The next morning, I’m awake and first up, ready to push on and get out of here. I begin pulling my clothes off the washing line hanging over us.
‘What the . . . ?’ Björn sits up groggily in his sleeping bag.
‘Just getting dressed. We should crack on before the bad weather comes,’ I jabber, yanking at the clothes with gusto. The line wobbles and bounces and my jumper lands on Björn’s head. I grab the knickers before they can join it.
‘Oh great.’ I hear his muffled groan before scooping the jumper off his still sleepy face.
‘We should get going,’ I say to him.
‘Yes,’ he sighs. ‘But not before we and the dogs have eaten. We need some more wood to boil water, then we can start packing up the tent.’
‘I’ll get wood,’ I say quickly, keen to get out of close proximity. ‘Just turn away whilst I dress. And shut your eyes. Tight.’
He tuts but does what he’s told.
The morning is much the same as the other mornings have been. We start out wearing head torches, him guiding the herd from the dog sled with his Lapp dogs and me bringing up the rear with Rocky and the sled loaded with supplies. As we trek through the ancient forest, the walkie-talkie crackles into life.
‘We’re coming out of the forest and it should be open tundra on the other side,’ Björn says. ‘We need to make sure the herd stays together, over.’
‘Received,’ I say, and sigh and sniff, my nose as cold as ever, and the walkie-talkie crackles again and falls silent. That’s the most he’s spoken to me since we set off this morning. I’m alone with my thoughts and it’s not a place I like being. The day I got the news that Griff had died keeps replaying in my head. The letter that his best friend and best man at our wedding handed me, which Griff had written in case anything were to happen. The promise he made me make that I would go and see the world, travel, keep on living. Then I think of Björn’s comment, ‘You’ve learnt how to survive, but not how to live.’ What does he know about me or my life?!
The herd attempt to speed up as we move out of the forest and onto the tundra, snaking across the virgin snow like a pencil squiggle on a clean page. I have come to recognise the characters of lots of the reindeer, individual in colouring and antler shape as well as personality. But of course young Robbie is still one of my favourites. The hills in the distance now seem so much closer. My journey’s end is almost in sight, I think with a strange mix of longing and loneliness.
Our first sight of the Sami village is like a mirage, a wonderful optical illusion in the middle of the endless snowy wasteland. As we move off the tundra, through some trees and onto a wide track leading into a clearing, there is a cluster of wooden huts, cabins made from thick tree trunks, all lit up by lights carefully positioned in the trees and on poles guiding us down the path towards them. There’s one big round cabin and several smaller ones dotted in amongst the trees with lights over their front doors, plus another large hut on the edge of what looks to be a frozen lake. The snow is banked up around them and smoke chugs cheerfully from their chimneys.
‘You wait here. I’ll go in and organise us some rooms. Don’t,’ Björn looks around, ‘lose anything: dogs, reindeer . . .’ I bristle. I haven’t lost anything since the first day! ‘Just stay put.’
‘On my own? With the dogs?’
‘Yes, on your own. I’ll only be a few minutes. You’ll be okay?’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine,’ he confirms with a nod and turns to walk towards the round hut.
I watch him go and then pull out my little home-made notebook, crisp and curling at the edges: battle scars, I think, and smile. I begin to write, standing in the pool of light from a nearby lamp, describing the starry sky above me and the Sami village, just like the photo in one of the travel brochures from my old job. My thoughts turn to the new job my sister has sent me, back in the travel market, selling holidays again, settling into family life.
‘Hello there!’ A voice makes me jump and drop my little book. I pick it up quickly before it gets wet again in the snow and shove it in my pocket, then spin round.
‘Hi, it’s, erm . . . Pru, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Lars said you’re the courier who brought our wedding rings, aren’t you?’ she asks.
I swallow and nod, a lot. ‘I am,’ I say with all the confidence I can muster.
‘It’s amazing here, isn’t it?’ She looks around at the big dark sky. The moon is just starting to spread its iridescent light over the snowy ground, which throws up a silvery glow of its own. ‘Can I say hello?’
‘Sorry?’ I ask, confused.
‘To the reindeer and the dogs?’
‘Oh, I see! Yes, of course. They’re very gentle.’ I encourage her to move amongst the herd and not to worry about the antlers. Behind her I can see a snowmobile parked up on its own.
‘Not with the rest of the wedding party?’ And I wonder if they’re nearby.
She attempts a smile, then drops her head. ‘Taking a break from my mother, to be honest.’
‘Ah,’ I say, understanding. ‘Family can be great, but sometimes their best of intentions are the worst of ideas!’ We both laugh. I think about my mother and sister’s attempts to get me to join in with family occasions while my life fell apart. But being with them reminded me of everything I’d lost; highlighted the one person who wasn’t there. They meant well, but it was the last thing I wanted to do. Could I think about taking a job back there now? Somehow, I feel different since I’ve been out here.
Pru is rubbing the reindeer’s noses. I pull some lichen out of my pocket.
‘Here, put some of this in your hand, and then hold out your palm flat, like this.’ I show her how. ‘This is Rocky, and this little one is Robbie.’
‘They all have names?’
‘No.’ I smile and shake my head. ‘Only a chosen few. They’re a herd, wild animals living in their natural environment, where they should be. But some have special jobs, like Rocky here. He’s a castrated male; his job is to pull the sled. And Robbie, he’s my favourite. I named him after Robbie the Reindeer from the film.’ He nuzzles into my cupped hand, eating greedily. I rub his head. ‘He’s cute, but naughty. They all have different markings and characteristics; some are more dominant than others.’
‘Well, I started by learning their antler shapes.’ I think of the hours I have spent staring at a sea of bottoms and antlers. One bottom is much like the next, but antlers are more distinctive.
‘How are the plans going for the weekend?’ I ask tentatively.
‘Apart from my mother still not coming around to the idea and refusing to attend the actual service, we’re all sorted. And we’re really grateful to you. The rings are just such an important part of it; thank you for bringing them. We had them hand-made, even helped make them and put in our own inscriptions. That’s what’s really important to us. Thank you.’
‘Well,’ my voice cracks, ‘it is my job.’
‘And the dogs?’ She turns to the huskies, who stand up from their resting position as she starts to fuss them.
‘Well,’ I say tentatively, ‘this is Björn’s lead dog.’
‘Björn? He’s the guy with the beard, the reindeer herder?’
‘Yes, that’s him!’ I step forward without thinking and place my hand on Lucas’s head.
‘And how did you two get together?’ Pru asks, smiling whilst fussing the dogs.
‘Oh, we’re not together.’
‘Oh, really? Sorry, I thought . . .’
‘No, we’re just . . .’ I can’t even say we’re friends. ‘I’m helping him out for a friend.’ I think of Daniel and realise that I’m looking forward to meeting him. I feel I know so much about him already from his book. I’m intrigued by him, fascinated by his passion for cooking and his dedication to his art. Who knows, in a different time, it could have been fate! I think about Lars, his grandmother, his wishing on a shooting star, and smile.
I move down the pack of dogs and stop when I get to Helgá, bending down and stroking her head. She seems to like it and so I carry on and realise how far I’ve come since the first day I met the dogs, when I was terrified. Now . . . well, I can do this at least.
‘He’s the one who was so cross about Nan,’ Pru says, referring to Björn. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘Can’t your nan talk your mum round?’ I ask. I’m thinking back to that first day in the hotel foyer, when her nan seemed so pleased for her.
Pru shakes her head. ‘They don’t get on. She’s a bit of a wild one, is my nan. I don’t think my mum has ever forgiven her for leaving her dad. But she says she found love and had to follow her heart. It was really sad – her new husband died not long after they married. But she says she’s never regretted the time she had with him. He made her find herself. Gave her the wings to fly, so to speak.’
I feel tears spring to my eyes.
‘She’s lived life to the full ever since, never wasted a moment. She’s living for now because you never know when it’s going to be taken away. She’s the reason I went for it with Mika. She told me to follow my heart, wherever it took me. If only my mum could be as pleased for me.’ She rubs the next dog’s head. ‘Please say sorry to your . . . to Björn. Nan’s just a bit overexcited.’
‘Don’t worry. We got all the reindeer back.’ I’m kneeling next to Pru as she rubs each dog in turn and I stick to making a fuss of Helgá. ‘Björn’s not known for his way with people, but when it comes to animals, well, he’s quite a different person. Kind, sensitive. You should see the relationship he has with his lead dog. It’s like they work as a team, they can read each other. It’s amazing.’
‘Almost fanciable by the sounds of it, if I was that way inclined.’ Pru laughs and so do I.
‘Almost fanciable,’ I agree. The laughter hangs in the air as she fusses over the dogs, and I’m actually not feeling scared at all right now. If anything, I’m feeling safer than I have in a long time, like I’m where I’m supposed to be. I laugh again. ‘Maybe if he didn’t have that big beard—’
‘Well it seems your friend Lars has had the same idea as me.’ A deep voice behind me makes me jump, my heart banging and the blood rushing in my ears.
‘Björn!’ I stumble slightly in the snow as I stand, blushing. Pru remains crouched down over the dogs and puts the back of her hand over her mouth, presumably to hide a smile, and I don’t know whether to laugh or be mortified. I seem to be doing a mixture of the two, a sort of slightly hysterical embarrassed giggle, as I look at Pru and roll my lips together to stop it turning into a full-blown uncontrollable laughing fit, which it is in danger of becoming.
I have absolutely no idea if he heard me or not. The last thing I want is for him to think I am in any way attracted to him. Because I’m absolutely not and never will be. Definitely not!
Björn sighs again, and I don’t know if he’s trying to cover up what he’s just heard or if he’s really very irritated. Either way, at least we get our own rooms tonight and some space away from each other. I can write up my little book in peace. I might even admit to my Björn faux pas. It’s how I keep everyone at arm’s length.
‘So, your friend Lars,’ Björn continues like a weary teacher as Pru and I try to smother our giggles and straighten ourselves out, like we’ve been on the vodka. ‘He’s booked in here for the night with his wedding party. He obviously has his eye on the ball. It’s a great location, especially for a tour like this, people wanting to see the Northern Lights and experience the “real” Lapland.’ He uses his fingers for inverted commas.
‘But that’s exactly what this is, right?’ I look around, and then he does the same.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what this is. These people have lived here for generations. It’s just a shame that they are struggling to make a living. Reindeer herding isn’t exactly lucrative. Tourism, on the other hand, is. They just need more people to know they’re here. If people hear about it, they’ll come.’
‘And have they got room for us?’
‘They have, but . . . just the one. We’ll have to share.’
‘What? Oh, but hang on.’ Camping out together in a makeshift hut is one thing. ‘I can’t share a room with you.’
He shrugs. ‘You could always take the tent again,’ he says, and starts pulling his bag off the sled. ‘There’s a corral we can put the reindeer in and a sauna if you want to strip off and take the plunge before dinner.’
‘Take a what?’
‘Have a sauna, a shower and the plunge into the snow.’ He points. ‘Helps you relax.’
I look over at where he’s indicating. Next to a small wooden cabin is a big bank of snow, lit up by candle torches, and beyond that a jetty leading onto the frozen lake.
‘So, what’s it to be, the room or the tent?’ He nods to the loaded sled.
I sigh. There’s no way I’m doing another night in the tent, no way, especially not on my own.
‘I’ll see you later,’ I tell Pru.
‘Good luck!’ she says and winks at me. I blush all over again.
I stand and look around, taking it all in. There is a small wood-burning stove pumping out plenty of heat, and tea lights in holders flickering on every surface. A table and two chairs stand in front of the window looking out on the sauna, and on the far side of the room there is a wooden-framed double bed.
‘You’ve got to be joking!’ I look at the bed, covered in a thick duvet and soft reindeer hide. There are cushions there too, and I just want to throw myself into them, face down, and stay there forever. But not with Björn! Somehow, sleeping under canvas and in the cabins felt acceptable. This feels different. Weird. Like I’m going to be sharing a bed with a man . . . which is exactly what I am going to be doing.
‘You need to not be so buttoned up,’ he says, peeling off his outer layers. He points out of the cabin window to the big wooden hut with steam coming out of a chimney, the pathway cleared of snow and well lit. ‘The sauna’s just over there. You can get cleaned up there too; there are showers and sinks.’
And a big snow bank for plunging into, I think with a shiver.
‘The sauna really cleanses you, body and soul. It will help you relax.’
I look out at the hut and the jetty beside it. There are tiny flakes of glittery snow dancing in the air. It looks beautiful.
‘I’ll let you go first while I write up my notebook,’ I say, pulling out the battered little booklet. He looks at it and then at me.
‘You can’t hide behind that forever,’ he says softly. ‘You need to live it, not write about it.’
I go to answer but can’t find the words. Instead I sit down at the table by the window and gaze outside, focusing on how I’m going to describe the scene. I’m going to have to write really small, I only have a page and a half left. I look at the book, then back to Björn to tell him I’m living life perfectly well, thank you, when the words catch in my throat. He’s pulling off his tight-fitting long-sleeved top, the last layer, to reveal his broad chest and muscular arms. On the inside of his forearm is a tattoo, of a reindeer’s head, neck and antlers. There is something very sexy about it, I realise, and I catch my breath and quickly turn back to looking out of the window, but not before I see a little laugh in the corner of his mouth.
‘Are you worried about me changing here? I can go to the sauna if you like.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I tell him in a strangely high-pitched voice.
‘Good, because nudity is a part of life here in Sweden. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,’ he says. ‘It is not done to be sexy most of the time. We do it because it feels natural.’
I go to tell him that where I come from, we don’t just get undressed in front of total strangers, it’s not natural, but as I turn, this time he’s stepping out of his long johns. A muscular thigh covered in light hair is now on show. He’s laughing gently to himself and shaking his head.
Oh for goodness’ sake! I snap my head round to look back out of the window, my heart doing some strange thundering. I hope he’s going to wear something to bed!
‘You’re uncomfortable with nudity,’ he says. ‘But it’s just being ourselves, like nature intended. Not hiding behind anything. Showing the world who we are.’
‘I’m not used to sitting in a room with a total stranger taking his clothes off, if that’s what you mean.’ I sound like a prude and I feel like one too. ‘I’m—’
‘Married?’ he finishes for me, and I swallow hard and fall silent. ‘Even married people get naked out here.’ He tries to break the uncomfortable silence between us with a bit of humour, and although I’m grateful he’s trying to help, I carry on staring out of the window. The treetops are covered in snow, like thick double cream on a delicious dessert, and my stomach rumbles.
‘We’ll be eating in a while,’ I hear Björn say. ‘I’m going to help the owners prepare dinner. They have a lot of people to feed tonight.’ He leaves the cabin and I hear the door close behind him. Naked? Did he just go outside naked?
I hear the rumble of engines, signalling the wedding party arriving back at the hotel on their snowmobiles. Just then Björn comes into sight around the side of the building. He’s wearing a white towel wrapped around his waist, and towelling flip-flops, but other than that, nothing. The snow is settling on his broad shoulders and mass of curly blond hair with its little red strands. Well, at least he has the towel on, I think, trying to refocus on my booklet but finding it strangely hard to pull my eyes away from him out in the snow, the lights outside the sauna throwing a yellow glow around the little building. At least he’ll be inside before the wedding party get off their snowmobiles. I glance up to see him approaching the hut, opening the door and disappearing into the sauna.
Moments later, he reappears and runs up the jetty, his towel still round his waist. At the end I can see a large dark square of water, a hole cut into the snow and ice, surrounded by candles in lanterns. He’s not going to do what I think he’s going to do, is he? Just as the wedding party, led by Lars, comes around the corner in front of the cabin, Björn reaches the end of the jetty and whips off his towel, revealing curvaceous, muscular cream buttocks, like a marble statue. Oh God! He’s actually naked! I’m feeling slightly panicked, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m not used to seeing men naked, or because the wedding party is just about to walk this way, or because the sight of his naked buttocks is actually making my cheeks burn and my stomach stir with something I haven’t felt in a very long time but that feels a lot like desire. I experience a mixture of fury at myself and at him for doing this to me. I don’t fancy him, not at all. I haven’t fancied anyone since Griff died. Why has my body suddenly woken up now?
With a shout and another flash of his backside, he jumps from the edge of the jetty into the freezing water. There’s a huge splash, an excited shriek from Pru’s nan and a round of applause from the party – everyone except Lars, that is.
I try and look away, but Björn emerges almost immediately from the swimming hole, pulling himself up the wooden ladder and onto the jetty, water dripping from his curly hair. He rubs his face, grabs his towel with a smile, slings it over his shoulder, then opens the door to the sauna and disappears inside. Well, really! That man is such an exhibitionist! I’ll write about him, tell Griff how infuriating he is. But somehow the words won’t come, and I can’t seem to connect with Griff through my little booklet, as though the line is breaking up on a long-distance phone call.
Björn opened a beer the owner had left for him at the sauna door, with the bottle opener on a piece of string. He placed his towel on the bench, poured a scoop of water from the bucket over the coals and listened as they spat and hissed. Steam rose, creating instant heat, and he sat on the towel and leant back, inhaling it. It felt good, really good. Cleansing and relaxing. He breathed in deeply and then took a long swig from the cold bottle of beer, his thoughts turning to Halley. She’d done a great job so far, getting over the river and rounding the herd up when they’d scattered. She was a herd animal herself, he thought. She liked to stay in the pack, preferring crowds and cities. She thought she was safer in a pack and couldn’t get hurt again.
He took another swig of beer. Was that how he felt being up here, away from the city? Safer? Away from the pack that wanted to attack him? Was he just as bad as her? She needed to loosen up, try new things. Not just write what she saw in her little book. But it wasn’t his problem, he knew that. Very soon she’d be gone. Back to her own life, moving on to somewhere new. They just had another night or so and they’d be at the winter grazing site. He hoped his father would be able to come home now. He knew he should have been a better son. Instead, he’d been building his career. And for what? To have it pulled from under him in one swift move. His reputation, his career, his confidence. He’d been about to lose the lot. It was far better that he’d gone before it hit the news. After all, had it really meant that much to him? Hadn’t he felt more alive being back here with the herd than he had for months, maybe years, running the restaurant and creating the ‘perfect plate’, drawing on his travels and experiences from all over Europe, looking for inspiration everywhere except in his own heart, ignoring what was in there all along?
Just then, the sauna door opened. For a moment he wondered if it might be her, taking a leap of faith, and his heart did a flip.
I watch the wedding party disperse, then sit and look out onto the snowy night. I need more paper, so I pull Daniel’s recipe book from his bag, hoping he won’t mind if I take another page. I flick through it again, looking at the notes in the margins and running my hand over the splashes and stains, marks from the past. As I turn the pages, I find myself more and more intrigued by the man who wrote these words and cooked and perfected the recipes with such passion and precision, judging from the crossings-out and rewrites.
A movement catches my eye from outside. I look up and see Pru’s nan tiptoeing through the snow in a floral swimming costume and matching hat, heading for the sauna. She opens the door, slides in and shuts it behind her with a cheeky smile, making me smile too. Some time later, Björn reappears with his towel tied firmly around his waist, holding the door open for Pru’s nan and pointing. I wonder if he’s asking her if she’d like to try a dip in the swimming hole, but instead he leads her to a snowy mound, where they stand side by side and on his count fall backwards into the snow, making snow angels with their arms and legs. Pru’s nan is laughing with joy and exhilaration, making me smile even more, and once again, those tears that have stayed away so long creep into the corners of my eyes. So, he’s kind to old ladies as well as animals. Maybe it’s not all humans he has an appalling way with. Looking at him now, creating snow angels like a child, I want to be there doing it too.
Have I been buttoned up since Griff died? Would it hurt to undo a button or two? But just as I think what fun it might be to join them, the moment has gone. Björn is helping Pru’s nan out of the snow and waving goodbye as he heads back to the cabin. I turn my attention back to my little booklet and go to write about the infuriating man I am travelling with, but once again, I find I’m lost for words.