Finally the reindeer start to filter up the riverbank and spread out through the thick snow in amongst the trees. Is this it? The other side? Can we really have done it? I wonder with a mix of elation and incredulity. I’m shivering with cold and relief as I glance back at the far side of the river where we’ve just come from and hear another shot of cracking ice. I look at the herd. They’re all over safe and sound, every single one of them – including little Robbie.
At the top of the snowy bank, the land plateaus out and we stop. Björn ties up Rocky and turns to me. His chest is heaving, and I wonder if he’s going to be furious that I nearly landed us all in the water. Then his face breaks into a huge smile.
‘We did it!’ he beams, throwing out his arms. ‘We did it!’
Excited goose bumps run up and down my spine.
‘We did it!’ he repeats. Then he says, ‘You were fantastic!’ and taking me completely by surprise, he envelops me in a huge bear hug, pulling me into the fabric of his big poncho, where I find myself breathing in the familiar smell of woodsmoke. ‘You were completely brilliant out there! You saved my herd! Thank you!’ he says, and hugs me tighter, this time actually lifting me off my feet. For a moment I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. He looks into my face, his eyes dotting to and fro between mine and my lips, then his smile drops and he becomes serious again.
‘Let’s get you some dry trousers and boots,’ he says, putting me back down quickly, but still clearly buoyed up. ‘It’ll have to be snow boots like mine. We’ll stuff them with hay for extra warmth.’
In the wooded clearing, he lights a fire and gathers pine branches for tea, whilst I slide out of my trousers as quickly as possible and into some others he hands me, which are actually just about the right size.
‘My sister’s,’ he tells me. ‘I thought she’d be here by now and would need them. But she won’t mind. You just saved our herd!’ And now I know one more thing about him: he has a sister. ‘These too,’ and he produces some hand-stitched snow boots, made from reindeer hide. I put them on, and he pulls out some hay from a small bag and stuffs it into them, feeding the remnants to Rocky and Robbie.
‘Stand still!’ he says, laughing as he pushes the hay around my ankles.
‘It tickles,’ I squeal. But it is also, I realise, very warm.
We are both buzzing, adrenalin coursing through us, warming us as we share the story over and over of how I thought I’d been shot and how I saved the herd from turning back.
He builds a bigger fire than usual and hangs my wet clothes from the branches around us, including, to my embarrassment, my souvenir shop knickers.
‘You have the wrong day on!’ he says, smiling.
‘Sorry?’
‘The pants. They say Saturday across the bottom in Swedish. It’s not Saturday.’
I blush and we both laugh.
‘You know,’ he says, handing me a mug of hot pine tea, ‘I bet your husband would be very proud of you. When we first met, what I said about pitying your husband, I was just being an idiot. I bet you can’t wait to tell him how well you did today.’
Our fingers touch as I take the tea and I feel a leap of something go through my body, like a tiny electric shock, and then I freeze, the cup in my hand, feeling like all the blood has drained from my face. I didn’t think about Griff in all that adventure. I didn’t even think about reaching for my notebook to write to him. Suddenly panicked, I pat my coat, looking for the pad. I pull it out. It’s wet, and some of the ink has run.
‘Oh no!’ My mood does a nose dive from euphoria to desperation. ‘All the notes I’ve made, ruined!’ I hold up the little home-made book.
‘Don’t worry! We can dry them out. You and that book,’ he laughs, teasing me, and then he stops very suddenly and I hear him say softly, ‘Hey, are those . . . tears?’
He stands from his usual position looking after the fire and moves towards me. My vision is blurred and I can’t see his face, but I know he’s standing right in front of me – I can smell the woodsmoke and feel him there. I can hear the reindeer snuffling and munching in the trees and the dogs panting as they lie resting nearby.
I sniff, put the back of my hand to my nose. It can’t be. I shake my head. It can’t happen, not now. Not after all this time. I hold my breath and hope any tears that have formed will evaporate in the cold air. But no! Instead of going away, they seem to be multiplying, my vision even more blurry. This never happens to me! I don’t cry! Why now?
‘Look, I meant it! Honestly.’ Björn takes hold of my arms, just above the elbows, which only seems to make things worse. ‘I was really rude back when I met you. If it’s any excuse, I was stressed and worried about moving the herd and . . . well, other stuff. It doesn’t matter.’ He waves a hand. ‘Your husband would be really proud of what you did out there today. You were amazing! I have to admit I didn’t think you’d manage it, but what can I say, I don’t think anyone could have done better!’
As he’s talking, my head drops, the top of it practically touching his chest. It’s no good, I can’t fight the tears, no matter how hard I try. All my usual techniques to stop this happening, that I have worked so hard to develop over the past two years, have completely left me. Maybe it’s elation at getting the herd over the river. Maybe it’s the near-death experience, thinking that I could have drowned back there had Björn not been so quick with that lasso, that has brought it all to the fore. Or maybe just exhaustion. Exhaustion from being out here. Exhaustion from hiding from what’s really in my heart.
Slowly, really slowly at first, I shake my head.
‘Oh dammit!’ he says with despair, as if this is one obstacle he wasn’t expecting today. An over-tired and emotional woman. He lets go of my arms and I feel disappointment now stir itself into the mix of everything else I’m feeling. I can hear him scrabbling around as I stand there feeling pathetic. Tears slide down my cheeks and are frozen by the time they’re wiped away by my gloves.
‘Here, use this. It’s a T-shirt. It’s all I could find.’ He waves it at me. I’d like to say thank you but there’s a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball, and I mop my cheeks in silence, then blow my nose.
‘Now look, borrow my phone, and let your husband know you’re safe and we’re on track to be at the hotel in good time for the wedding on Saturday.’
He pushes a phone into my hand. A link to my life in the outside world. If only it were. I look down at it, then slowly push it back towards him.
‘It’s fine,’ I say with a crack in my voice. ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’
‘Are you sure?’
I nod and slowly lift my head. ‘You’re right. He’d be proud. But I’ll just write it all up and tell him when I’m back.’
He looks at me and then slowly says, ‘And . . . where exactly is he, your husband? You didn’t say.’
‘He works away.’ I swallow hard, slipping back into my usual routine. ‘He’s forces. Goes away a lot. Impossible to get hold of him, so I write it all down.’
Björn looks at the book. ‘Well, we’d better get this dried by the fire and see what you can save from it.’ He gives me a soft smile and takes the pathetic pages from me.
‘Thank you,’ I croak again. ‘Just tiredness, y’know, bit overwrought after all that . . .’ I attempt to gather myself, but as I turn away, I can still feel Björn’s eyes on me, as though he is trying to read between the tightly written lines of my lies as I attempt, as ever, to carry on as normal and hope I’ve got away with it.
He makes a little spit to go over the fire and drapes my soggy pages over it one by one, spreading them out gently to dry. As he watches them to make sure they don’t catch light, he pulls out the piece of antler again and whittles at it with his knife whilst the coffee pot comes to a boil. When it does, he takes it out of the flames, lets it cool and then puts it back in. He does this three times, I notice.
‘Just the way my father taught me,’ he tells me with a smile, whittling contentedly at the piece of antler, enjoying the moment. When was the last time I enjoyed the moment? I wonder. I’m always thinking about where I’m going next. I pull the reindeer hide he’s wrapped around my shoulders even tighter.
‘Here,’ he says as we pack up, handing me the dry pages, some with inky smudges where words used to be, the paper warped and crisp but intact.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper. He doesn’t know what it means to me. I look at him and see the kindness in those blue eyes. Or maybe he does.
Dry and warmer, we move on, over the snowy plateau with the river behind and below us. Onwards towards the much lower hills, rather than the mountain range we’ve come from.
‘We’ll follow the line of the river, in between it and the main road over there,’ Björn says. ‘It’ll be quicker if we stay out of the forest for this bit, and we don’t want the reindeer straying anywhere need the road, either. We’re heading over that way, to Tallfors.’
‘Is that where you’ll take me to find Daniel?’
He is riding beside me, the dogs travelling at a steady pace.
‘To his farm . . . to get your bag. Yes.’
‘How do you know Daniel? Are you his brother? Are you related? I heard you talking about him when we met the men fishing.’
He looks sideways at me as if to consider the question.
‘No. I’m not his brother.’ He looks straight ahead. The dogs are working their way through thick snow, and every now and again he scoots with his foot to help them along. ‘I just grew up with him. Spent my twenties and thirties with him,’ he adds, looking straight ahead at the herd and beyond as the light starts to fade.
‘What’s he like?’
He keeps his gaze fixed ahead.
‘A bit arrogant. A bit naive. I think he’s spent too much time thinking about where he is going and not enough about where he’s come from.’ He gives me a quick glance. ‘And now . . . now I think he’s lost.’
He looks around at the snowy tundra, with the forest to our right. I feel almost nervous about meeting Daniel now. If I am going to meet him, that is.
‘Are we heading back towards the hotel?’
‘Yes, the farm is just beyond it. Over the hill on the other side.’
‘Have you lived here all your life?’
I can hear the clicking of the reindeer’s ankles and the sleds’ runners sliding over the snow.
‘Well . . .’ he begins slowly, ‘I grew up here. In the town we’re heading for. Like I said, my father is Sami, a reindeer herder, one of seven children. And my mother, an only child, was a teacher who loved working with huskies. They married. She got a job at the local school and had me and my sister.’
‘And do you still live at your family farm?’
‘What is it with all the questions today?’ He laughs good-naturedly.
I say nothing, but somehow asking Björn about his life means I’m not having to talk about my own, and it beats counting reindeer’s bottoms! He moves the dogs out to round up a straying reindeer and I think the conversation is over, but he comes back.
‘No,’ he sighs. ‘I don’t live in the farmhouse. No one does at the moment. I’ve been working away. My mother died when I was eighteen. But recently old age has caught up with my father, and after a stroke, he was moved into a retirement flat in the town.’ He shakes his head. ‘I should have been here. I should have visited more. Helped out,’ he says, as if talking to himself, his voice full of regret. Then he glances at me again, as if remembering he’s talking out loud. ‘But now at least I can move the herd from the summer grazing, and he will know they are safe and will be able to visit them. I have seen most of them born. Like Robbie’s mum over there. She was born on my birthday! The same day my mother gave me my first husky. Lucas is his son.’
And I swear the dog lifts his head at the sound of his master speaking his name. Björn smiles and laughs and so do I. The boy and now the man and his dog.
‘What about you?’ He asks the question I dread, and suddenly my smile disappears. ‘What’s life like for you?’
I slip into my well-rehearsed routine.
‘Well . . . of course I’m a courier, so on the road most of the time, or plane or bus!’ I try and joke but can’t help but feel his eyes on me again, inquisitive as if reading between the lines once more.
‘And your husband?’ he says cautiously.
I swallow hard, and this time it’s me that looks forward, straight ahead, focused.
‘Like I say, he’s away. We barely see each other.’
‘And when you do?’
‘Well . . . it’s like he’s never been away. But he’s with me all the time. That’s why I write my book.’
‘Your travel log? The one in your case? The one you’re making notes to put in.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I manage to say. ‘My . . . husband gave it to me.’
I’m still looking ahead. I remember it as if it was yesterday.
‘On my birthday, just befo—’ I stop myself and bite my cold lower lip, hard. I never tell anyone that he gave it to me just before he was due to come out of the army, before he went on his last tour of duty. Afterwards, we planned to settle down, have a normal life, go travelling, see the world. I never tell anyone.
‘And you miss him?’
‘What is it with you and all the questions today?’ I try and laugh as I echo his words, but he just falls quiet. Then, when I think the conversation is over, he says:
‘Maybe you travel so you don’t have to think about missing him.’
I grip the handle of my sled. I can hear the whoosh of the snow under the runners, or maybe it’s my own blood, rushing around my body again.
‘Maybe you don’t really know anything about me!’ I snap, and I’m cross with myself for doing so. ‘Maybe it’s better if we forget the small talk and stick to counting reindeer’s bottoms!’ I try and speak lightly, hoping that the hot tears that are burning my eyes and have been absent for so long don’t spill, and that he hasn’t heard the crack in my voice. Staying silent is best for both of us, I think. And he appears to agree, lost in his own thoughts as we fall back into listening to the click of the reindeer’s ankles and the sliding of the sleds over the snow. Snow begins to fall once more all around us, like confetti, and the light starts to slide from the darkening sky.
‘If we push on,’ he says after what seems like miles of silence, ‘we may reach the next village.’
‘Won’t that be a problem, travelling in the dark?’
‘Lucas will lead us. It’s a flat, straight run. I trust him. There’s a Sami village coming up; not many people know about it. It’s quiet. We should be able to stay somewhere more comfortable tonight. It won’t be like your fancy hotel in Tallfors, but it should be warm and comfortable.’
Well, that’s something, I think, and my aching back and legs practically dance for joy. A bed! A bath! Heating!
‘See that star over there, that bright one?’ He points in amongst the wisps of cloud.
I nod.
‘That’s where we’re heading. That’s home.’
I feel a warm glow wash over me.
‘It’s always the brightest and the first to shine,’ he says with a smile, and knowing we have an end goal in sight makes me smile too.
But then I hear a buzzing, a noise cutting through the silence of the snowy wilderness. It’s not wildlife, it’s not a natural sound. We both turn to look in the direction of the forest. It sounds like . . . like a snowmobile. It is a snowmobile, emerging from the trees. Could it finally be his helping hand? Could I finally be getting out of here? I could be in the hotel tonight, waiting for Björn to meet me there with the bag, if I can ring Lars from this Sami village! And my heart does a weird leap and a twist at the same time.