On a Thursday in mid October in 1980, I was baking bread in the small kitchenette of my Helsinki flat. It was two days after the Embassy Party where I’d met the Englishman. Who’d promised to phone and hadn’t.
There was a short pause. I held my breath, was he giving up on me?
‘We sail tomorrow,’ the Englishman said and asked me if he could kiss me. I couldn’t resist him.
‘My boyfriend might be there. He has a key.’
When he insisted I had to tell him my fiancé had a hobby: guns. ‘He shoots moose, rabbits, wood pigeons, whatever he can find in the forest. He has a favourite handgun which he sometimes carries.’
The Englishman didn’t ask about my flat again.
I shivered when I thought what his mother would say.