“Happy silent. Reading newspapers, drinking coffee. It was hard to avoid places like that.”
“We used to walk around everywhere. His troublesome soul lingered on every street...”
“I kept telling his memory to piss the fuck off but it wouldn’t. Grief is a bastard.”
“If I’d have stayed any longer, I’d have hated humanity.”
“So, when a research position came up in Svalbard I was like, yes, this has come to save me...”
“I wanted to be somewhere he had never been. I wanted somewhere where I didn’t have to feel his ghost.”
“But the truth is, it only half-works, you know? Places are places and memories are memories and life is fucking life.”
Nora took all this in. Ingrid was clearly telling this to someone she thought she knew reasonably well,
and yet Nora was a stranger. It felt odd. Wrong. This must be the hardest bit about being a spy, she thought.
The emotion people store in you, like a bad investment. You feel like you are robbing people of something.
Ingrid smiled, breaking the thought. “Anyway, thanks for last night... That was a good chat.”
There are a lot of dickheads on this boat and you are not a dickhead.”
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