Thinking about the old circus manager gives me an idea. ‘I saw Karl earlier today. He was talking to a girl called Ulva. She asked who would play Baldur now Nina’s gone, and he said they were never doing that myth again. I wondered why.’
Ruth rolls her eyes. ‘He has this book of stories – some can be performed and others can never be done. Honestly, the way he goes on, sometimes I think the whole superstitious thing is an act.’
Now’s my chance. I sip my water then ask, ‘Who’s Nina?’
The extractor fan stops and the caravan is painfully quiet.
Ruth clears the plates. ‘Have you had enough to eat? Can I get you another drink?’
‘No, thanks. I heard Karl say she’d died?’
Ruth sighs, her face a picture of unease. ‘Nina was training and she fell.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She slides open a kitchen drawer then takes out a newspaper and lays it on the table. It shows a group of people posed in the big top, each one clutching a mask to their chest. I recognise the girl in the centre instantly. She holds a gold mask and has short dark hair and is strikingly beautiful. Nina shines with a light of her own, and not just because she’s dressed all in gold. There is something luminous about her. She seems so happy. So alive.
Ruth pours herself another glass of wine. ‘One minute we were about to open the new season, Nina was smiling and happy, the star of the show, and then suddenly she was gone. It was hard on everyone, but Karl was broken. I’ll never forget his face the day he came back from the hospital, clutching a bag with her belongings in his hand.’
I look at the photo. ‘She was beautiful,’ I offer, realising how weak my words sound.
‘Yes,’ says Ruth briskly, as if trying to pull herself together. ‘It was taken on the morning of the accident. Nina was going to play Baldur for the first time that afternoon.’
‘I don’t know the story. Is Baldur a god?’
She nods. ‘He’s the son of Odin and Frigg, the fairest and most beloved of the gods. When Baldur dreams of his death, Frigg makes everything in the world swear an oath not to hurt him. Convinced he’s invincible, the other gods throw weapons at him for sport, knowing they will bounce off him.
‘One day Loki asks Frigg if there’s anything that hasn’t sworn an oath. She mentions that she didn’t ask the mistletoe, as she thought it too small and harmless to bother with. Loki straight away makes a spear from some mistletoe and gets the blind god Hodr to throw it at Baldur. It pierces him and he falls down dead.’
‘That’s awful.’
Ruth stares deep into her wine glass. ‘It gets worse. After that, one of Baldur’s brothers journeyed to the underworld to ask Hel if she would release him. She agreed to give Baldur up, but only if every living thing shed a tear for him. The whole world wept, apart from one creature – a giantess, who was Loki in disguise. So Baldur was doomed.’
We sit in silence, the wind a low moan outside. I don’t know how true the story is, but I can’t imagine Hel giving up anything easily. Meeting the dark mother goddess was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. After Stig was attacked by the draugr, I journeyed into the bowels of the tree to beg for his life. In return for giving him up, Hel tasked me with returning the souls that had escaped from the underworld. She gave me a cord and told me to put one end inside the tree and hold the other until all the dead had followed it back.
But I didn’t. When Mormor appeared, I knew she would never leave me. She was determined to try to protect me from the draugr, even if it meant not returning to the underworld. I couldn’t bear the idea of her soul wandering the earth, lost for eternity. I had to do something, so I dropped the rope. As I hoped, it coiled around her and dragged her into the tree. My cheeks burn with shame as guilt wraps around my heart. I didn’t stop to think what would become of the poor souls I abandoned. I didn’t do as Hel asked.
Ruth sighs heavily and my thoughts return to her story. She sips her wine then confides, ‘The crazy thing is that Karl blames himself. The owners had been putting pressure on him to change the routines to bring in more custom. He introduced the myth against his better judgement. He’s convinced the two things are connected, but it’s just a tragic coincidence.’
I lean over and study the photo. ‘What was she like?’
Ruth huffs and her face tells me the answer is complicated. ‘Nina was an amazing flier, the best we had. She lived for the spotlight, in more ways than one.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘She had notions about herself; loved being the centre of attention. She was a drama queen but she could be kind when she wanted to, especially to Ulva. When Ulva’s mum first took off, she was like a sister to her.’ An edge of accusation sharpens her voice. ‘And then she went and did that.’
I raise my eyebrows but she shakes her head. When she doesn’t say anything, I reach for my glass and deliberately brush her arm. The sleeve of her jumper bristles with outrage. Nina did something to come between Ulva and her mum, something she had no right to do. Ruth is angry on Ulva’s behalf, but there’s a deeper hurt there too: a rawness that I can’t quite place. Another thread of emotion tugs at my mind. Ruth feels uneasy about Nina’s death. Not guilty exactly – it’s as if she worries her actions contributed to what happened.
I glance at the Norwegian newspaper on the table. When I searched for the circus online, I asked Mum to translate the story that came up, but it was old and didn’t say much – just that she’d fallen from the trapeze and was airlifted to hospital, where she was in a coma.
‘How did it happen? Did she slip, or was her harness faulty?’ I ask.
‘She wasn’t wearing one. At first the police were convinced she’d been wearing one due to the marks around her throat. They think it can’t have been done up properly and caught around her neck before she fell through. But no harness was found.’
‘Didn’t she know it was dangerous?’
Ruth frowns as if I’m stating the obvious. ‘No one can understand it. She was a professional; she knew the risks. Her boyfriend told the police she refused to wear it.’
My pulse quickens and I bite my thumbnail, wondering how much I can ask her. ‘What was he like, her boyfriend?’
Ruth wipes her mouth as if she’s already said too much. ‘I’m not saying he had anything to do with her death, but not everyone believed his story, put it that way.’
I lean back and try to ignore the sinking feeling inside me. It doesn’t seem right to talk about Stig when he’s not here to give his side of things. ‘Did the police question him?’
‘Of course. They will take months to reach a final verdict, but everyone thinks it will be accidental death. We had to close during the investigation and the circus lost a lot of money. We thought we’d go bust but then the owners secured a loan and brought in Oskar. It was a relief when we could open again.’
‘So what happened to Nina’s neck?’
‘Lots of performers get injuries from the silk ropes. The marks could have been caused by them.’
My mind clouds with questions, but at the same time I feel clearer than I have in weeks. That must be it – the police knew there was something suspicious about her accident but they weren’t able to prove anything. If they pass a verdict of accidental death, the truth will never be known. Nina wants me to get justice for her.