‘It’s never too late to learn – unless your name is Karl and you don’t know how to iron your own shirts.’ Grit Sandvik nudged her husband in the ribs. ‘But he’s right. I mean, not that I’m trying to tell you what to do.’
Jasmin tucked the sheet of paper with the phone numbers into her purse. ‘I won’t forget,’ she said. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘You’re a doctor, aren’t you?’ Karl Sandvik asked.
Jasmin furrowed her brow. ‘Surely you can’t tell just by looking at me.’
‘No, but Jüting mentioned he’d taken some keys out to a doctor, down by the beach.’
‘Village gossip,’ Grit Sandvik interjected. ‘The same old story.’
Jasmin felt sure Karl was asking for a reason. ‘How long have you been having trouble with your back?’ she asked him, but it was Grit who answered.
‘It’s been especially bad over the last few weeks.’ She seemed relieved and at the same time extremely thankful to Jasmin for asking. ‘Sometimes – sometimes it’s even worse than it is today. Like rusty nails being hammered into his back.’
‘I can take a look, if you like. It isn’t really my specialism, but—’
‘No, there’s no need,’ Karl Sandvik mumbled.
‘Come now, I think there is.’ Jasmin saw Grit Sandvik give her a thankful smile and a meaningful nod, though it was so slight that her husband didn’t notice.
‘It’s no problem,’ she added. ‘How about tomorrow, what do you say?’
‘He says yes,’ Grit answered for her husband. ‘And he’s very grateful.’
‘Thank you.’ Karl Sandvik nodded to Jasmin as his wife wheeled herself out from behind the counter and showed her to the door. ‘He’d never admit it,’ she said in an undertone. ‘He’s such a grump and he doesn’t normally listen to anyone. And then all the fuss of travelling to the mainland, just for his back.’
On her way out, Jasmin noticed a painting in an alcove. It was an atmospheric evening scene depicting the lighthouse, its bright beacon shining far out to sea, and a man standing in front of it looking out over the waves, as if waiting for a ship to return.
‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s very pretty. I don’t know much about art, but yes, it’s really striking.’
‘It’s local, too.’
‘That must be the lighthouse, right?’
Grit Sandvik pointed at the bottom corner of the picture, where there was a signature that Jasmin couldn’t decipher. ‘The artist has been living on the island for many years now. Up on the northernmost tip, by the big cliffs. Gabriela Yrsen.’
‘Unusual name.’
‘Isn’t it? She’s a real hermit. Yrsen doesn’t spend much time around other people these days. Something happened to her that means she’s not all that pleasant to look at now. She was in a fire, and she’s been living alone out there in the wilds ever since. We’ve hung this painting up here because people occasionally come looking for her, and – well, there’s still a bit of business sense left in our old heads, you know? But after everything that’s happened—’
‘Grit?’ her husband called from the back of the shop. ‘Do you have a moment?’
The woman turned around, her hands gripping the wheels of her chair. ‘I expect he’s forgotten where he put his glasses again, the blind old bear.’
‘See you soon,’ said Jasmin. ‘It was really nice chatting with you.’
Karl Sandvik appeared behind the counter, emerging from the doorway that led to the back of the shop. ‘I have something else for you,’ he announced, and Jasmin stopped. She had the impression Grit Sandvik hadn’t told her everything she’d wanted to as her husband had interrupted her at the wrong moment. We’ve hung it up here, but after everything that’s happened . . . What did that mean? Before Jasmin knew it, a small package had been pressed into her hands.
‘Two security cameras. And two motion sensors. A couple of tourists once ordered them for their holiday home and then never collected them, after I spent ages phoning around and trying to get hold of the things. I’m sure you can make more sense of them than we can. Besides, we don’t need them anyway, whereas you, out there on your own . . . Well, here you go.’ Sandvik waddled back into the storeroom as if he didn’t want to hear any objections.
‘Thank you,’ Jasmin said to his wife. ‘And please tell him—’
‘Ach, forget it. You don’t need to thank us. But Ms Hansen?’
‘Yes?’
‘Please look after yourself and your son.’
‘I will.’
Jasmin loaded her shopping into the boot and went to buy a few crates of bottled water from the nearby supermarket. Just as she was about to put them in the car, a shadow fell over her.
‘Hang on, let me help you.’
Jasmin found herself looking at a blond man with stubble on his cheeks. ‘New here?’ he asked in a deep, husky voice – like a cheese grater dipped in honey, she thought – as he took one of the crates from her.
‘Is it so obvious?’ She was starting to get tired of strangers striking up conversations with her every two minutes – and besides, this guy made her nervous. ‘I’m starting to think it’s written on my nose.’
‘It’s a pretty nose, though.’ He put the second crate beside the first and gave her his hand. ‘Jan Berger.’
‘Oh, so it’s you. The lighthouse keeper.’ She shook his hand. Another one covered in calluses. An island of hard workers, she thought. Nature makes the locals as rough as herself.
Berger laughed and shook his head. ‘I’m not the lighthouse keeper. I’m basically the local tour guide, and the lighthouse is the main landmark around here.’
‘And you’re an expert in firearms, from what I hear.’
Now it was Berger’s turn to furrow his brow and look confused. You’ve got a real knack for giving a weird turn to every conversation, Jasmin thought, her face flaming with embarrassment. ‘Karl Sandvik mentioned it.’ She pointed her thumb uselessly at the grocery shop.
‘Hang on a minute, are you the doctor?’
Jasmin sighed and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. ‘Yep, that’s right, and I’m down there all alone with my son.’
Berger smiled and Jasmin realised he was damn good-looking. The wind tousled his hair and for a moment, she imagined what it might be like to run her fingers through it and . . .
‘Don’t listen to the rumours. And above all, don’t worry.’
‘Somebody was outside my house last night,’ she replied. ‘Maybe it hasn’t got around the whole village yet, but actually I just want a little peace and quiet.’
‘I’ve heard there’s a stranger on the island. A stowaway on the ferry.’ Berger looked north towards the harbour, his hair whipping back and forth in the breeze. ‘Sandvik is right. I am an expert in these things. If you like—’
‘Thanks for your help, but I have to go now,’ said Jasmin quickly, starting to feel flustered. She walked round the car, her cheeks bright red, furious with herself, and sat down behind the wheel. Paul gave her a curious, mischievous glance before looking back at his games console, while Bonnie stuck her head out of the window.