Authors: Ingelin Rossland
Minus Me
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ingelin Røssland is an award-winning Norwegian author and journalist. Her books have won numerous awards and been translated into several languages. Her fourth book,
Handgranateple
, was listed in the 2008 IBBY Honours List. She lives in Stockholm, Sweden.
A Rock the Boat Book
First published in North America, Great Britain & Australia by Rock the Boat, an imprint of Oneworld Publications, 2015
This ebook edition published in 2015
Originally published in Norwegian as
Minus meg
by CAPPELEN DAMM in 2011
Copyright © CAPPELEN DAMM AS 2011
Translation © Deborah Dawkin, 2015
The moral right of Ingelin Røssland to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved
Copyright under Berne Convention
A CIP record for this title is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-78074-694-4
ISBN 978-1-78074-695-1 (ebook)
This translation has been published with the financial support of NORLA.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Oneworld Publications
10 Bloomsbury Street
London WC1B 3SR
England
Contents
Chapter 1
The tram rattles along through the snowy streets. The window vibrates icily against Linda’s forehead, stopping her from falling asleep. She tries pulling her woolly hat down between her face and the window, but it doesn’t help. She sits up straight and looks out over the tram. It’s almost empty. A teenage girl sits with her knees jammed up against the seat in front of her, purple tights showing through a rip in her jeans. She’s using her scarf as a cushion to lean her head against the window. Linda doesn’t have a scarf. But she’s wearing a thick pair of orange mittens that her grandmother knitted for her. Extra big, so she’d have growing-room. Linda stretches her fingers. The middle one almost reaches the end now. She takes the mittens off, and is about to put them against the window, like the girl with the scarf, when a figure catches her eye. A boy, slightly older than Linda, is leaning against a lamp post. The whole of him, but especially his face, is softly but clearly lit. And he’s gazing straight at her. It’s as if he wants something. As if he’s saying come here.
Just at that moment Linda feels a clamping sensation around her heart. She gasps for air, and just as the pain forces her to double up and close her eyes, she catches a last glimpse of the boy, running out into the road and towards the tram. There’s a thud and the tram jolts on its way, and as it does the pain in her chest melts away as abruptly as it came. Her mittens tumble to the floor. One into a brownish pool of melted snow and grit. She’s too weak to bend down for them. A scream rises inside her, but comes out like a silent breath. Her heart swells, then contracts, setting her blood in motion pounding round her ears.
What on earth happened? Linda looks around to see if anybody else has seen anything, but they obviously haven’t. The girl nearer the front of the tram is still sitting as she was, knees tucked up, cheek resting against her scarf. The other passengers too are still rocking drowsily to the rhythm of the tram. Linda presses her face up to the window.
Where’s the boy? What happened to the boy? Did he run into the side of the tram?
She gets up, grabs her sports bag and rushes to the back window to look. But there’s nobody there, just the snow whirling up from the tramlines and the lights of a taxi following close behind. The taxi flashes to overtake, as the tram pulls up at a stop. Linda has to hold tight to prevent herself falling over. The doors open, sucking cold air into the tram. She feels a chill at the back of her neck. Turns. And there he is, standing right behind her. The boy. Eyes as blue as a husky’s, frost on his long eyelashes melting and turning into pearls. The ceiling lights make tiny rainbows in the droplets. She catches herself staring at him, looks down and bites her bottom lip.
‘Are these yours?’ asks the boy, holding out her orange mittens.
‘How . . . ?’
‘You’ll still need them.’
She takes them. Shakes the one that fell into the muddy water.
She wants to thank him, but the words won’t come out of her mouth. He answers her anyway:
‘No problem,’ he says.
He turns away from her to look out of the window and then presses the bell. Ducking to see under his arm, Linda realizes she’s almost home.
‘This is your stop,’ he says, stepping aside for her.
‘But how did you . . . ?’
‘Shhhh . . .’ he says, smiling with a finger to his lips. Again she feels the gust of cold wind from outside. She jumps out onto the pavement. She looks back to see if the boy is following her. But as the tram moves off, he’s still standing there behind the closed doors.
Why had he spoken to her as though he knew her? As though he’d only got on the tram for her sake? Linda racks her brain, but can’t recall ever having seen him before. Surely she would have remembered him; those intense eyes, the way he looked at her. Linda lifts her hand to wave to him. He shakes his head slowly but looks into her eyes, until the distance between them breaks their contact.
Linda breathes out. The white cloud that fills the air proves how cold it is. It’s been minus twenty in the mornings recently. She breathes in. The frosty air feels like a metal rasp in her lungs. Her heart tightens again, before setting into action once more, pumping warm blood round her body. Linda rolls the collar of her knitted pullover up over her mouth. It helps against the cold, but not the aching sensation she’s had in her joints recently. She’d been relieved that Maria had arranged to meet her mum in town today, and couldn’t walk home with her. Then Linda could sneak on the tram. Maria never has the guts to get on without paying. She’s frightened that God can see her. Linda doesn’t think God bothers himself over such details.
Chapter 2
The rambling old house where Linda lives is on the outskirts of Trondheim but it’s only a few hundred metres from the tram stop. Linda walks between the school and St Elizabeth’s Hospital before she turns into her street. She’s surprised to see that the ground-floor light is on. The flat, where her grandmother used to live, has stood empty since she died last year. As Linda approaches she sees two figures moving around inside. Mum and Dad.
Her parents stop in the doorway, looking into the front room, which Granny used to call the library. Linda’s father is standing behind her mother. He puts his arms around her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder, and then her mother leans her head back, lifts one arm and places her hand on his neck. She sees her father stroke her mother’s stomach, and then slip his hand under her jumper. Linda takes a look around; imagine if a stranger or someone came along and saw. Her cheeks burn.
She takes off one of her mittens to fish her keys out of her pocket, and walks to the front door. She puts her key in the lock and gives it a tug; it’s always extra stiff in the winter. Linda slips inside quickly and kicks the door to, giving it an extra shove with her shoulder to make sure it locks properly. Her mittens tumble to the floor in the hallway, and as she bends down to pick them up she can feel her heart distinctly. She remembers the boy, his gaze when he picked up her mittens, ice-cold, yet so intense and alive.
Was she feeling her heartbeat so clearly because she would soon be a teenager? Were boys beginning to give her weird feelings? They’d only ever irritated her before now. Axel, at least, only ever irritated her. He’d certainly never made her heart like this. But, then again, perhaps things would be different this summer. She’d be thirteen next time they saw each other. They’d both be teenagers. Perhaps Axel is online. It’s a while since she heard from him. She almost misses his constant pestering. But why is she suddenly thinking about Axel? Linda looks at her watch, it’s almost half past seven. She takes the stairs to the first floor in five long strides. Then she puts her key in the lock, only to find that the door is open.