by Maria Parr
“She doesn’t want to be found,” Astrid’s dad said in the end. He told them they should stop looking.
But how could they stop looking? Astrid couldn’t understand. Seeing Gunnvald like that broke her heart. The worst thing of all, the thing that made Astrid more worried than anything on earth, was that Gunnvald no longer played his fiddle. He hadn’t touched it since he’d come home: it just hung there on the wall, silent and dead. That had never happened before. No matter how bad things were, Gunnvald had always played his fiddle. His fiddle used to make him feel better when nothing else worked.
Astrid couldn’t imagine what would have happened if the little family hadn’t come for their Easter break. Thanks to them, the days went by, like days do.
She still had her birthday coming up soon, Astrid thought to herself occasionally, almost dreading it now. Then she would have to smile, in spite of all the gloom. She was even going to celebrate it over two days in a row: first on Saturday, when her real birthday was, and then on Sunday, when they were going to have their big combined spring–Easter–birthday party.
By the evening on Good Friday, there was only one more night left of being nine. Astrid lay in her bed and felt her warm cheeks throbbing. She must have got a little sunburnt. But that wasn’t what was keeping her awake. It was all her thoughts. The next day, she was going to be turning ten. She was going to be woken with cake and presents. She knew that. But she just lay there, tossing and turning. Eventually she got up and looked out of her window.
She knew it. She’d felt it. The lamp was lit over in the summerhouse, though the evening air was still and hushed.
Gunnvald sat with his back to the door. The summerhouse looked too small for him. Astrid sat down on the cold wooden bench, right next to him.
“Goodness. For heaven’s sake, is that you, Astrid? Up and about in the middle of the night?”
“Yes.”
They didn’t say anything for a long while.
“It’s your birthday tomorrow, you know,” Gunnvald grumbled eventually.
“Yes. Do you know what I’m wishing for?”
“It’s no good coming over here and wishing for something at one o’clock in the morning!” Gunnvald said irritably. “You must realize I’ve already bought you a present.”
“Yes, but do you know what I’m wishing for?”
“Listen, I don’t care what you’re wishing for, because I’ve already bought you a present.”
“Yes, but, Gunnvald, don’t you want to know what I’m wishing for more than anything?” Astrid asked him defiantly.
“No.”
“I’m going to tell you anyway.”
Gunnvald had no doubt she would. Astrid gave him a long look, her eyes pleading with him. Then she said, “I wish you’d play the fiddle again.”
A ewe bleated inside the barn. The river kept on roaring.
“Bah, what a pain all that music is,” Gunnvald moaned. “Liv phoned from the church today. She was wondering if I’d play at the service on Easter Sunday. She can dream on!”
“She asked you that?” Astrid sat up straight.
“The organist has broken his thigh bone,” said Gunnvald. “As if he were the only one,” he added, seeming offended.
“Come on, of course you want to play in church on Easter Sunday!” Astrid said eagerly. “The choir from Barkvika will probably be there too!”
“I don’t give a lemming’s tail about the choir from Barkvika.”
“Yes, you do.”
Astrid pictured Gunnvald when he played together with the big choir from Barkvika. The last time, at Christmas, Astrid had sat in the gallery and watched as Gunnvald became one with the music. His tall, rickety body had come so alive with the music that it was a joy to behold. When the choir sang the last verse of “Fair Is Creation”, the swell of their voices and the notes of music from the fiddle were so strong that the church almost couldn’t contain them.
“You’re my godfather, Gunnvald. You’re supposed to take me to church every now and then,” Astrid lectured him. “And you should play your fiddle,” she added. “It’s wrong not to play it.”
Then Gunnvald turned and looked at her, his eyes full of sadness. “I can’t play any more, Astrid. I don’t have the music in me.”
The words came pouring out of Gunnvald. He felt like the worst person in the world, he said, holding his big, uncombed head in his hands. He’d acted like a troll towards Heidi, even though he was her father. And now it was too late to do anything about it. She’d left.
“Do you know how much I want to tell her I’m sorry, Astrid? I want to say sorry for having been such a fool. Sorry for letting her go. Sorry for everything. You know?”
Gunnvald’s voice was so gloomy that it made Astrid gulp. She stared out into the darkness for a while, and then she turned towards him.
“Gunnvald, you’re not the worst person in the whole world. I think you’re the best,” she said truthfully. “You’re my best friend.”
Gunnvald cleared his throat a little.
“And you’re my godfather,” she added, looking at him sternly. “So I suppose you should really take me to church occasionally.”
“Rotten child,” Gunnvald grumbled.
He got up and vanished off into the darkness. Astrid heard him walk across the farmyard. She caught a quick glimpse of him under the outside light by the steps, and then he disappeared into the slumbering house. When he came back, he had his fiddle with him.
“I suppose I can say it since it’s after midnight,” he grumbled. “Happy birthday, Astrid Glimmerdal.”
He fell silent for a while, as if he were waiting for the music to come floating down from the night sky. But then, finally, he lifted the bow to the strings and began playing. For the first time since he’d come home, there was music in Glimmerdal again.
And while the tender notes of “Bluey, Billy Goat of Mine” drifted out across the glen, Astrid sat there, knowing that everything would be fine, no matter what. Before she sleepily shuffled off back home in the dark, she’d got Gunnvald to promise he would play in church too. She knew that he really wanted to, deep down. Honestly, what would he do without her?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
In which Astrid turns ten,
receives a big crate and
has a brainwave
It’s just as well everybody has a birthday, including Astrid. She was sitting up in bed, smiling from ear to ear. On top of her duvet was a tray with cream cake for breakfast, and there were presents all around her from all of the family.
“I’m the happiest person in the world,” she sighed.
When breakfast was done with, she went out for a stroll in the farmyard. She’d invited Ola and Broder to come and spend the whole day with her. But when she looked down the hill, she saw something quite different from two brothers. She saw a big lorry coming out of the enchanted forest by Sally’s house. At the bridge, the lorry turned up onto the track to Astrid’s farm. What on earth had her dad ordered now? The monster of a truck stopped in the middle of the farmyard, rumbling with its engine running idle. A man jumped out.
“Astrid Glimmerdal?” he said.
She nodded.
“Can you sign here, please?”
He held a piece of paper out in front of her. Astrid didn’t know how to sign for something. The man explained that she had to write her name on the piece of paper so she could receive the crate he had for her in the lorry. That’s what signing for something means.
“I haven’t ordered any crate,” said Astrid.
“Maybe not, but I’ve been asked to deliver it to you,” the man explained impatiently, holding a pen right up to her nose.
Astrid wasn’t going to protest, so she took the pen and signed. “Astrid Glimmerdal,” she wrote, and when the lorry had driven off down the hill, there was a massive crate left in the middle of the farmyard.
Ola and Broder came into view as the dust settled.
“What have you got there?”
asked Ola.
Astrid scratched her head. She had no idea. But one thing was certain: she’d never received anything this big before. The three children approached the crate curiously, but then they all jumped at the same time. There was something moving inside! What on earth could it be?
“Take off the lid, then!” Ola was beside himself with excitement.
Working together, they managed to lift it off.
“Animals!” Ola shouted.
Inside the crate were a goat and two little goat kids.
“Oh!” exclaimed Astrid. “But who…?”
She turned round, as now her whole family had come out into the farmyard to see what was going on. They all looked equally surprised. None of them had ordered any goats.
Astrid’s dad and mum lifted the kids carefully out of the crate.
“These are two billy goats,” said Astrid’s dad, stroking one of them gently.
Taking care, they put the goat kids down on the ground. The mother goat looked up sceptically at all the faces peering into the crate.
“There’s a note,” said Broder, passing it to Astrid.
Dear Astrid,
I’m sending you Bluey and the teeny-tiniest billy goat Gruff, and their mother, old Lucky. I know they’ll like it in Glimmerdal. Have a happy tenth birthday.
Best wishes,
Heidi
Astrid read the note several times. Heidi. Just think: she’d remembered her birthday, sent her two live billy goats and a mother goat, and even remembered what their names should be: Bluey; the teeny-tiniest billy goat Gruff; and old Lucky. Astrid had told Heidi the story and sung her the song, and now she was stunned speechless. She felt something so big and warm inside her that she didn’t know what to do. Slowly she knelt down and reached out her hands.
“Come on then,” she said softly, calling the billy goats to her.
They were afraid, but Bluey came first, and then the teeny-tiniest billy goat Gruff followed. They sniffed her hands, and Astrid felt it tickle as they touched her fingers.
“Heidi,” she whispered.
Astrid wanted to tell Gunnvald about this herself.
“You can help Auntie Eira and Auntie Idun to decorate the seagull’s castle,” she suggested to Ola and Broder.
Then she set off strolling down the hill. Bluey and the teeny-tiniest billy goat Gruff had already worked out who owned them, and they came toddling along behind her. Astrid was quite touched. Old Lucky came sauntering along at the back. She sniffed around all over the side of the track and still seemed quite sceptical after their long journey in the lorry.
“We’re going up to see Gunnvald. He’s the father of the woman who sent you here,” Astrid explained.
She had to stop down at the bridge to hear what it sounded like when the billy goats went across. She got them to go back and forth several times. It was more click-plack than trip-trap, Astrid thought. She could hardly believe it: they were her goats! She’d never wanted to thank somebody as much as she did now. For the first time, she really understood what Gunnvald must feel like, having so much to say to Heidi but no way of telling her. Oh, if only they could phone her!
That’s when it suddenly hit Astrid like lightning: Mr Hagen!
Mr Hagen had to have a phone number for Heidi. Astrid herself had heard him call her.
“Come on!” she shouted to her new animals.
In the flower bed outside Mr Hagen’s reception, there were smart rows of blue and orange crocuses. Astrid had to stop and admire them for a moment. If only Sally could see them! Prickly puffins, that man really knew what he was doing when it came to flowers.
Mr Hagen was sitting behind his desk. Astrid told her animals to wait outside, but Bluey sneaked into reception before she could shut the door.
“You’ve got to wait outside,” Astrid explained.
It was a real kerfuffle getting Bluey to understand, though, and when she finally shooed him out, he’d left a couple of small round droppings on the doormat. Imagine pooing in Mr Hagen’s reception. What a goat!
“Yes?” sighed Mr Hagen when Astrid had finishing struggling with the goats and kicked the droppings onto the steps outside.
She went right up to the desk and rested her chin on it. “It’s my birthday today.”
Mr Hagen couldn’t have looked less interested.
“Don’t you think it’s a good thing that I’m starting to get on a bit in years?” Astrid asked him sincerely. Surely it had to be good news for Mr Hagen that she had a little less of her childhood left.
“What do you want?”
It clearly wasn’t a day for small talk.
“I was wondering whether you had Heidi’s phone number.”
“So that’s what you want?” Mr Hagen said scornfully. “You’re going to call her and thank her for spoiling all my plans, are you?”
“No, I’m going to thank her for something else,” Astrid explained.
But Mr Hagen wasn’t listening. “I bet you’re happy, young Asny, now that you’ve stopped that farm sale, aren’t you? Eh? Happy, are you?”
Astrid lifted her chin off the desk so she could nod. There was no point in lying.
“Do you know how fed up I am of this blasted Glimmerdal of yours?” Mr Hagen asked her.
Astrid shook her head.
“I’m so blooming fed up that I could puke,” he shouted. “This whole place is populated by reactionary yokels! It’s impossible to get anything done.”
Astrid stood there, wishing that she could understand Mr Hagen. Yokels? Did he mean her, Gunnvald, her dad, Sally, Nils and people like them?
“Hey, Klaus,” she said softly. “I’d be really grateful if I could have that phone number.”
She got it. He scrolled through the numbers on his phone and scrawled one of them down on a piece of paper.
“I talked to her yesterday, actually,” he muttered. “That obstinate woman,” he added, pushing the piece of paper over to Astrid.
Mr Hagen had no idea what an angel he was giving Astrid that number. As a result, he was extremely surprised by what happened next. Astrid walked all the way round the desk and gave him a real bear-crusher of a hug. Nothing like that had ever happened to Mr Hagen before. He was completely tongue-tied.
“Thank you so much! This is the best birthday present I’ve had,” Astrid said truthfully. It was no small matter saying something like that when she’d already been given two live billy goats and a whole grown-up mother goat too.
“See ya!”
Astrid didn’t notice that her new pets had made a right stew out of the crocuses in the flower bed while she’d been inside. There was no time to worry about things like that. Mr Hagen didn’t notice it either, not until Astrid and her goats were deep into the enchanted forest. He sat in his chair instead, scratching his head.
“There’s something wrong with the people in this place,” he grumbled.
CHAPTER THIRTY
In which Gunnvald makes
the most important
telephone call of his life
“Can you keep an eye on the animals, please?” Astrid panted at Birgitte and her mother when she reached Gunnvald’s farm. Then she staggered into the kitchen. “Gu … hunnvald…” she gasped. She held out the scrap of paper.
“Come here; I’ve got something for you,” said Gunnvald.
Astrid didn’t care about that. She waved the piece of paper in front of him. “Gunnvald, I—”
Gunnvald didn’t see the paper. “Look at this,” he said, pulling out a box from the corner behind the door.
Astrid still couldn’t think of anything other than the note she held in her hand. “Gunnvald, I’ve got something important—”
But Gunnvald became angry. “What could be more important than this? Open your birthday present, Astrid!”
It was another big box. If she hadn’t already been given two billy goats and a nanny goat, this box would’ve seemed massive. Astrid put the scrap of paper in her pocket. It could wait an
other five minutes. With trembling fingers, she started to tear off the paper. There was a wooden box inside. Gunnvald was sitting on the edge of a kitchen chair, watching excitedly.
When Astrid opened the wooden box and saw what was inside, she fell silent.
“You know, I wanted to give you the best thing I could,” he said.
Astrid was still quiet. She stroked a finger across the shiny green object in the box. An accordion. Gunnvald had given her a real accordion to play music with. It was such a tremendous thing that she was afraid of what might come out if she opened her mouth.
“Don’t you like it?” he asked.
“Gunnvald,” Astrid whispered, “I love it.” She stumbled across the floor and threw her arms around his neck. “Now I can play music too! We can play together, Gunnvald!”
Gunnvald smiled heartily when he saw how happy she was. It was the first time Astrid had seen him smile properly since he’d fallen down the steps outside his house what felt like a thousand years ago. She stood there for a while, sunbathing in his smile, and then she fished the scrap of paper out of her pocket with great solemnity.
“Gunnvald, I’ve got Heidi’s phone number,” she said.
It isn’t easy to make a phone call when you’ve waited almost thirty years to do it. Astrid could understand that. Of course it was a big, scary and difficult thing, but Gunnvald had to do it.
He walked back and forth in the kitchen like an elk in a cage, his hand moving through his hair, across his chest and then suddenly out into the air. He couldn’t do it. It was impossible. He felt as if he were about to have a heart attack.
“It won’t get any better if you wait another thirty years,” Astrid told him sternly. “You’ve got to do it!”
But Gunnvald was beside himself with worry. “Heidi doesn’t want to be found. You heard Sigurd himself say it!” he shouted.
Then Astrid stamped her foot, sending the picture of Gunnvald’s grandfather and the beautiful Madelene Katrine Benedicte falling down onto the sofa.
“Heidi’s been waiting all her life for you to call her. Blinking badgers, you’re her father!”