Trolltunga

WRITTEN BY GRACE HAMMOND (ASSUMPTIONS - LIT SALON)

On the last night, Ewan undercooks the pasta. We sit at the table, ladling stiff spaghetti onto our plates and folding the strands into our mouths. They break like eggshells between our teeth.

“Sorry,” Ewan says. “I can cook another batch.” “Oh, no.” Eloise waves her hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s delicious.” Ewan smiles.

We all go for seconds.

Our coats – five trenches, burgundy and black and grey – hang from the hooks in the hallway. One hook is still free, looped with a tiny wreath of plastic lilies. Outside the window, snow flutters down like pinpricks against the black.

“So this new shrink,” Darren says. “What’s his name?” Eloise swallows, lowering her fork. “Smith.” “Who Smith?”

“Peter.”

“Peter Smith. And he’s good?” She nods twice. Then she asks, “Have the two of you finished packing?”

Darren rolls his eyes. “Not yet. You know how this one is.” Claire rolls her eyes and asks, “What’s he got you on?” “Claire,” I warn. She shrugs. “What?” Eloise laughs. Her fingers touch the edge of her placemat. “It’s ok, guys. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

We glance at each other, the four of us, and I know we’re thinking the same thing.

Eloise picks up her fork again. We keep eating, our knives chinking against china plates. My pasta crunches through my eardrums.

Claire reaches for Darren’s hand and says, “You should see this place we’ve bought. It’s downright gorgeous.”

“You’re very lucky.” Eloise nods. “It’s expensive just to get to Europe.”

“You’re telling me,” Darren replies. “My pay rise will make us up,” Claire says, flicking her hair. We laugh. Darren pretends to punch her shoulder. “Alright, you can stop bringing it up, now.”

I catch Eloise’s eye. She takes a sip of her wine, smiling into the glass.

We all help clear the table, and Eloise scoops the leftover spaghetti into a container. Ewan smiles. We move to the couch.

Darren rubs his hands together. “Who’s brought the game?” I reveal Monopoly.

“Good one. We haven’t played since.” He says it just like that, as though it were a complete sentence. No one looks at Eloise.

We play for a while, Claire and Darren hiding their cash from each other. Ewan goes bankrupt first. I take fifties directly from the bank so only Eloise can see. She covers her lips with the back of her hand.

“So, Ewan,” Darren says after he’s slammed down his properties and handed Claire his last twenty. “Tell us about the new car.” “Oh. I’m getting a new car.” I smile. Darren rolls his head back.

“I know, but we’re not gonna get to see it before we leave for Paris. You have to tell us about it.”

“I’ll just get something standard. Probably a Swift.” We all nod.

Ewan wipes his thumb over a red stain on the side of his glass. “It was dumb, not getting another one.”

No one says anything for a moment.

“No,” Claire says eventually. “Of course it wasn’t.” “It broke down right before it happened. And then afterwards, I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“We get it,” I tell him. Ewan shrugs. He says, “I can’t believe it’s been a year.” I stare at him. When he doesn’t meet my eye, I look at Eloise. She’s rearranging her skirt in her lap.

“Yeah,” Darren says, slowly. Ewan knocks his knuckles against the arm of the couch.

Eloise turns to me. “How’s your uncle?” “Uncle?”

“The one in Norway.” I frown. “He’s fine. He sent a post card the other week, actually.” Darren points at me. “I remember him.” “I’d hope so,” said Claire. “He visited, what, two years ago?” Eloise wets her lips. “Does he still go up to the tongue?” “The troll tongue?” I ask. “There are lots of tourists. But he knows the good times to go.”

Claire nods. “The tongue. That’s the rock thing.” “It’s like a diving board over a mountain range,” I tell her. “It’s supposed to be very beautiful.”

“I’d be too scared.”

“Maybe not.” Eloise is looking out the window, watching the silent sprinkling of snow. “Once you get there, you know. I think instinct would take over.” She clears her throat. “So, anyway. I have something for you all.”

She hands the first one to Darren, then Claire and Ewan. Then me. “El,” Ewan says. “We can’t…” “I want you to have them.” She takes Ewan’s bracelet and helps him put it on.

“They’re stunning,” Claire says, already wearing hers. “Thank you.” I look at my bracelet. There’s green in it, and gold and brown. I remember the colours. I saw them years ago, in a jewellery box tucked in an attic. A box with Eloise’s initials on the lid.

Later, Eloise is the first to say, “I think I’ll be heading off.” I say I’ll walk her to a cab, and we put on our coats. Down on the street, the lights hang like broken limbs over the road. White freckles appear in Eloise’s hair, and we look up.

The sidewalk glints ahead of us as snowflakes melt on its surface. We can hear traffic through the muted frost. “So, Dr Smith?” Eloise doesn’t look at me. “They want that for me. What would you have done?”

I shrug. “Not lied.” “You don’t know,” Eloise says, and I glance away. “I guess not.” “Did your uncle really send you a postcard?” I laugh. “Yeah.” “Does he remember me?” Her shoes crunch in the snow. “Does he really know the best time to go to the tongue?”

I stop and look at her.

She exhales a forest of mist. “It was nice with us all together.” I stare at the sidewalk.

“One last time.”

“I know it’s not the same,” I start, “with only five of us.” Snow patters down like ashes around us.

“It won’t be the last time. Darren and Claire will visit.”

She looks down the street, where yellow spotlights illuminate the snowfall. I slide my bracelet into her pocket. She turns to me, and I shrug. “You didn’t get to keep one. Have mine.” I’d thought she might protest, but she only smiles.

We reach the traffic. I still have Monopoly tucked under my arm. Eloise says, “Someday, we’ll meet in Norway.” I blink. Her voice was pleasant, rehearsed. I wait for the right words to come.

She hugs me to her chest, and I put my arms around her. “That’s the dream,” I whisper into her hair.

She holds me tighter.

When she turns to leave, I take her arm. I stare hard into her eyes.

“Eloise,” I say. “Hm?” She’s looking down the street. “Eloise.”

She takes in a breath, and shifts her gaze to me.

I stare for a long moment. Then I let go of her arm. “Get home safe, yeah?”

She smiles again, then I watch her drift down the street. She raises an arm over the road and a cab pulls up beside her. The tyres squelch through the slush and she disappears around the corner. I turn and start walking home.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SAM HOPE

MET AT GOMA 21’ PHOTOGRAPHY BY SAM HOPE