Chapter Text
It was the sound of seagulls that finally woke Isak – high, thin cries as they screamed and called to each other as they coasted the gusty winds outside the small Scottish farmhouse. He shot upright, half-asleep, heart pounding, imagining for a moment they were still on the small fishing boat that had smuggled them from war-torn Europe to the British Shetland Islands through the deadly sea, imagining for a moment that any second another huge wave might crash down upon them and send him tumbling overboard again –
But instead of the smelly fishing trawler, he found himself sitting up in bed in the small stone farmhouse where Lieutenant Tryggvasson had brought them the night before. The low rafters of the ceiling held small bunches of sweet herbs, the walls were lined with small watercolour pictures of the local Scottish scenery, outlined in a small crack of sunlight which squeezed its way between the black-out blinds. It was all a million miles away from shattered and burned Oslo which they had fled only a couple of weeks before.
I must be dreaming, thought Isak unsteadily. This can’t be real. It just can’t.
Beside him, Even snored blissfully in the small, lumpy double-bed, pillow pulled over his face. Isak screwed up his eyes, shook his head, and then opened them again. Nothing had changed.
We’re safe, he thought in disbelief. We’re together.
Heartbeat subsiding, he rolled back down into bed and snuggled up against Even, feeling the warm body sigh and move against his touch.
He thought back to the long night behind them, a night punctuated with small cat-naps until hunger drove them together once more, the toughness and tenderness, the laughter and lust, the hard bursts of frenzy that had brought them together again and again. His body ached in all sorts of unexpected places, and seemed still to bear the imprint of Even on it, as if his lover had somehow moulded him into something different – someone new, yet still the same.
“Morning, Juliet,” breathed Even sleepily, though Isak had done his best not to wake him. “Are we getting room service yet?”
Isak grinned into the back of Even’s neck and tickled him reprovingly. “If that’s your way of asking me to get up and heat water for your bath, then no, I’m afraid no room service. I don’t think there’s anyone for miles around, to be honest.”
“No one for miles around sounds like my kind of place,” returned Even, rolling over sleepily and pulling Isak into his chest. His hair fell messy over his eyes and the slight roughness of his stubble grazing against Isak’s cheek made his stomach turn over with excitement. “Come here, Romeo. Let’s make the most of it.”
***
“Yes – yes – Even – don’t stop, don’t stop –”
Isak was on all fours, hanging onto the iron bedstead with his head down as Even slowly fingered him from behind, long smooth movements that had him babbling like a blissful drunk as he felt his lover’s fingers explore him, lighting him up in a way he’d never felt before. He keened and moaned as Even curled his fingers and brushed against a particularly sensitive spot that had him absolutely gasping for breath. “Oh! Yes! Do that again!”
Even’s head dropped onto Isak’s back and his lips brushed Isak’s spine, tracing slowly downwards in a long curve until the fingers disappeared and he felt something warm and wet between his buttocks instead. He groaned and hung helplessly on the bedhead, feeling Even’s tongue caressing him in soft, firm licks that made him shudder with need and desire as his toes scrabbled into the mattress. Even knew far more than Isak about sex – that was plain – and although Isak had never so much as kissed another person before – he was learning too, about what he enjoyed, as well as what Even liked. He still needed to fight back against the voice in his head sometimes – this is dirty, this is wrong – but all he had to do was concentrate on the thought of Even for it to feel warm and loving instead.
“Baby, do you – are you ready?” Even’s voice was dark and throaty. “Do you – want to?”
Isak heart thudded with excitement and nerves as he felt Even start to kneel up behind him. We’re going to do it, we’re going to do it, he thought to himself frantically, I want him to have me, I want him so badly –
But that moment Even winced and shied suddenly to the side. Isak looked around, concerned. “What is it? Are you okay?”
Even managed a small smile in response. “It’s just my – leg, I think I might have – ”
Isak frowned; the doctor’s injection was bound to have worn off a little; the titanic sexual efforts of the night before could have opened up his wound again. He shook his head firmly, and pushed his lover back onto the bed.
“Sorry, Romeo. We can’t have you hurting yourself again on my account.”
“I’ll gladly take the risk,” began Even, but Isak shushed him sternly, putting one finger against his lips. “You need to take medical advice, I’m afraid, otherwise I’m going to have to confine you to bed.”
“You can confine me to bed as much as you want,” began Even teasingly, but his words ended in a long hiss as Isak swung one leg over to straddle him, reaching behind to feel for where Even’s cock lay thick and throbbing against his hip. “Let me do it,” he muttered, squeezing up and down the length of the shaft, feeling the taller man grunt and thrust mindlessly into his palm, relishing the way he could reduce Even to a shuddering wreck every time he touched him.
It still seemed a ridiculous freedom – being able to touch Even wherever and whenever he wanted, and the joy of it all went straight to Isak’s head. He knelt up, looking down with pride and possessiveness at Even’s thrown-back head as the taller man thrashed and moaned between his thighs, bucking his sharp hip-bones desperately up against Isak’s bottom.
“Yes, do it, Isak, please, please, please –”
“Well you’ve got very good manners,” breathed Isak teasingly as he braced Even’s leaking cock and rocked himself over the tip, hearing Even cry out as he slid against him. “We’re going to have to make things easier first though.”
He bent his head and took Even in his mouth for a bit, tonguing wetly around the head and as deep as he could manage to slick him up. Part of him felt proud that he’d learned to do that so well at least – although the other part still trembled with nerves; it’s so big, how will I manage – until he could taste the salt and musk as Even got close. “No, wait,” he told him sternly, recognising his lover’s signs. “We haven’t got to the good bit yet, Romeo.”
“Oh my God,” groaned Even as Isak reared up and started to sink down on him. “Damn, you’re so incredible Isak, you’re so beautiful – ohhhhh…”
The breach was sharp and stung a little, but Isak took it slowly, listening to Even’s garbled words of praise and encouragement that made his head swim, rewarded by seeing his lover’s face slowly collapse into that funny scrunched-up look of lust and bliss as Isak opened up around him. Isak bore down and pushed out, and slowly, slowly, he felt Even’s warm hard length extending inside him and opening him up. His eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned out loud as all his nerve-endings suddenly caught fire.
“Am I hurting you, baby?” whispered Even with an effort, fingers trembling on his hips. “Is it –“
Isak shook his head, barely able to form words; conscious of nothing else but Even inside him, so close and so tight he could barely breathe. He had touched Even all over, everywhere, but this was different; it felt so intimate and close he could hardly bear it.
“Should I – should we stop?” began Even, nervously when Isak wasn’t able to answer.
“No, no!” gasped Isak sharper than he’d meant, grabbing hold of Even’s hips as he started to pull away. “Stay, stay! It just feels – so much,” he whispered, linking his fingers between Even’s to steady himself, comforted by the warm palms braced against his own.
He arched his back and rose up a little, feeling all his body sing as he slid up Even’s cock before sinking back down again, feeling the sensation overwhelm him, hearing from a distance the strangled noise Even made every time he did so, and the way his fingers tightened so convulsively around Isak’s as they moved together, almost as if they were one body –
Rap rap rap! There was someone banging at the window, though Isak was so far gone he hardly noticed it at first.
Rap rap rap! Bang bang bang!
“No! Oh God!” Isak stopped abruptly mid-surge, casting a terrified glance over his shoulder. In the tiny crack of light left through the blackout blinds they could both make out a hand knocking at the door and the cuff of a Norwegian Army uniform.
“Hullo!” sang a voice through the window panes. “Are you both up? The King awaits your pleasure in London!”
Isak gritted his teeth in furious incredulity.
“That Tryggvason is back! I’m going to punch his stupid face!” he began wildly, .
“Oh God, don’t stop, don’t stop –” begged Even, grasping ineffectually at his hips as Isak slid away, but the spell was abruptly shattered for Isak, no way was he going to continue making love to Even with Lieutenant Tryggvason banging loudly on the door.
“I cannot believe his timing!” stormed Isak furiously, stamping around the bed to collect his scattered clothes.
“Come back! Let’s stay in here forever!” entreated Even, in hysterics at Isak’s stroppy face despite the intrusion, but when Isak stormed off to the little washroom to boil water in the copper, it was apparent that their encounter was over.
Even pulled on shirt and trousers with a sigh and limped down to open the door to Tryggvason’s knowing smile.
***
“It will be a full day’s travel to London so I hope you’re well rested,” said Lieutenant Tryggvason archly, theatrically arranging his pink scarf around his shoulders as he ushered them up the gangway into the huge waiting troopship docked in Scalloway harbour, the fluttering insignia of the Union Jack flying from her masts.
The Queen Elizabeth II was one of the largest military personnel carriers in the region, and inside her massive iron flanks nearly twenty thousand servicemen swarmed in a variety of uniforms, carrying backpacks, chattering and smoking cigarettes. Even limped up the ramp with the aid of a crutch and Isak’s shoulder, and in the hubbub all Isak could think about was how much he wanted to be back in the small lumpy bed in the middle of nowhere. From he and Even being the entirety of their small universe that morning, now it felt like they were suddenly only cogs in a giant machine.
He fidgeted uncomfortably in his rough greatcoat and uniform. The lieutenant had brought a change of clothes with him so both of them were wearing Norwegian army fatigues, much though Isak disliked being made to wear military dress. Even looked handsome in uniform, he thought, though that pleasant daydream was well and truly soured by the lieutenant’s irritating presence.
“Want some breakfast?” Edkild fluted cheerfully as they found a small spot at the bows. “They’re doing oatcakes and tea in the mess hall.”
“Ugh, no thanks.” Isak flung himself against the rail and folded his arms. “I’m not hungry.”
He was still in a furious mood owing to Eskild’s early-morning interruption, and his irritation over the lieutenant’s unapologetic flamboyance meant a stony silence had settled around the small group that even Eskild’s cheerfulness and Even’s natural charm hadn’t been able to break.
“What’s wrong, baby?” whispered Even, his fingers brushing Isak’s under the cover of his greatcoat. “I had a fantastic time last night. And it won’t be the last time, I promise you.”
Isak fumed and moved his hand pointedly away. It wasn’t just the interruption – they’d had those before – there was something about the lieutenant that triggered him in all sorts of ways.
“It’s just – Tryggvason. I can’t stand him.”
“I don’t think he stopped us on purpose, Isak,” began Even gently, but Isak bridled. “It’s just – him.”
“Why? What’s wrong with him?”
Isak shrugged crossly. “He’s a little – obvious, isn’t he?”
“Isak,” Even shifted uncomfortably, shooting a glance over at Tryggvason who was meanwhile chatting merrily to a handsome officer in British uniform, “you’ve got to stop fearing anyone who’s different or who makes you feel insecure. He seems nice enough.”
But Isak did fear Tryggvason. He feared Eskild’s style of speech, dress and behaviour, it all seemed to signal difference, proclaim his identity to the world, in a way both terrifying and exposing. Maybe in familiar Oslo, with his friends around him Isak could have borne the attache’s behaviour, but here, in an alien land filled with strangers, it was all just too much.
“Gangway!” shouted a voice and with a few sonorous blasts of steam the huge troopship started to slip away into the early-morning mists. Even turned to him with a strained, but encouraging smile that made Isak only a little less annoyed.
“Well, we’re on our way!”
***
They disembarked at the Firth of Aberdeen where the seas were full of huge, grey-painted warships wallowing like beached whales in the booming surf, and watched the blue-uniformed lines of sailors swarming aboard them like ants. They boarded the long, slow military train to London and saw the blackened munitions factories of Carlisle and Manchester belching great plumes of smoke into the air as they churned out bullets and mortar casings, aeroplane screws and tank armour to be shipped to any of the big theatres of war unfolding across the world; from the Burma Campaign to the Battle of Normandy, from Japan to the North Africa offensive.
Despite being hardened to life under wartime occupation, Isak couldn’t suppress an ache in his heart as he looked out at the lines of young men just out of training, excitedly waiting to board trains, ships and aeroplanes for a “piece of the action.” Some looked no more than boys, either barely of age, or had added a few years on to their birth year to enlist, but it was all one to the recruiters who nodded and waved them through. They were seen off with hugs and fluttering handkerchiefs by their grandmothers and sisters, last passionate kisses from girlfriends and promises to come back safe soon, and to write, every week, without fail.
Watching them laugh and jostle their way aboard, Isak wondered how many of them would ever keep those promises, how many of them would be cut down in a hail of machine gun fire on a flat French beach, succumb to frostbite in the trenches or sweat with malaria in a far-off prison camp where boys the same age as they were shivered in fear as they awaited the order of their generals to fire.
Meanwhile their mothers, their hair wrapped up in mob caps and wearing oil-stained mechanics overalls, pumped the pistons and produced the gleaming conveyor-belts of weapons that would kill some other mother’s sons, whether in the snows of Poland, a muddy ditch in Russia or the deserts of Africa.
Even soon fell asleep, his head pillowed on Isak’s shoulder, and Eskild, sensing that Isak wasn’t much for easy conversation, chattered about himself instead. He had graduated in modern languages from the University of Oslo a few years ago, before taking a post as translator in the King’s Guard. “Well, I mean, so many handsome men in uniform seemed like a good career path …” When the Nazis had invaded, he had been selected to escort the King to England owing to his command of English, and, it transpired, he had actually been one of those waiting in the HMS Devonshire the night that Yousef had given Even his perilous mission. At the recollection, for the first time, the lieutenant’s bright self-assurance suddenly dimmed.
“We were in that submarine,” said Eskild, abruptly subdued, “in this dark, metal box, going off under the sea, and it felt wrong. Terribly wrong. Leaving everyone behind like that.”
Isak nodded faintly, he could relate. “I didn’t want to leave either,” he said with a burst of sudden confidence. “Jonas had to practically kick my ass out of there.”
“Ah,” Eskild nodded soberly. “Mr. Vasquez. A great man. A great Norwegian.”
At a loss for anything to say to this, Isak stared out of the window at the huge machinery of war unfolding around them. At every station, hundreds of soldiers got in and out of the carriages, smoking pipes and cracking dirty jokes; American GIs - young-looking farm-boys from Ohio and Kansas – throwing chewing gum and packets of nylon stockings to giggling girls, black-turbaned squadrons of soldiers from British-occupied India waiting patiently on platforms, “free armies” of refugee Danes and Swedes and Finns, battalions of Irish and Welsh and Scottish country boys carefree and excited at their first glimpse of the big cities.
All over the world generals were moving their men as pawns on a chessboard, great battalions marching in step over the plains of Europe, aeroplanes leaving bright white scars in the sky overhead as they thundered eastwards towards “dog-fights” over the Channel or the bright waters of the Mediterranean. It felt simultaneously like the whole world was in motion and the whole world had gone mad.
And there were others, the poor and broken, returning from war, limping and empty-eyed, bloodstained bandages and slings holding shattered limbs and crutches supporting twisted bodies. Those on stretchers were brought hurriedly home to be nursed or kept out of sight, or to sit blind on a chair in the sunshine, haunted by dreams and memories of the combat they had seen. Isak marvelled at the marvellous stupidity of man, the mindless monster of war that rolled roughshod over small, individual lives; a monster that like the Roman god Saturn would devour its own children to keep itself going.
But, Isak remembered, there are weapons more powerful than these, that would not stop at blinding or maiming or even killing; there were powers almost within reach of the Nazis, that could reduce whole cities to ash and rubble, and decimate thousands of citizens to dust and blackened shadows from a single bomb. Weapons that Isak had sworn never to make, in the full knowledge that somebody else might make them first.
As they reached the outskirts of London, Even stirred and woke up, rousing Isak from his gloomy thoughts as he groped for his hand. “Where are we, baby?” he murmured, seemingly uncaring that Eskild could hear. He took his hand away quickly.
“We’re nearly there,” said Tryggvason calmly. “The King’s limousine will await us at King’s Cross station.”
At King’s Cross, the huge scars of the London Blitz – when the Luftwaffe ploughed 30,000 tonnes of bombs into London killing forty-one thousand people – were still in evidence as the long black car nosed through the streets of London. Much of the city had been repaired but many streets were still whole wastelands of rubble, pock-marked with craters brimming with rainwater and filth. Mountains of sandbags were stacked against every wall, trenches were dug for rain and vegetable allotments requisitioned. Posters exhorting passers-by to be careful of wasting water, idle gossip and the importance of keeping calm hung on each wall. Barefoot children, many orphaned from the bombings, ran alongside the large black car, screaming and shouting with their hands outstretched for change. Eskild flicked them a few pennies from the window.
If this is what safety looks like, thought Isak with some alarm, then what have we got to look forward to?
***
As light was fading, the King’s black limousine purred through the boulevards of Holland Park and cruised down the tree-lined avenue of Kensington Gardens. Rows of Army tents had been set up in Hyde Park around the Serpentine and battallions of cadets exercised in strict formation to the cries of their captains.
Two large ornate posts reared up from the gloom at the corner of the park fenced in with high barbed wire; Billionaire’s Row – home to the Norwegian Government in exile, and MI 19, the British centre of intelligence operations. Soldiers manned the barriers but saluted and stepped back smartly at the first sight of the diplomatic ensign and Eskild’s epaulettes. Isak gaped at the huge row of buildings that rose before them; large, white, wedding-cake-style houses, as white and pure as if they had been crafted out of sugar. From the rafters of one of them flew a Norwegian flag.
“Here we are,” said Tryggvason cheerfully, giving himself a shake. “Brush your hair, you two,” he said teasingly to Isak and Even, both sleepy and blurry from the long journey. “The King has invited you to dinner.”
“Well I hope it’s not fish,” murmured Even, rolling his eyes at Isak. “I’ve had more than enough of that to last me an absolute lifetime.”
***
It was fish; a large silver halibut on a silver salver, crusted with herbs and surrounded by steamed potatoes. Even felt his stomach turn over, and he could see that Isak’s was doing the same. They stood uncomfortably in the luxurious dining room where they had been ushered in by a servant, taking in the long dining table, the dark blue velvet drapes and the patterned William Morris flock wallpaper, momentarily stunned by the opulence of it all.
“Well, well, well! Took your time, didn’t you, Gule Gardiner?”
Even turned and saw a familiar face grinning at them from the doorway in black hijab. “Sana!” he cried, and in that instant Isak saw her too, and his face lit up.
“Come here,” exulted Sana, opening her arms wide for both of them. “I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.”
“I thought we weren’t going to make it,” gasped Even as they both ran towards her and caught her in a crushing hug. “I thought I’d blown it.”
“Well I never had any doubts,” said Sana sternly, though Even could see her discreetly wiping her eyes as she ruffled Isak’s hair. “I knew you could do it.”
Even’s head whirled slightly and he staggered on his crutch. Sana caught his arm proprietorially. “Come and sit down. You look like you need some good food to stoke you up.”
The servant coughed discreetly from the doorway and instantly everyone stiffened to attention.
“Presenting King Haakon VII of Norway, King-in-Exile in Great Britain, Commandor of the Fleet and Supreme Head of the Outer Front!”
***
King Haakon received them gracefully with outstretched hand, a pleasant-faced man in his mid-fifties with a large forehead and walrus moustache. He was wearing a suit and tie rather than his military epaulettes, and his wife smiled at his side in yellow silk as she greeted them. The King shook Even’s hand vigorously and slapped him hard on the shoulder.
“It was the worst day of my life, going off in that submarine knowing I was leaving people like you behind,” he said earnestly. “But you did us all proud, Mr. Naesheim, you’ve done all of Norway proud. Thanks to you we have the Uranium Club dossier, which could change the entire course of this war.”
Even reddened slightly and Sana sniggered. “Yousef always does have very good taste in spies,” she said, poking at him from behind. “And in friends.”
“But what about Sir Cecil?” put in Even anxiously. “I’m afraid I punched him rather hard, sir. He was going to shoot Isak to put him on the submarine, and –”
The King rolled his eyes. “Well I’m glad to say that Sir Cecil has been – reassigned to other duties, not involving Norway, so we won’t be seeing any more of him. And,” turning to Isak, “I’ve issued a royal pardon over both of you as my subjects, so you need have no fear about that.”
Isak shook hands, trying not to look overwhelmed, though he imagined he cut an exhausted-looking figure after years living on the run. However, he wasn’t prepared for the warmth of the greeting the King gave him, clasping Isak to him in a thankful embrace.
“Thank you, Mr Valtersen, for all you have done for our country,” said the King, his voice husky and emotional. “It’s men like you who have fought for Norway’s freedom throughout this dark time. We owe you everything.”
Isak felt his chest clench a little. “I didn’t do it alone,” he said almost sulkily. “There was Jonas, and Noora, and Magnus and Vilde. And Eva,” he added, though he felt his eyes well up at the memory. “They didn’t make it out alive, sir. I think they should be honoured too.”
“They are indeed honoured,” said the King, shooting a meaningful glance at Sana, who went immediately to the radio set in the corner and began to tinker with it. “Their names will go down in history along with yours, as the brave defenders of Norway.”
Isak shrugged and pouted a little in embarrassment, and the King smiled as if he understood. “From what Sana tells me, Mr. Valtersen, I understand that you were – not amenable to being involved in the nuclear project.”
Heart heavy, Isak stared at the floor. “I don’t want to kill people any more,” he said slowly. “Especially not in huge numbers.”
The King nodded, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Have no fear about that. You are here as my guests, and you may work in whatever part you feel best to help with the war effort. We need people to develop medical help in the new fields of radiography and bacteriology, devise new sonar systems, work out new ways of coding messages. Not all war is fought face to face.” The King paused, glancing over at Sana. “Do we have transmission yet?”
Sana grinned from where she was turning the dial of the radio set, and held out the hissing mouthpiece. “Isak. You have someone that wants to speak to you.”
“To me?” Isak stared at her, bewildered. “Who wants to speak to me?”
Sana waved the microphone at him. “You have two minutes only. Hurry up!”
Confused and wondering, Isak took the mouthpiece gingerly. “Hullo?” he muttered into the hissing ether. “Who’s there?”
There was a momentary pause, and then a loud, familiar voice suddenly echoed jovially around the plush Kensington mansion. “Issy! Don’t tell me you’re dining with kings already? I hope you’re saving us some dinner!”
Isak jumped, his blood suddenly turning to vapour. “Magnus?” he quavered, barely able to speak. “Mags, is that you?”
“Oh quit joking around, Mags, and give me the headset,” said a cross-sounding voice, and Isak gaped as Jonas abruptly came on the line. “Isak, are you in London already? Did that spy of yours manage to get you there all right?”
“Jonas!” cried Isak delightedly, his jaw dropping. “Jonas, you’re alive!”
“Of course, we’re all alive. They didn’t call me the Ghost for nothing!” said Jonas’s voice proudly, to a chorus of cries and shouts from the background that sounded like Vilde.
“Issy! What’s London like?! Hey Isak!”
“Mags, Vilde and I are doing heavy water sabotage,” said Jonas rapidly, by way of explanation. “The Brits really came through with our new supplies once you left, and it’s changed everything! Now we’re working with another team with all the equipment you could imagine, blowing up the coastal power stations that the Nazis want to use for uranium production. And we’re managing it too, they’re not able to get a drop of uranium produced before we liquidise their reactors. Listen, Issy,” and his voice broke with excitement and hope, “we’re working together and getting places. For the first time I think we could actually win this thing!”
“But how?” gasped Isak, his head spinning. “I thought you were dead!”
“We shot six STAPO in the raid and took their uniforms,” said Jonas. “Drove off in their van and tossed a couple of molotovs on top of them so they thought it was us left there burned to a crisp. The sleeper spies made sure it got into the papers, and it’s been there for weeks as our cover story while we decamped and set up with the British. I’ve had some explaining to do to my mother, I can tell you.”
Isak wiped his eyes with a trembling hand. “And – the girls? Are they with you?”
“Well, no. Noora had to smuggle Eva out to Switzerland because – well, that’s the other piece of good news, Issy. We’re – we’re going to have a baby! Issy! I’m going to be a father!”
Isak clung to the mouthpiece, tears streaming down his face. “I know – I mean, that’s great news,” he amended hurriedly. “I’m so, so glad for you, Jonas.”
“Twenty seconds,” said Sana quickly. “Say your goodbyes.”
“Goodbye,” breathed Isak, clutching the radio set as if he could not bear to let it go. “Goodbye, Jonas – and thank you for everything.”
“Goodbye to you, and to that handsome spy of yours,” said Jonas cheerfully and supremely unaware of the other ears that pricked up in the room. “How’s that all going?”
Isak shot Even a blushing look. “It’s going well,” he stammered, before Sana cut the transmission and silence descended once more.
“Well,” said Lieutenant Tryggvason cheerfully in the sudden hush. “Dinner’s getting cold. Should we eat?”
***
Snow lay speckled over London that winter like icing sugar, not deep and crisp as it fell in Norway, but in small, powdery patches, melting to slush as it reached the slippery city streets. The hum of voices returning home and the clang of milkman’s pails filled the evening calm, and above it all the crumpled London skyline rose proudly in the evening mists; the shattered remains of St Paul’s cathedral, Westminster Palace, the distant tower of Big Ben.
From the window of the small attic bedsit that he shared with Even in Shepherd’s Bush Green, Isak stared at the drifting snowflakes, feeling homesick.
Even would be back soon, on the evening train from Bletchley Park where he worked at the Ministry of Intelligence facility decoding endless Nazi radio transmissions while their leader, Alan Turing, visited the United States to update the Americans with the Enigma code-cracking programme. Even’s quick brain was ideally suited to the intricacies of code and the endless permutations, and thanks to him the project had advanced in leaps and bounds.
Isak himself had started working at a radiographing unit in St Thomas Hospital the other side of the Thames, working out new ways to split the atom safely to release its power for medical treatment. Soldiers arriving back from the Front came with awful burns and poisons, and the race was now on to find better methods of treatment.
They lived quietly on the top floor of a large Victorian terraced house, unbothered by anybody in true British style, save a sullen charlady in a black apron who cleaned for them once a week. On the days that she came, Isak made sure to mess up the guest bedroom and scatter some clothes around so it looked like both of them slept separately, though in truth both of them spent long blissful nights in the large iron four-poster with its heavy patchworked quilt.
Now that the initial relief of safety was over, the loneliness and depression so common for refugees had started to make itself felt, especially at times like this when they had been used to spend Christmas with their family and friends, now thousands of miles away. There were Norwegian churches in London of course, but neither Isak nor Even were religious, and further, the necessity to keep their love concealed from society made them isolated and wary of accepting too many people into their circle.
Isak had also discovered that living in close proximity with Even had a lot of drawbacks – Even was messy and erratic, Isak tidy and judgmental – they argued often under the stress and the strain of rationing and wartime life, though they had one rule, and one rule only; never go to bed angry.
One time they had been separated during an argument when an air-raid happened; the superior Allied air-power had by now made German air raids all but over, but very occasionally the sirens would sound and everyone in the street would have to head for cover. Isak had made it to the underground shelter in King’s Cross but Even with his injured leg had been pushed aside in the general rush as the doors closed. Afterwards Isak ran from street to street for what seemed like hours, crying and shouting Even’s name, until finally the tall figure came limping towards him from the cellar of a nearby public-house where he had taken shelter. Isak had thrown his arms around him and kissed him, heedless of any who might see, conscious only of the relief that he felt that Even was alive and safe.
“I’m so sorry,” wept Isak into Even’s shoulder. “We’re never going to fight again.”
“I’m here, baby,” whispered back Even, holding Isak tightly. “You’re never going to get rid of me.”
Yet still, whenever Even was late home (which did happen frequently in his line of work) Isak felt himself prickle with uncontrollable anxiety, and would pace up and down restlessly until Even returned.
His shoulders relaxed abruptly as he saw a familiar, limping figure crossing the Green as it did every evening, leaving a dark trail of footprints in the drifts of snow. Even walked with a stick, as he probably would for the rest of his life, but his wound had healed enough for him to go out and about unaided, thanks to Isak’s swift care on the bleak shores of the fjiord as they waited for the submarine. As Even caught sight of Isak watching from the window, he waved cheerfully, and Isak felt the worries and cares of the day evaporate like mist before the sun.
Even stamped through the door, cold wafts of cold smoky London air covering him like a blanket.
“Look!” he said with one of his disarming smiles at Isak’s surprise. “I’ve got a little something for you, baby!”
“What’s all this?” Isak asked, bemused, as he took in the huge fir branch that Even was carrying.
“It’s not really a Christmas tree,” said Even, “not like back home. But I thought it would be nice, even so.”
“It’s beautiful,” whispered Isak, looking at the long spurs of greenery that smelled so strongly of home, though he hadn’t seen a Christmas tree himself since the start of the war.
“I know you miss everyone,” said Even, kissing him, “and we argue a lot. But you know, I’m happier here than I ever was before.”
“Me too,” breathed Isak, and Even’s infectious happiness spread through him like oxygen.
They set the fir branch up in the window and lit small stubs of candle so that the flickering golden light could catch the small silver baubles that Even was stringing through the needles. The sweet scent of pine filled every inch of the apartment making Isak smile despite himself.
“Next Christmas, we’ll be home,” whispered Even, putting his arm around him.
“I hope so,” murmured Isak, but cautiously. The newspapers had been full of good news that winter – the Allies’ combined might and the new long-range air bomber had begun to change the course of the war. The Axis powers had already sustained heavy losses and pushbacks from Russia to the Atlantic Ocean to North Africa – and the talk on the street in London was now beginning to turn in the direction of when the war would be won, not if.
But Isak knew enough to understand that war wasn’t ever straightforward, and many months if not years could still go by before Hitler declared surrender – if he didn’t first find a way to build an atomic bomb before he could be stopped.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t give each other presents this year,” continued Even, his large hands slipping around Isak’s back and pulling him close. “Next Christmas, I’m going to give you everything.”
Isak smiled, stretching up to wind his arms around Even’s neck and went on tiptoe to kiss him. Despite all the uncertainty, his heart felt so full he could hardly speak – Jonas and his friends were safe, Even was by his side, and he didn’t have to be the Dark Angel any longer. This had to be happiness – didn’t it?
“Save your money,” he murmured, drawing Even down to the old iron bedstead and lying down on the mattress. “I don’t need anything.”
“I’ve never heard of that before?” hummed Even, lips tracing a gentle path past his ear and along his jaw. “Someone turning down presents?”
Isak laughed and wound his fingers through Even’s hair, closing his eyes in bliss as the larger man moved on top of him.
“Well, you know, I’ve already got the best Christmas present I could ever have.”
***
“Ugh, who’s that?” groaned Isak, as the noise of knocking drifted through the hallway from their front door a few days later. “Are we expecting anyone for New Year’s Eve, baby?”
There was a soft pop as Even pulled his lips free from Isak’s aching cock and wiped his mouth, looking suddenly sheepish.
“Oh yes, I totally forgot, sorry. Eskild said he would drop by tonight. He said he had an important message for us.”
“What, now? Oh my God!!” Isak rolled his eyes and grabbed at Even’s hair as he tried to sit up. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere, my lad. Eskild can wait a few minutes longer I’m sure.”
***
“A New Year’s message for you!” saluted Lieutenant Tryggvason smartly as Isak finally opened the door in his dressing gown and bare feet, hair ruffled and red-faced.
Isak eyed the small ragged roll of paper, surprised. “What’s all this?”
Eskild smiled. “Well, we’ve got a regular postal service going back and forth to Norway on the Shetland Bus, don’t you know. Seems a lot of Norwegians want to write back home. And one return delivery had your name on it, so I thought I might deliver it myself.”
He cast an interested glance over Isak’s shoulder to where Even was hurriedly pulling on his clothes in the small bedsit, and Isak moved firmly in front of him, pulling the door closed. “That’s very kind of you, Lieutenant,” he said, somewhat snippily. “Will that be all?”
But as he looked down at the letter, his heart started to pound – he recognised Jonas’s writing on the letter, and despite himself, he couldn’t help grinning.
“You know, if there’s anything I can do,” said Eskild, starting to back away, “to make you guys feel at home here, then please let me know. There’s bars and clubs here – not many, to be sure – that you might particularly like to visit. And people like us that you might want to meet. Perhaps when you two feel bored or sad - a man always needs friends around him, you know. I’m quite a regular, so I’d be happy to show you round, if you wanted?”
“Thanks Eskild,” Isak said, taking the letter and starting to unroll it. “We’ll probably take you up on that. It’ll be nice to meet some new people.”
Eskild looked surprised at Isak’s change of attitude, but recovered himself quickly and doffed his cap. “Well, Happy New Year!”
“Happy New Year,” murmured Isak at his retreating back as he started to read.
“Dear Issy
Well, I’m hoping this will get to you soon, the Brits are quite a punctual bunch despite the fact they always seem to have a stick up their arses, so maybe you’ll receive it sometime around New Year. I just had to write to tell you the good news.
Our baby has arrived! A month early, but he’s a fighter. Eva let him cry down the radio to me earlier. I was sad that I couldn’t be there, but they’re safer in Switzerland than here, and she’s got Noora with her, so I’m trying not to think about that too much.
I wondered though, whether you’d have any objections to us calling him Isak? Eva said he reminds her of you when he scrunches up his eyes and screams at her. (If it wasn’t for the fact that you’re not into the ladies, I would be worried. Kidding!) But seriously, would you mind? At the moment he’s just called Baby Wah-Wah, and it would be nice for him to have a name that we both like.”
Isak wiped his eyes; he hadn’t realised until now that he was both crying and smiling.
“And I was thinking, Issy. It’s been a bad old year, with one thing and another, but it seems to be looking up so we mustn’t lose hope. It’s great news that Mussolini has been defeated now – but back there in the cellar, I really thought it was the end when they attacked us, and my only comfort was that you got away, Issy.”
Somewhere, someone downstairs started to sing the old Scottish song Auld Lang Syne that the British sing every year despite nobody really knowing the words to it. Isak recognised the tune but the words were unfamiliar to him, so he hummed along as he read Jonas’s final paragraphs.
“Yet somehow we’re still alive, we’re still fighting, and I’ve got a new hope now. Like I said on the radio a few months past, I think we can win this thing, I really do. And hopefully very soon you’ll be able to come back home and we can rebuild Norway again, and hopefully my son will grow up in a Europe where there isn’t any war.
“But there will be other battles that our children and their children will have to fight in years still to come. I can see it. There will always be fascists and dictators rising up and seeking to crush those that they call less than human, and when Hitler goes he won’t be the last of them. There will always be those who blame the poor and unfortunate for everything and seek to demonise and destroy them. And there will always be those that follow dictators mindlessly like sheep.
Yet we have to take the victories where we can, stand together and teach our children the lessons of the past so they don’t repeat them. That’s what I plan to teach Isak, anyway. If that’s all right with you.
(Otherwise, I swear, you don’t want this kid to be named Magnus, which is what Vilde is in my ear about.)
“Okay, gotta go, the Brits are taking the post off to the Shetland Bus and they won’t wait, load of plummy bastards. Write back soon if you get a minute, Issy. Love from Jonas and all the family.
(I’ve been wanting to write that my entire life!)”
“Baby?” Even was standing at the front door, light spilling from around him, looking at him anxiously. “Are you okay? Is it a letter from home?”
Isak turned around and smiled, his heart full. This was home, where Even was, and everything was all right with the world.
“I’m right here,” promised Isak, kissing him as he came back inside. “I always will be.”
***
TO BE CONTINUED!!!! LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT, OR COME CHAT TO ME ON TWITTER @EVERYOUNG2017