrasting sharply with the dark colours of the land rising up on either side. I would often gaze at the Fjord and imagine seeing the ancient long ships of the traders and raiders of the past. Their white sails filled with the wind, gliding out across the water and heading off to some far-flung land.
Those memories of my old home, they seem so distant to me now although I still remember them clearly. How many years has it been since I was last there, I’ve lost tack? I’ve thought about going back so many times but I don’t think I could ever return, even the thought of those happy memories seems a cruel taunt now.
I looked down at my watch, the hands showing fifteen minutes to ten. I tapped my foot a restless rhythm on the kitchen floor. Lela had promised to be here by half past nine, but then this was Lela, she never was one for punctuality. Knowing her, she would still be in bed sleeping off the effects of last night’s party. My cheeks reddened at the memories of that party, or more specifically, the little private soiree I’d had with Lela’s older brother, Andrew.
He was a handsome man, Andrew. Tall with short cropped dark hair, deep, dark eyes and finely chiselled features. A fisherman, four years older than I and the sort of man who most certainly knew his way around a woman.
Not that I can claim to have been all that innocent myself back then.
Looking at my watch, I could feel the irritation rising in me, tingling my skin. I tapped on the windowsill with my nails and shifted my feet impatiently. Although it’s not really fair to blame Lela for that irritation. I could hear Lars behind me, flipping through his computer magazine, feel his eyes as he would occasionally glance up from his pages. Usually, I would have given him some barbed comment and told him to leave me alone, but I didn’t on that morning. I think that perhaps I knew that something was different about him, something that made me slightly uneasy, a flicker in his eyes perhaps? Uneasy around Lars, as ridiculous as that sounds, I just wanted to be away from him.
My ears pricked up as I heard a distant, high pitch hum coming from the street outside. I pulled aside the net curtains and peered out into the road again. Our house, placed as it was on an uphill slope with the front garden and driveway gradually descending down to the street below allowed for the most spectacular views over Oslo as I’ve already mentioned but it also made for a great vantage point to see anything approaching along the road.
Below the house, the road was narrow and lined with tall green pine trees. I could often lose myself staring at those trees. Watching the birds and, sometimes, if I was lucky enough, a red squirrel frolicking in the dense branches. Directly opposite our house was an opening in the trees leading into our neighbour’s place. A large house, the ground floor was built from grey stone while the upper floor, brown wood.
I glanced down the road, the hum, closer now resembled more the sound of a swarm of buzzing bees.
The road sloped downhill gently around a bend. I strained, squinting to catch a glimpse. The buzz transformed into a high-pitched whine as it drew nearer, and at last, the source of that sound came into view. A leather-clad figure on an old 1970s, 125cc Honda emerged, the blue petrol tank faded and the leather bench seat worn, yet to the rider, it was a the most beautiful machine in existence. Lela rode into view.
I watched as she stopped the bike at the bottom of our driveway. She pulled the silver helmet from her head and shook out her hair. Lela was one of those people who is just blessed with natural beauty. She glanced up towards the house, spotting me watching her from the kitchen window. Her eyes fixed on me, deep, dark eyes. The sort of eyes that you could tumble into and never escape. Her lips formed into a friendly smile, bright red and mesmerising.
Lela Thorne, she’d moved in next door to us when we were both six years old. We were living down near the Marina back then and she and her family had just moved over from London. Her dad worked for the British government and had just secured a role at the Embassy here in Oslo. Myself and Lela used to pretend that he was a spy on some secret MI6 mission to uncover Soviet agents hiding around the city. The truth of course, was a little less glamorous. He worked as a legal clerk.
Lela and I, we took to each other the moment we first met. I remember it well, curiously peaking over the fence as our new neighbours unloaded various bags and boxes from the big grey van they had parked in the street. Outside the front of the house, I remember watching a dark haired girl, around about the same age as me, playing with a brown teddy bear.
I’ll never forget that moment she looked up and me and those dark, penetrating eyes first met mine. Her face split into the warmest, most contagious laugh that I could imagine. She picked up Mr Jones (which as I’d learn later, was the name of the bear) by one leg and came running, barefooted across the soft grass of her lawn, the teddy bear bouncing beside her, to where I was cautiously watching.
She spoke no Norwegian and I, no English but from that moment we became best friends. We’d play for hours, Lela, me and back in those early day, Lars too. Everyday there would be another wonderous adventure to explore, we’d hunt the fairies in our back gardens, we’d splash with the mermaids in the Marina and ride unicorns across the fields.
Lela was like another half of myself, we promised to always be there for each other, to always protect each other. I realise the bitter irony of that now. Lela, the girl who would grow into the woman who would eventually save me and pull me from the darkness. Lela, the woman who I in turn would betray in such a despicable and horrific way.
I do wonder now, was that innocent meeting between two young girls so many years ago the event that toppled the first domino in the line that would eventually lead to my fate?
Lela swung her leg over the motorbike seat, dismounting. Her riding leathers clung close to her shapely body, highlighting her curves in just the right way. I’m not ashamed to admit that I probably stood there admiring her a little longer than perhaps I should have.
Waving to her, I picked up my blue denim jacket and ran out of the kitchen.
As I passed him, Lars muttered a barely audible but I’m certain, inappropriate comment about Lela. Another strange act from him, he’d never normally dare saying something like that where I could hear. I chose to ignore him rather than retaliate as I usually would have done, there was something prickling in the back of my subconscious today, something telling me that I needed to be wary of Lars.
I can almost hear it now. As I ran past him that morning to leave the house, another domino fell.
I ran down the hallway, my footsteps clicking on the wooden floor and echoing between the narrow walls. Flinging the door open, I blinked as the bright morning light dazzled my eyes and the warmth from that late Spring sun soaked into my skin.
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My eyes quickly adjusted and the shape of Lela, standing waiting for me beside that old motorbike came into focus. I could see her smiling and waving to me. Waving back and without hesitation I skipped like a giddy schoolgirl down the driveway to meet her.
We fell into a warm embrace, our bodies pulled close. I could feel the warmth of her radiating through her riding leathers and with my chin on her shoulder, her soft, dark hair pressed against my cheek, I could smell her sweet, comforting and familiar scent. That combination of shampoo and the expensive perfume she’d always bring back with her from those family visits back home to London.
I’ve tried so many times over the years to recreate that scent, shampoo and perfume but have never managed to get it quite right.
As we released each other, Lela whispered into my ear a particularly lewd comment about me, her brother and last night’s party. She laughed to herself in that truly hypnotic laugh that she had, before playfully elbowing me in the ribs and swinging her leg back over the seat of the bike.
I remember laughing and shaking my head at the comment. I plucked the spare helmet from the back of the bike and put it on my head. It was a tatty looking, faded red helmet that was far too big for me. I distinctly remember the strange musty smell that it had, we never did figure out what that was.
Why did I have a beaten up old helmet like that while Lela’s was shining and elegant? Can a motorcycle helmet ever be called elegant? On Lela, just about anything could look elegant.
We came across the helmet about a year earlier. Lela had just bought an old scramble bike off a boy at college. That was before she’d got the Honda. She was pestering me to have a go on it but being a bit of a nervous one when it came to things like motorbikes, I was making up every excuse under the sun. One of those excuses was that I didn’t have a helmet. Well, we just so happened to be walking through the market when what did Lela spot on a second hand stall? A tatty old, red motorcycle helmet.
“Well, there’s no need to worry about that, babe” she giggled, while running over to the stall and buying it.
That was Lela all over, she was always trying to push me out of my comfort zone. She was also always there to catch me if I fell, something that never changed.
With the helmet on my head and fastened as well as it would fasten, I pulled down the visor and jumped up behind, Lela. Wrapping my arms tightly around her slender waist.
The engine roared into life and we sped out onto the open road. That’s how I imaged we looked anyway, on that old Honda, picking our way through the steep, narrow roads on the outskirts of Oslo.
Lela was a bit of a paradox, on one hand she was beautiful, elegant and feminine. On the other she was a wild child with a love of motorbikes, rock music and parties. Parties really were her thing, Friday night, Saturday night, Sunday night and any other night that she could find an excuse for one.
Her parents had sadly divorced a few years before with her mum moving back to England. Her dad had a more senior role with the British Embassy now and because of that, he was often working away from home. That meant that Lela’s house had become the main venue if you wanted a good party. Even if there wasn’t a party planned, Lela would usually be more than happy to get one started for you. There was always plenty of music, drink and of course, men.
I held on tightly to Lela as we hurtled along the winding roads, weaving in and out of the traffic, heading in towards central Oslo.
If there was any point in my life that I wish I could go back to it would probably be to that point in time, carefree, pressed up behind my best friend on that old motorbike. That day was the last day that we would ever be together and free of the darkness that was very soon about to descend.
The Honda’s engine ticked a steady rhythm, the roads ever widening as we drew closer to the centre of the city.
All of a sudden, as if we had been magically transported to some other wonderous world, the houses gave way to the wide green open space of the Frogner Park.
Lela shouted something, inaudible through the muffling of her helmet and the noise of the engine. I couldn’t hear the words but I knew what it was that she asked. She pulled the bike over to a stop as I tapped her leg in acceptance. I watched as a light blue tram rolled by, gliding down the warm, sunlit street before swinging my leg over the seat and dismounting from the bike. Lela stood waiting for me, smiling that warm, alluring smile with her silver helmet tucked under her arm.
I pulled my own helmet off of my head and gave my hair a shake. How did Lela’s hair always look so immaculate, even after just removing a helmet? Mine, no doubt resembled a frizzy bird’s nest.
Lela laughed as she watched me try to straighten my hair, “we’ll be here all day if we have to wait for you to sort out that mess. Come on.”. She took my hand and we walked towards the emerald green expanse stretching out before us.
We did that day what we’d done so many times before. Hand in hand, enjoying the peace and tranquillity of the park around us. The bright sun shone through the trees, causing them to appear to glow with every shade of green that you could imagine. Every sight, every sound, every smell that day seemed somehow more vivid than usual. The sounds of the birds in the trees, of children playing, dogs barking. The earthy smell of the ground mingling with the sweet scent of the pine trees. It is a simple thing, to spend a day like that with a beloved friend, something that’s easy to take for granted.
We gazed in wonder at the statues in the Vigeland sculpture park. Beautiful and intricate, statues depicting all facets of human existence. Love, joy, happiness, weakness, conflict and despair.
“How many times have we walked through here? This place never fails to inspire”, Lela spoke, her voice tinged with awe. She put an arm around my waist and offered me one of those smiles that only Lela can manage.
“It is beautiful”, I replied. But despite the warmth of the day, despite the ever comforting presence of Lela next to me, something felt different inside me. I can’t explain what the feeling was. In the past I’d only seen the beauty and love in those statues. Today however I noticed something different, the small bronze statue of a child throwing a tantrum, the man struggling under the weight of a giant bowl. There was something darker in those sculptures which I’d never seen before, a suffering, an anger, a despair.
“Come on, Heidi. Let’s get ourselves to the shops. See if we can find you something new for tonight’s party.” Lela’s melodious voice instantly brushed away whatever darkness had just crept into my mind.
Laughing like silly schoolgirls, we ran hand in hand out of the park. We made our way past the majestic Royal Palace. The bright red Royal Standard, depicting a golden lion, fluttered lazily from its flagpole atop the roof. Past the palace and towards the Sentrum.
The Sentrum was a bustling, vibrant place. Street vendors selling fragrant flowers, the splash of their colour mixing with the sights of musicians and entertainers. All manner of shops lined the wide streets and the chatter and laughter of people going about their day to day business filled the air.
I thought Oslo was a wonderful place, I loved the bustle and the vibe.
“Oh, Oslo’s nice” Lela would often chide “but you should come to London with me one day, it makes this look like a village green market”.
She told me so many stories about London, the shops, the art galleries, the museums and buildings. It sounded like a fantastic, magical city. I promised her that one day I would visit and see all those things for myself. That was one promise to her that I did keep, although not quite in the way or for the reasons that we both had intended.
We spent the next few hours exploring the many clothes shops and boutiques that the city had to offer. We laughed together, spinning in front of mirrors while trying on outfits that we could never even dream of affording. We’d make flirtatious comments as we thumbed through rails of lingerie, giggling when we managed to make the other’s cheeks turn red.
“Oh, look at this Heidi” Lela called from a couple of rails over.
I glanced up, saw her holding up a pink dress. “This would be perfect on you and I’m pretty sure it’d turn a few heads at tonight’s party”, Lela continued with a sly wink.
I walked over to her taking the dress. The dress was made from a wondrously soft velvet, it was short with a low, diving neckline.
“Oh, Lela it’d be just right but I can never afford that”, turning the price tag over in my hand.
“Don’t you worry about the price, call it a treat to my best friend”, Lela smiled, taking back the dress and walking over to the counter.
Did Lela have any flaws? She was beautiful, kind, considerate and generous.
As the afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the city, the two of us found our selves sitting beside the Oslofjord, dipping our toes into the sharp, icy waters.
Lela looked over at me, a thoughtful look in those dark eyes of hers. “Do you ever wonder what the future holds?”.
I remember smiling back at her, we had so many dreams, so many aspirations. “I really have no idea but whatever it is, we’ll face it together”.
Lela smiled softly, taking my hand, our fingers naturally intertwining. Looking out over the calm waters, the sun softly beating down and my friend at my side, I felt a sense of peace and contentment.
It was a moment that lingers with me still, all those hopes and dreams. All that promise for a future which fate had already decided never could be.
It was late in the afternoon when Lela dropped me back outside my house. I dismounted and hung the helmet onto the back of her bike. We kissed each other on the cheek and embraced in one final, farewell hug. I held on to her tighter and for longer than I usually would have done that day, perhaps some part of me knew what was to come.
When I did let her go, I turned my back and started to walk up the driveway towards my house.
“I’ll pick you up at eight, it’s going to be a special party tonight so make sure you’re ready” I heard her calling from behind me just as the engine started up and the whine of that old Honda disappeared down the hill.
That would be the last that I’d see of my dearest Lela for a long time.
As I reached the door of my house, putting my hand on the brass doorknob, another domino wobbled and prepared to fall.