The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

  “Oh, God. How awful.”

  Her relationship with her own mother wasn’t exactly close. They were far apart in miles now, but they’d never been much of a close-knit family, despite only having each other as they trooped around the world. It was just the way it was. Zoe had always felt like an item for her mother to tick off her to-do list. Education—check. Marriage—check. Career—check. Child—check. Despite that, the idea of her mum being so sick, and dying…it didn’t bear thinking about. Facing that prospect with Sarah, her ‘other mother’, probably felt close to what losing her own mother might feel like, but she had no idea what Jakob must have gone through.

  “And what about Alvar?”

  “Pssht.” Greta waved a dismissive hand. “She left him before Jakob was even born. It was a good thing. That man…” She shook her head, her lips pressed together.

  “I met him at the party,” Zoe said.

  “That’s bad luck for you,” Greta replied. She sighed. “Jakob deserves a better father.”

  “What’s he like?”

  She paused with a handful of knives and forks, considering. “He has that business, and expensive cars, and a big house—Hofsvik, it’s called. But really, he’s alone.”

  It looked like she might have more to say, but then she put the last of the silverware into a velvet-lined box, and hung the tea towel on the oven door.

  “Come now. Leave the rest. Let’s see about coffee.”

  Zoe followed her, grateful that she hadn’t asked anything else about Jakob. After last night’s kiss, and then the episode with Fredrik this morning, she knew her attraction to him couldn’t be entirely one-sided. And his mother’s skates…well. Maybe that told her something.

  But—and wasn’t there always a but?—she should be making sure nothing more happened. Because if he tended to be surly now, she could only imagine what he’d be like if he found out she was secretly trying to find a way to sabotage his Scottish wolves. The thought made her queasy.

  Later, she went back to her cabin and started googling again, trying to find any hint or shadow of Claire. But every result was from before she left home—school prizegivings, sports teams, that time she was in the paper for winning a coding contest for girls. And there were a million and one other random people called Claire Evans.

  Disheartened, she hesitated…then entered another name in the search bar. Jakob Westermark. Scrolling through the results, she felt a bit stalkerish—but she clicked on them anyway.

  He obviously wasn’t one for social media, as his Instagram comment had suggested. But there he was on a research trip with a university group, somewhere in the wilds of Scotland. His name on an academic paper published in an environmental journal. And his profile picture on the Scottish Wolf Reintroduction Society website. She lingered over the image. Just a half smile, enough to hint at the dimple that lurked on each cheek. Serious eyes. His hair caught by the wind on whatever hillside he was standing on.

  And then, there he was on a YouTube video, talking in rapid-fire Swedish about wolves, pointing out evidence of a den where pups had been raised. That’s what the caption said he was talking about, anyway—she listened to his deep, rolling voice with no idea what the words were, just watching the expression on his face as he spoke. It was like seeing a different person, someone she’d only seen flashes of in the days she’d been here. Serious, but none of the angst—a person lit up by the fire of his heart’s pursuit.

  Intrigued, she found herself drawn into a YouTube click trail, watching one wolf-related video after another.

  Finally, with a yawn, she forced herself to quit and shut down the laptop. Slipping under the covers, she thought of Jakob, probably in his bed just a few lopes across the clearing. What was he thinking about over there? The rugged, distant hills maybe, and freedom on the wind, and the piercing eyes of a Swedish grey wolf.

  At that moment, as if in answer to her thoughts, she heard a howl rise in the night, a single, keening call that spoke of the ancient wild—the ancient wild that lay outside her four small walls.

  The inevitable chill that went up her spine was tempered by something else now. It belonged to them, she thought as she fell asleep. It belongs to them.

  Fourteen

  The next morning, after doing another uneventful nest run and collecting the weather data, she cornered Jakob in the office. Well, not literally, but the set of his back when she came in was like a man braced for attack. At least he was there. It was a start.

  “Thank you again for lending me the skates,” she began, talking to his broad, silent back. “I’m looking forward to using them.”

  He nodded, focused on his screen. “You’re welcome.”

  In the drawn-out pause that followed, punctuated only by the sound of his fingers on the keyboard, she imagined grabbing hold of the back of his office chair, spinning him around, and telling him that Fredrik was an idiot, and in fact she was stupidly, prematurely crazy about him, Jakob, and heaven help her but she had to know, was he ever going to kiss her again?

  Instead, she reminded herself of her complicated reality, and assumed a business-like tone.

  “So…how can I help you with your work? That’s kind of why I’m here.”

  Totally why, in truth. If other reasons had unexpectedly appeared to make her want to stay…she’d just have to keep them reined in.

  He shut the folder next to him, keeping his eyes on the screen. “I don’t need help.”

  She stifled a sigh. “I’m sure there must be something? It’s so interesting, I’d love to know more.”

  He turned and looked at her, maybe hearing something genuine in her voice. And it was genuine. All those videos, and Greta’s explanation of the wolf’s plight, and his own passion for their fight...it had all combined to ignite something in her, too.

  “Did you hear it last night?” he asked.

  She knew what he meant. “I did. It sounded really close.”

  He nodded. “He’s one of the tagged wolves. His name is Brynjar. Look.”

  He went to a website, and showed her a page with photos of all the wolves being tracked by the Swedish wildlife authorities. Brynjar was a young, pale grey wolf, who had apparently travelled a zig-zag route from much further north.

  “Bryn-yar,” Zoe repeated, the name rich and evocative on her lips. “Brynjar. He’s beautiful.”

  Jakob smiled. “He is. His name is from the old words for armour and warrior. He left his pack a few months ago, and we’ve been following his journey.”

  “Why did he leave?”

  “It was just time to go. He’s old enough to look for a mate. He hasn’t found love yet though.”

  The reference to love was enough to make her blush like a schoolgirl. She looked away, ducking her head and rubbing the back of her neck as though she had a sudden itch. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed. With the worst of the heat out of her cheeks, she turned back. “So…what can I do?”

  “You could go through these tracking reports and update my map. I’m using it to build a picture of where the wolves are travelling, and how far they go.”

  Finally. “Okay.” She took the folder and sat at the other computer. “So this data will be on the website?”

  “No,” he said. “That would be giving directions to anyone who wants to hunt the wolves.”

  “Oh, heck. I didn’t think of that.”

  He nodded. “Everything used to be public, but now…we have to keep them safe.”

  “Of course.”

  As he leaned over her shoulder and explained how to enter the data so it showed on the map, she felt a version of the wolfish prickle run up her spine and tingle in her neck. But it wasn’t a cold chill this time…it was the teasing fingers of temptation.

  He went back to his own seat, and she sat still for a minute, letting her million agitated nerve endings settle. Oh, this was trouble.

  When she heard him start typing again, she snuck a look across. He might be a difficult character, but he had a passion, an
d a place in the world. She didn’t just fancy him—she envied him. With an effort, she turned back to the computer and started work.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, she went back to the cabin and called Paul. She hated having to report that her visit to Defrost Digital and her talk with Alvar hadn’t uncovered anything of Claire, especially when she heard the disappointment in his voice.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It was a long shot. Now you can get on with your work.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Somehow, being here was beginning to dampen her drive to show Vertex what she was made of. Maybe it was too much fresh air and outdoorsiness…and the growing sense of being just one tiny part of a great big world. She looked at the ice skates in the corner. Not to mention a certain distraction.

  “I’ll keep looking online though,” she promised. “How’s Sarah?”

  “Oh, well…” He paused. “You know. Hanging in there.”

  What he didn’t say spoke volumes. “I’m sorry. I’ll come and visit as soon as I get back.”

  “That would be nice. Sarah would like that, I’m sure.”

  She forced a bright tone into her voice. “Yes.”

  They both knew full well that unless things changed, Sarah would probably have no idea she was there.

  “Off you go then,” he said. “Keep warm.”

  “Thanks, I will. Lots of love.”

  “Right back,” he said, the way he always did.

  As she hung up, her heart ached. Everyone said life was a roller coaster, but sometimes it seemed more like a seesaw. And right now, Paul was stuck at the bottom end, loaded down with troubles, and none of the good stuff at the other end to tip the balance and raise him up.

  She tapped her finger on the arm of the chair, twitchy, restless. Then she got up, pulled on her boots, coat and gloves, and set off up to the lodge. The sky was dark and heavy with the promise—or threat—of snow. But she itched to be out, moving, in the elemental open. Bengt was away for the afternoon with Jakob, checking fences on the other side of the property, but she knew he wouldn’t mind her using the snowmobile.

  With the ease of practice, she started it up, and set off along the path towards the lake. It was just as cold as when she arrived. She couldn’t say she was used to it, exactly, but it wasn’t as shocking as it had been at first. As she travelled the sugar-dusted track, and breathed the clear air, the tension in her chest started to dissipate. For the first time, maybe in her whole life, being somewhere that wasn’t home felt like exactly what she needed.

  She paused at the top of a rise, where she could see the lake. It was a smooth, white expanse of ice, embraced by frosted trees, but the sky above and beyond was dense with smothering grey clouds. How different it was to see the weather, good or bad, instead of peering up at it between London’s high-rises. With one final look, she turned the snowmobile and set off to circle back around to the lodge.

  As she powered through the forest, the light was starting to fade, but she wasn’t worried—the GPS was no longer a mystery. She shouldn’t need it anyway.

  Just on the lodge side of the still-empty golden eagle nest, something off the track caught her eye. She stopped and peered into the trees, the dying light making it hard to see. Yes, something was definitely moving in there. She kept a tight hold of the snowmobile’s hand grip, her pulse racing, ready to hit the accelerator if she needed to. Then the clouds shifted, letting the last of the sunlight through, and she saw it—a whisper-grey wolf, lying at the foot of a tree, its sides rapidly moving in and out. A collar was easily visible against its pale fur.

  Could it be Brynjar? It looked like him.

  Heart pounding, she debated whether to take a closer look. Something must be wrong if her presence and the noise of the snowmobile hadn’t scared him off. With every nerve in her body on alert, she turned off the engine, and picked her way down off the track towards the wolf. She stopped some distance away, and the animal lifted his head and looked right at her—into her, it seemed—silent resignation and vulnerability in his eyes.

  “Brynjar,” she whispered. “You need help.”

  At the sound of her words, he lowered his elegant head to the snow. For a second longer, she stood, mesmerised—and then she sprang into action. She didn’t have Jakob’s mobile number, but she called Greta, who deciphered her hurried words and promised to find him.

  “I’ll be back,” she told the wolf. “I promise.”

  She’d been wanting to kick up some horsepower on the snowmobile, but she hadn’t imagined it would be on a lupine mercy mission. Now she pushed it as fast as she dared, hurrying to meet Jakob and lead him back to the right spot.

  When she reached the lodge, he and Bengt were by the garages, hitching a small open sled to a snowmobile.

  “We use this to carry supplies on safari,” Bengt explained, making sure the coupling was secure. “But when Oscar was small, the children rode on it. It should be okay for a wolf.”

  “Let’s go,” Jakob said to her, slinging a gun over his body and getting on the snowmobile.

  She stared at the weapon. “You’re not going to…?”

  “Tranquiliser,” he said.

  “Oh, okay. For a second there, you looked dangerous.”

  “It is dangerous,” he told her. “The amount it takes to make a wolf sleep can be enough to stop a human’s heart. That’s why we always carry an antidote too.” Then he pointed at her machine. “Get on.”

  Chastened, she did as he said and set off, knowing he’d be right behind her. As they entered the woods, he turned on his vehicle’s headlight, and she did the same.

  Before long they reached the spot where she’d found the wolf. He was still there, looking just as fragile. Jakob was off his snowmobile in a second, down the slope and on his knees, assessing the situation, checking the animal’s vital signs. She stood back, amazed at his cool fearlessness. Then he gathered the wolf in his arms, and started back up to the path. It was much bigger than she’d realised, the long legs and heavy head making an ungainly load, but he covered the ground without difficulty. There was obviously no need for the tranquiliser gun.

  “Is it Brynjar?” she asked quietly, as he lifted the wolf’s slack body into the sled.

  He nodded. “I think so.”

  Hold on, she silently implored the wolf. Please hold on.

  Once he was secure, they set off again without a word, the precious cargo all that mattered in that moment. She only hoped they’d found him in time.

  Fifteen

  Zoe pushed the bell at the door of the vet clinic, jigging up and down in the freezing air. They were in the countryside beyond the northern outskirts of Lillavik, where fields met the forested wild again. As Jakob had driven them there—still slowly, despite the urgency of their mission—darkness had properly fallen. Now he waited by the four-wheel drive, not wanting to bring the unconscious Brynjar into the cold until the last possible moment. He’d phoned ahead, and Emil the vet had promised to be ready for them.

  The door opened to reveal a tattooed, spike-haired, black-eyelinered second cousin of Lisbeth Salander, wearing a medical tunic and pants. Zoe hesitated, but the girl smiled. Then she looked over Zoe’s shoulder, and her face lit up.

  “Jakob!”

  “Hej, Vera,” he replied, then switched into English for Zoe’s benefit. “This is Zoe. We need some help.”

  “Emil told me.” She came down a few steps and looked into the truck. When she saw the wolf, limp and heavy, her smile faded and she immediately sprang into action, going back and holding the door open for them. “Bring him in.”

  Jakob gathered Brynjar in his arms and carried him carefully up the steps, through the waiting room, and into the treatment room, where Emil was holding the door. The vet nodded to Zoe, but his focus was on his patient—she could see him assessing the situation as Jakob went past bearing Brynjar, four legs dangling, his paws enormous. As she wondered whether to go in or not, the door shut behind them.<
br />
  “I’ll wait here,” she told the cats of various breeds on the poster stuck to the door.

  Vera closed the outer door, then gestured for Zoe to sit on the little padded window seat tucked under the front window. She took off her coat and sat down, feeling worried about Brynjar, but relieved to have made it to medical help.

  Vera took her own seat behind the desk, and gave Zoe a cautious, testing smile.

  “You are from England?”

  Zoe considered the question. She didn’t feel like she was, really, but it was a good enough assumption. “Yes.”

  “And you and Jakob…how do you know each other?” Her accent was heavier than his, but the words were clear and crisp.

  “We don’t know each other, really,” she replied. It was true. “I’m volunteering at the Nilssons’ lodge.”

  It seemed to be a satisfactory answer. Vera nodded. “Oh. Okay. That’s nice.”

  “It is. I’m helping him a little bit with his work.”

  “Ah. Jakob is so smart. He knows more about the wolves than any person around here.”

  The admiration in her voice was obvious, her eyes dreamy-bright below her eyebrow piercings. Zoe smiled. She recognised that feeling—when you have to talk about someone, to hear his name on your own lips, just to make him more a part of you.

  “Yes, he is smart.”

  And mysterious, and frustrating…and under her skin, unfortunately. She obviously wasn’t the only one. They both looked towards the closed door, where the muffled voices of the men could just be heard. Then Vera sighed.

  “So terrible though. He was not the same, after the accident…”

  Zoe frowned. “Accident? I thought his mother had cancer?”

  “His mother? Yes…she did.”

  They looked at each other, both realising at the same moment that they were talking about different things. Vera pressed her lips together, clearly intending to close the subject, but Zoe wanted to know more.