towards the old vantage point, where the base of a panoramic telescope still stood, the view long since obscured by the fast-growing conifers. She walked on over the rocky outcrops facing north until she finally felt she was high enough and paused, her gaze sweeping round in an arc, the wind tugging at her blonde hair, so that she had to gather her dark green coat tight round her to keep out the cold.
I climbed up and stood beside her, following her gaze. To the south-west Korsfjord cut its way through between Austevoll and Sotra, where the Lia Tower rose up to a height of 1120 feet above sea level. In the north-west, on the other side of Nordåsvannet, lay the collection of houses at Bønes like a scar in the landscape along the narrow elongated western side of Løvstakken, and beyond that Lyderhorn’s highest point at 1300 feet. Behind the mountains the horizon could just be made out: a barely perceptible line between grey and white somewhere far out in the maw of the open sea.
‘Life is something you lose,’ she said in an undertone. ‘Bit by bit.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Childhood – a distant memory. You’re young and frisky, full of expectations of life, and then – then suddenly that phase is over. You find love, or you don’t find it, in all its various guises. And before you know where you are, that’s gone too. The children you bring into the world …’ She swallowed and blinked back the tears as though the wind had become too biting for her. ‘Suddenly they’ve gone too.’
‘But life does go on, Sidsel.’
She seemed not to hear me. ‘There are those who would say life is something we build stone by stone until by the day we die we have a complete edifice.’
‘Mm.’
‘I’d put it differently. The edifice is what is given to you when you’re born: a beautiful edifice into which you are invited. But it’s not long before they start to tear your fine edifice down, bit by bit, until at last there you sit, quite alone, on the empty plot. And some houses,’ she added with sudden vehemence, ‘are not even torn right down! They stand there for ever, like incomplete … lives.’
She turned abruptly and looked east, where the broad channel on the far side of the Hardangerijord lay like a diminutive duvet between the mountains at Fusa. ‘And there – lies Folgefonna glacier, just as it has for thousands of years. It will never die.’
‘Hm, glaciers are like people. They come and go too. They just take a bit longer, that’s all.’
She started to walk back down. ‘Shall we – carry on, now?’
‘It’s up to you.’
We got back into the car again.
The valley on the eastern side of Fanafjell is covered in conifers right to the top of Lyshorn, and the road descends in a succession of narrow bends down towards Nordvik and Lysefjord. On a bend a mile or so from the top, two cars were drawn up at the side of the road: a patrol car and a private vehicle. A uniformed policeman stood midway between the cars almost as though he was parked there too.
He followed us with his eyes until I pulled in to the side and parked behind the other two cars. At which point he immediately set off in our direction. As we got out of the car, he said: ‘I’m sorry, but this is a restricted area for police only.’
‘This is the deceased’s mother,’ I said with a small gesture of the hand in the direction of Sidsel Skagestøl.
The young constable blushed. ‘Oh, I see … I’m really sorry, but I still can’t let you through … Of course, you can look …’ He cleared his throat. ‘I mean … Obviously you understand … we’re still carrying out technical investigations down there. To make sure we have all the evidence,’ he said, addressing Sidsel Skagestøl directly.
She nodded but looked at neither of us. Her gaze was directed towards the steep slope on the far side of the concrete kerb. With the look of someone afraid of heights she moved gingerly towards the edge of the road,
I climbed up and stood beside her, following her gaze. To the south-west Korsfjord cut its way through between Austevoll and Sotra, where the Lia Tower rose up to a height of 1120 feet above sea level. In the north-west, on the other side of Nordåsvannet, lay the collection of houses at Bønes like a scar in the landscape along the narrow elongated western side of Løvstakken, and beyond that Lyderhorn’s highest point at 1300 feet. Behind the mountains the horizon could just be made out: a barely perceptible line between grey and white somewhere far out in the maw of the open sea.
‘Life is something you lose,’ she said in an undertone. ‘Bit by bit.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Childhood – a distant memory. You’re young and frisky, full of expectations of life, and then – then suddenly that phase is over. You find love, or you don’t find it, in all its various guises. And before you know where you are, that’s gone too. The children you bring into the world …’ She swallowed and blinked back the tears as though the wind had become too biting for her. ‘Suddenly they’ve gone too.’
‘But life does go on, Sidsel.’
She seemed not to hear me. ‘There are those who would say life is something we build stone by stone until by the day we die we have a complete edifice.’
‘Mm.’
‘I’d put it differently. The edifice is what is given to you when you’re born: a beautiful edifice into which you are invited. But it’s not long before they start to tear your fine edifice down, bit by bit, until at last there you sit, quite alone, on the empty plot. And some houses,’ she added with sudden vehemence, ‘are not even torn right down! They stand there for ever, like incomplete … lives.’
She turned abruptly and looked east, where the broad channel on the far side of the Hardangerijord lay like a diminutive duvet between the mountains at Fusa. ‘And there – lies Folgefonna glacier, just as it has for thousands of years. It will never die.’
‘Hm, glaciers are like people. They come and go too. They just take a bit longer, that’s all.’
She started to walk back down. ‘Shall we – carry on, now?’
‘It’s up to you.’
We got back into the car again.
The valley on the eastern side of Fanafjell is covered in conifers right to the top of Lyshorn, and the road descends in a succession of narrow bends down towards Nordvik and Lysefjord. On a bend a mile or so from the top, two cars were drawn up at the side of the road: a patrol car and a private vehicle. A uniformed policeman stood midway between the cars almost as though he was parked there too.
He followed us with his eyes until I pulled in to the side and parked behind the other two cars. At which point he immediately set off in our direction. As we got out of the car, he said: ‘I’m sorry, but this is a restricted area for police only.’
‘This is the deceased’s mother,’ I said with a small gesture of the hand in the direction of Sidsel Skagestøl.
The young constable blushed. ‘Oh, I see … I’m really sorry, but I still can’t let you through … Of course, you can look …’ He cleared his throat. ‘I mean … Obviously you understand … we’re still carrying out technical investigations down there. To make sure we have all the evidence,’ he said, addressing Sidsel Skagestøl directly.
She nodded but looked at neither of us. Her gaze was directed towards the steep slope on the far side of the concrete kerb. With the look of someone afraid of heights she moved gingerly towards the edge of the road,
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