Fog Island. Mariette Lindstein

able to get out of her hair.

      But his fingers took hold of a matted clump near her cheek, then slid down her face to the tip of her chin.

      ‘Look how hard you’ve been working! Sofia, I’m so glad to have you here.’

      A jolt zinged from her cheek to her groin. She tried to keep a poker face and shrugged. But he noticed. He gave her a meaningful smile and raised his eyebrows before moving on.

      She was still feeling drained from the lack of sleep and couldn’t quite let herself sink into the joyful mood. She kept thinking about how her dorm room was empty and she could sneak off, pull out her laptop, and send an email home. Make contact after two weeks of silence.

      The party music was loud, throbbing. The sounds of renovation, blows of the hammer and the whine of the circular saw were still echoing through her head. She decided to make herself invisible and sneak out the front door.

      That’s where she ran into him.

      He must have been coming from outside, because he brought with him a gust of cold autumn wind and the scent of leather from his jacket. His eyes were just as she recalled, happy and lively. The wind had blown his hair back, making it look like a funny toupee. His mouth was half open, revealing the gap between his front teeth.

      ‘God, I’m so glad you’re here!’ he said, taking her hands. Suddenly she wasn’t tired in the least.

      A few weeks have passed since I found the book.

      A thought has been with me ever since.

      It’s insane and dizzying, but genius.

      I’ve been snooping for more evidence hidden away by my idiotic mother — she thinks she’s so clever.

      At the moment she’s sitting at the kitchen table, gazing out the window. Grumpy and grim. Her jaw is clenched as if she has taken a vow of eternal silence. I sit down on the chair across from her.

      ‘I hate you more than anyone else ever could,’ I say.

      She doesn’t say ‘Oh, no!’ or ‘You can’t say that!’ or anything a normal mother would have said.

      She just sits there staring, stiff and silent as a dead fish. And it’s all her fault — especially the fact that we’re sitting here in a fucking summer cottage, poor and insignificant. All because she had to have a quickie with the count. And yet, to my great chagrin, I see myself in her as she sits there.

      We are strong, bull-headed, stubborn. There is not a pitiful bone in our bodies.

      Not like that cowardly bastard who fled the island for some stupid place in France.

      No, I know that I take after her, and that makes me hate her even more.

      ‘I wrote to him,’ I say, holding the letter up for her to see. Close enough for her to read the name on the envelope. At last her eyes go cloudy with worry and she opens her mouth to say something.

      But I’m already on my way out of the cottage.

      When I turn around on the lawn, I see that she has stood up and come to the window.

      Go ahead and stare, I think. Stare all you want — but it’s too late.

10

      The fog took hold of the island in early October, and by mid-month it had an iron grip on the place. It crept in at night and each morning it was so thick that Sofia couldn’t see the outbuildings from the window in her dormitory. The brightly coloured leaves had faded and the landscape had turned shades of golden-brown. It was steadily growing colder. Normally she would have felt a little gloomy thanks to all the fog. But not now — she spent almost all her time thinking about Benjamin. It was as if the fog transformed the island into a fairy-tale world with infinite curtains a person could pass through and discover fresh views.

      Benjamin showed up in the library every day. She never knew when he would appear, so she remained in a state of constant expectation and excitement. He always had a good excuse to visit. Oswald had instructed him to help with all the purchasing. But most of the time he came by with trivial questions and errands. He had that eager way about him as if he were always on the go. He could fill an entire room with his energy just by stepping across the threshold. He would forget to remove his boots, tramping around and leaving marks on the rugs without noticing. His body was always in motion — he walked around looking out of windows, picking up objects, putting them down again — even as he spoke with her. But when he sat down in front of her he became perfectly still. He could move in and out of these states, from wound up to absolutely relaxed, in an instant.

      She had a constant internal dialogue about whether it was right to start a new relationship so soon after the disaster with Ellis; her brain went back and forth, over and over. This nervous droning was like background music as she worked. But when Benjamin entered the room, the voices stopped. And then it started up again until Sunday, when he showed her the cave.

      It was their day off and the whole island was blanketed in a thick fog. Everything was wet: the trees, the bushes, and the earth, which smelled like mushrooms and decaying leaves. He showed her a new path through the woods; they had to climb over huge, moss-covered stones to move forward.

      From the top of the highest boulder, they got a glimpse of the grey, foamy sea between the trees. It was windy out there, but not in the woods.

      Sofia stayed on the boulder for a while as Benjamin climbed down.

      ‘Here it is!’ she heard Benjamin’s voice from below.

      She slid down from the rock and saw that he had found a patch of chanterelles in the moss.

      ‘This is my secret chanterelle spot. Come on, let’s pick them.’

      He had brought a backpack, and they gently placed the small mushrooms inside.

      ‘I’ll show you something you’ve never seen by the outlook point,’ he said.

      ‘How do you know the island so well?’

      ‘We had a summer cottage here when I was little.’

      ‘Is it still here?’

      His eyes darted away a little too quickly.

      ‘No, we had to sell it. Mom left us when I was twelve. Dad died in a car accident soon after that. Now it’s just me and my sister.’

      ‘I’m sorry, I mean, I didn’t know . . .’

      ‘It’s okay. It was a long time ago.’

      ‘Why did your mom leave?’

      ‘It’s hard to say. One day she was just gone. I couldn’t help but blame myself a little bit, though. It was like, I wondered what I had done wrong.’

      He seemed to have sunk into himself; he looked smaller.

      ‘But you always seem so happy!’

      She could tell right away how wrong it sounded, as if he had renounced his right to happiness.

      He stood up and slung the backpack over his shoulders.

      ‘Well, what can you do? The future is what’s important. And I have my ViaTerra family, of course.’

      The outlook point was windy. The fog had lifted from the sea, but the sky was still grey. Waves crashed in hard enough to make foam fly from the rocks.

      ‘That’s Devil’s Rock,’ Benjamin said, pointing. ‘Have you heard about it?’

      ‘Yes, Björk — the guy who runs the ferry — told me the whole story. Do you really believe all that?’

      ‘Sure, some of it. Once when I was younger, it was foggy and I thought I saw the Countess on the Rock. It was scary as hell. Someone