‘How nice it all is,’ says my mother. ‘Wouldn’t you have preferred to live on a farm, too, with all these animals?’

Stung, I answer crossly. ‘Laaxum is much nicer, and you don’t have to work there all the time. And I’d much sooner go to sea, anyway,’ I add sourly.

We walk through the lofty stables towards the sound of intermittent banging and find Jan on his knees in a dusty corner, doggedly hammering away at some boards.

‘Hello,’ he pants. ‘A pen for the calves.’

He stands up and with an air of satisfaction plants his boot on his work. With a manly gesture he blows his nose, calmly wipes the back of his hand down his overalls and holds it out to my mother. ‘It’s a bit different from Amsterdam here, hey?’

I am amazed to hear him talk to my mother like an adult, calmly and easily. She takes him seriously, too, and they have a short conversation that makes me jealous. If Walt were here now they would see that I am grown up as well, that I have a big friend who likes my company.

‘Hey, you,’ Jan gives me a companionable nudge, his shining eyes close to mine, ‘we’ll be going back home in a few days. On the boat, my mother says, that’ll be fun.’ He drums his fists in a friendly way on my ribs and then, in an outburst of exuberance, throws an arm around my neck.

‘The two of you are sure to be inseparable,’ says my mother, ‘you’ve had such a lot of good times here together.’

‘Oh yes, lots,’ Jan shouts with laughter. ‘Hey, Jeroen?’

Next we make for Warns, walking straight across the fields. The sun is hot and the maze of ditches and fences – ‘No, Mum, those aren’t bulls, they’re cows!’ – makes us tired and sweaty.

‘Let’s just sit down for a moment,’ she says. I walk along the edge of the ditch trying to find an egg for her, a lapwing’s or a duck’s.

‘Don’t bother,’ she calls, ‘just come and sit down with me. I don’t want an egg.’ She almost disappears among the tall, shiny buttercups and tufts of grass and points in surprise at all the little beetles wheeling about in the sunlit patches of water between the duckweed. ‘We shan’t go back ever,’ she sighs. ‘Daddy will just have to move here.’

She picks a bunch of flowers, yellow and white, mixed with plumes of reeds and pink clover, and walks across the field in her yellow dress carrying the bouquet, and then through the village: suddenly I feel proud of her, now I too have somebody; look, this is my mother!

The church, the crossroads, the school, then I don’t want to go any further.

‘What’s wrong with you, suddenly,’ she says. ‘Don’t be a bore, all I want to see is that bridge Meint talked about such a lot.’

‘But that bridge isn’t there any longer,’ I say, ‘it was all smashed up and there’s a new one now. And it’s a long way, quite far from the village. We’ve got to get home.’

Silently we walk back along the twisting road to Laaxum and all at once I know for sure exactly where the man with the bicycle let me off that time when he went back to fetch the suitcase I had left behind. But I don’t tell her that.

Mem has put the faded flowers in a jug on the table and keeps brushing fallen petals and pollen from the table-top. My suitcase, too, sits on a corner of the table and my mother is busy repacking everything into one of the panniers. I want my clogs to go in as well, I insist on that, but the straps won’t close.

‘Then I’ll wear them tomorrow.’

‘But you can’t do that, darling,’ she says, ‘you can’t possibly be thinking of going to Amsterdam in those things.’

Offended, I walk out of the room and Mem walks after me.

‘Come on,’ she says, ‘don’t take on so, your mother’s only just come. You’re making too much fuss.’

I stand alone by the fence and look across to the little tower in Warns. I feel an inexpressible ache in my body, a longing that crushes me and that is screaming at the top of its voice inside me. I want to stay behind and wait, stay here until inundated by the smell of the earth, until turned into the same substance as the ground beneath my feet, riddled through by the roots of grass, by the grubbing about and the digging of insects. I want to stay at one with these surroundings, with the ground where I lay with him, stroked his skin, breathed his smell, felt the warmth of another human being flooding over me, throbbing, shaking, taking possession of me.

Chapter 12

To Lemmer. We cycle over the dyke and when I look back I can see the handful of houses that is Laaxum lying down below. On the other side, the elongated shape of the Mokkenbank stretches out some way ahead of us, a waving green sheet of reeds enclosed by a restless, greyish-brown sea. I can see and hear the gulls tumbling and swooping about, as multitudinous and fidgety as clouds of mosquitoes.

We have to leave home early to catch the boat. When we say our goodbyes, the whole family gathers at the back of the house, standing stiff and solemn in a semicircle, and I can see how anxiously Mem follows every movement I make.

‘Come,’ says my mother, ‘we must be off. Say goodbye to everyone.’

My heart knocks and thuds. I daren’t look them in the face, feeling like a traitor, a coward. I shake hands with Popke, then Trientsje, then go along the row shaking hands with everyone. I feel torn apart and when it is Mem’s turn I fling my arms around her neck and burst into a fit of tears that reaches wrenchingly and quiveringly deep inside.

Hait takes us to the road, opens the gates for the bicycles and helps me onto the luggage carrier. Jan and his mother are standing waiting for us on the road. There is a lot of excited talking, waving and shaking of hands, and people come out from the other cottages to look and to wave goodbye.

‘Upsy-daisy,’ says Hait, ‘off you go.’ He gives my head a quick hug. ‘Write Mem a nice letter soon, now.’

I grit my teeth and bite my lips so as not to cry aloud, but my face is wet and what with the tears and my nervous state I no longer see anything.

How is it that everything has happened so quickly? For months I have been waiting and waiting and now suddenly everything has come down on me like an avalanche and dragged me away before I have even had time to think about it.

‘Is everything all right, Jeroen, are you sitting comfortably?’ I can hear the concern in my mother’s voice, but I cannot answer.

‘We’ll just have a nice day and if we miss the boat, well, that’s just too bad. We’re not going to rush,’ she says to Hait.

From the sound of her voice I can tell that she is afraid to mention my leaving and that she is trying to take my mind off it.

I have put my hands carefully on her hips so as not to fall off, but I don’t like the feel of another body. The material of her dress is thin and soft under my hands, yielding like water, and through it I can feel the rotating movements of her legs. And is that her skirt or the wind blowing against my bare knees?

Jan and his mother are cycling behind us. In the distance, disappearing into the sparkling green landscape, lies our little house. They are still standing Outside and waving, like tiny fairy tale figures in front of a doll’s house, far away and of no significance.

I wave back.

‘You wave, too, Mum.’

The heavily-laden bike gives a dangerous lurch and she quickly looks straight ahead again. The gulls fly upwards in screeching clouds. I look out for the spot where I sat with Walt, a sandy little patch of ground at the edge of the reeds. Has it been overgrown or have we just passed it?

We stop and my mother gets off; the flapping of the pannier’s little strap between the spokes is irritating her. I peer vainly into the jigsaw puzzle of sand, reeds and water while I hold the bike for her. It’s hot already and we still have a long way to go: I can see dark sweat patches under the short sleeves of her dress and her face looks tense.

Jan and his mother bicycle past us.

‘Beat you to it!’

Nobody is standing outside the little house now, or is that someone walking across the meadow to the road? The sun falls in fitful patches over the landscape and the fields dance in an abundance of yellow flowers.

‘Don’t just stand about like that, try and hold the bike up properly.’ Her voice is suddenly hurt and desperate. ‘It looks as if we’ve got a puncture, the tyre is much too soft.’

If anything is wrong we’ll have to ask Jan to fit it. I’m still as bad with my hands as I was before I went to Friesland.

We are back on the bicycle again and I try to make myself as light as possible.

We pass a young farm-hand.

‘Hullo, Jeroen.’

I greet him proudly, feeling quite a man: this is my world, these are my friends. They know me here, she can tell that, can’t she? The boy stops in the road, but we carry on past him.

‘We’re going to Amsterdam,’ I call back to him importantly.

My heart lifts, I look at the passing farms, the gardens, the animals scattered over the fields. The changing scene diverts me and imparts a feeling of adventure. I lean forward past my mother to see if we are catching up with Jan.

‘Keep pedalling, Mum, they’re miles ahead. Don’t let them leave us behind.’

Life has turned into a light-hearted game. We pass the Gaasterland woods and I look out for the house; isn’t that the path between the trees? What if they are still there, what if I should suddenly spot his car?

‘Do you think the Americans will still be in Amsterdam when we get back home?’

She is out of breath and her voice sounds laboured, as if every word were too much for her. ‘I told you not to worry, they’re going to be around for quite a while yet. And they’re not Americans, they’re Canadians.’