‘I’m going to help the owner and his son,’ Björn tells me. ‘They are slaughtering a reindeer. Do you want to come too?’
‘What?’
‘I said,’ he repeats whilst rubbing his hair dry with a towel, ‘I’m going to help with the reindeer slaughtering.’ He stops rubbing and looks at me. ‘Do you want to come?’
‘No!’ I say, and then remember that these are not pets. Without the reindeer, people out here wouldn’t survive. I realise the family have included us in their way of life, and add, ‘Thank you.’
He tosses the towel to one side. I look at it, damp from the hot shower he’s just had. I suddenly realise there’s something very different about Björn. He’s shaved his beard off! His clean chin shows off his high, wide cheekbones, and his eyes look even bluer than before. I stare at him. ‘But you’d like to eat tonight, right?’ And I have to focus really hard on his words. He has a glow about him, clean and fresh, that frankly I envy. And his face is so different. So . . . attractive.
‘You’d like to eat tonight?’ he repeats.
‘Yes, please.’
‘The animal has to have lived for a reason, and we respect it by using every part of it after its death.’
‘Every part,’ I repeat.
‘Every part,’ he confirms, pulling on his boots and lacing them up. He looks at me as though trying to gauge my reaction. ‘It starts with the slaughter. We all help. It is our way of thanking and respecting the animal.’ He puts down his now tied boot with a thump on the wooden floor.
I nod. I understand everything he’s saying, but there is no way I can go and help slaughter a reindeer. I just can’t.
‘I . . . I’m going to use the sauna,’ I reply. ‘While it’s quiet.’
‘And the dipping hole?’ He smiles.
‘No, not the dipping hole.’ I shake my head, then stand up and pick up his towel and put it back on the wooden towel rail by the fire.
‘Everything has a place, doesn’t it?’ he says. ‘Everything has to be in order, like living by a schedule. What would happen if you just took life as it comes?’
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ I retort.
‘But still keeping to a schedule. We have to have the reindeer home and have your bag back by Saturday to keep things on schedule.’
‘Yes, because otherwise . . .’
He looks at me, and I hesitate.
‘Well, otherwise nothing would make any sense, would it?’
‘Maybe that’s exactly what it would do. You need to let go of your schedules and routines . . . unbutton a bit. You might find you like it. You might find someone you want to get unbuttoned with.’
I spin away from him and look out of the window.
There’s Lars, with the rest of the wedding party, and from the looks of it they’re all wearing swimming costumes, thank goodness. Maybe I will unbutton a bit. Use the sauna. I’ll keep my pants on and wear a towel.
After the sauna, I dry off, shivering but feeling strangely invigorated. I look at the double bed that I’ll have to share with Björn tonight and have an idea. I roll up my clothes and some spare towels and arrange them in a line down the middle of the bed. That should make things a little more comfortable. Then I leave the cabin, with newly washed hair and feeling cleaner than if I’d been put through the dishwasher, and make my way to the dining room that Lars has pointed out to me.
Outside it, under a snow-covered gazebo, there is a fire pit. Björn is there with two men I assume are the owner and his son, all with bottles of beer in their hands. As I get nearer, I can see there is a grille over the fire and a big pot bubbling away, giving off the most delicious smells.
‘Dinner’s nearly ready,’ says the owner. ‘Thanks to your man here, we have got quite a feast for you.’
I go to point out that he’s not my partner, but they have already moved on to a different subject and the moment passes. But we’ll be gone tomorrow and I won’t see these people again.
Björn gives me a small smile as the men stand around chatting, and I’m not sure what the look means, but something inside me flips over and back again. Almost fanciable . . . if he didn’t have that big beard . . . Isn’t that what I said to Pru? The very last thing I want to do is start fancying Björn, but my treacherous heart and delighted insides seem to be thinking otherwise. I must stay as far away from him as possible, keep my distance, keep him at arm’s length. There is no way I can be attracted to this man!
I make my way into the dining room, tapping the toes of my boots against the door frame to shake off any excess snow. There is a big stone fire pit in the middle, surrounded by wooden tables with benches. Flickering tea lights make it feel cosy. There’s the earthy fragrance of wood burning on the fire, and wonderful cooking smells welcoming me in. At the back wall stands a round-faced woman wearing traditional Sami dress, blue with bright red and green edging at the cuffs and the bottom of the skirt. She has an embroidered belt with red tassels, a red and green scarf and a hat to match. She turns, her face as cheerful as her traditional dress.
‘Hello. Welcome. I am Álvá. I run this place with my husband and son. Björn has been very helpful this evening.’ She holds out a hand to a long table piled with plates of food. All sorts of different dishes. ‘I hope you enjoy the smorgasbord,’ she says. ‘There is gravlax with mustard and dill sauce to start.’ I look at the folds of beautiful pink salmon and its yellow sauce on the side with flecks of green. ‘Pickled herring and beetroot salad,’ she points to a deep purple bowl of salad, ‘and soup. Then sliced potatoes in cream to go with our main dishes.’ She hands me a shot glass of clear spirit. ‘Aquavit,’ she tells me. ‘Help yourself to starters and take a seat.’
I take a little of everything and she places a cup of soup on my plate too.
The wedding party filters in. Lars makes a beeline to sit next to me, but the Sami woman moves him to my other side, telling him the seat to my left is for Björn. Lars keeps smiling but looks a little miffed.
The family all take their seats. Pru and Mika are beaming and glowing after their plunge in the dipping hole, and everyone has stories to tell about their snowmobiling day. They are all wondering whether they will get to see the Northern Lights later tonight from the vantage point higher up the mountainside. Lars is taking them on a lantern-lit walk.
‘Come and join us,’ he beams. ‘It will be very romantic!’
I tell him I have to stay and keep an eye on the reindeer. But he doesn’t seem deterred. I am going to have to explain to him that there can’t be any romance between us. But I’m dreading letting him down.
I pick up my cup of soup and breathe in its restorative, earthy aroma. It’s mushroom soup! Just like Björn made in the forest. And it reminds me that my time out here is coming to an end. I feel a surge of relief, then I taste the soup, its creamy, hot, pungent flavour, and I feel a sense of regret wash over me too.
The fire is roaring in the wooden cabin, the candles are flickering and everyone seems in high spirits, particularly Pru’s nan, who’s having the time of her life. Only Pru’s mother isn’t enjoying herself; she still hasn’t thawed by the looks of it and certainly didn’t take part in the plunge pool. Nan, on the other hand, is positively glowing and keeps giving Björn longing looks over the top of her steaming soup as he strides across the room, beaming and nodding to everyone, and takes his place next to me. I can’t look at him. I can’t meet his eye. Clean-shaven he is a different man, and my silly heart has started to beat at double time while my stomach feels like a shooting star has just gone off in it. I look down at my soup and keep my eyes there.
The soup cups are cleared away and people are invited to come and enjoy the rest of the smorgasbord. Álvá is handing round plates. Water jugs are passed up and down the table and glasses filled, and I decide to wait until there is more room at the long table. I sip my water and watch Pru and Mika, who are laughing and smiling and hugging each other. Lars is helping hand out plates and serve up.
‘This reminds me of Christmas,’ I suddenly say to Björn and look up. Catching a glimpse of his piercing blue eyes looking straight at me, I wish I hadn’t. I look back at my empty soup cup and plate.
‘And what would you eat at Christmas?’ he asks, picking up his fork. Lars is still at the smorgasbord table but keeps glancing over.
‘Roast turkey. The smell of that on Christmas morning always makes me feel good. Or on a Sunday, roast chicken. We’d get the papers when Griff was home. Go for a pub lunch and then have roast chicken.’
Björn nods. ‘And when you have roast chicken now?’
I nod and look at him. He understands, I think. This brash, rough, irritating man understands.
‘I always think of those Sundays with Griff.’ I swallow down a piece of flat Sami bread, like I ate on that first day. ‘I burnt the first one I ever cooked. Couldn’t work out the oven. But Griff ate it anyway and told me it was delicious.’
‘Sometimes it takes a few attempts to get things right. But those memories make us who we are today. No one can take that away. I remember fishing with my dad, like we did the other day, and cooking over the fire. All our days out here ended with a fire.’ He smiles.
‘And where’s your dad now?’
‘He’s . . . in a retirement flat in the town, where your hotel is. He had a stroke and . . . well, I wasn’t around to organise things, so the hospital and my sister thought it would be better if he went there.’
‘And you don’t agree that that’s the best place for him?’
Björn shakes his head. ‘He lives and breathes his reindeer. That’s why I’m taking them to him. Hopefully when the herd is home for the winter he’ll improve.’ He wipes his mouth with a paper napkin and places it back on the table. ‘I should have been here more, before it came to this. These reindeer are his life. I can’t let anything happen to them. It’s the least I can do. After my mother died, he was always there for us, me and my sister, but I wasn’t an easy person to help.’ I can feel his eyes on me and snatch a glance at him, and another shooting star whizzes through my stomach. ‘The least I can do is bring his herd home for him.’
He looks at me. ‘Yes,’ he says flatly. ‘More than I should have.’ His expression changes. ‘Wait! I have something for you.’
‘For me?’
He comes back to the table with a small piece of white meat in a light gravy-like sauce with creamy sliced potatoes.
‘Here! Roast chicken, or nearly.’
I taste it. It takes me right back there, to when life was happy and settled.
‘It’s ptarmigan. Its plumage is white in the winter and then when the snow leaves, it is a mix of grey, brown and black. It’s like a grouse. But reminds you of chicken?’
I nod and smile. ‘It does, thank you.’ It reminds me of chicken and happy times.
‘Okay, I have something else for you to try, the other dish.’ He swings his leg over the bench and returns to the smorgasbord, where Lars seems to have lost his smile and is beginning to glower. I really must explain to him that I’m not with Björn; I’m not with anyone. I’m here on my own and will be leaving that way. And I suddenly realise what I’ve just admitted to myself. I’m on my own and, well, I feel okay.
Björn puts another plate in front of me.
‘What’s this?’
‘Roast loin of reindeer with lingonberries,’ he says proudly.
‘From . . .’ I look at the plate, ‘from the reindeer . . . today?’
‘Yes.’ He picks up his knife and fork. ‘Like I said, here we respect the whole animal. We eat everything, use everything so its life has not been wasted.’
I swallow hard.
‘It’s an honour that we live with the animals and survive here because of them,’ he says in a low voice. ‘Here, try.’ He takes a forkful of the food and holds it to my mouth, his eyes again meeting mine and my insides feeling like they are melting.
‘I don’t think I can,’ I whisper.
‘Just close your eyes and think of something lovely,’ he whispers back. ‘Remember how the roast chicken made you think of happy times. Think of something in the forest on the journey that has made you smile.’ He moves closer. ‘It’s my special sauce,’ he says. ‘Try it.’
Tentatively I shut my eyes and remember the euphoria I felt at getting the herd across the river safely, and the thrill of it as we climbed the riverbank on the other side. I taste the loin and sauce. At first, I’m silent. I can’t speak.
‘Like it?’ I hear him say, and I can feel his breath on my neck.
‘It’s absolutely delicious,’ I say finally, slowly opening my eyes.
‘Sometimes you have to be brave and try new things to discover you love them,’ he says. ‘The chicken was part of the journey. It was familiar, and it helped you try the ptarmigan, which was new and different. And even though you were scared to try the reindeer, thinking you wouldn’t like it, you let yourself be brave.’ He smiles, and a whole meteor shower goes off in my stomach.
Álvá and her husband are watching us, nodding and smiling, big, beautiful smiles.
‘What’s in that sauce?’ I say, taking the fork and helping myself to a second mouthful.
‘It’s a secret . . . from the forest.’ Björn raises his eyebrows, teasing. ‘Remember the lingonberry vodka we had?’ And suddenly it reminds me of something. Something I’ve seen or read somewhere.
‘And this?’ I point to something on my plate I don’t recognise.
‘Fried lichen,’ he tells me, as if it is the most natural accompaniment to my meal.
Lars returns to the table with his plate and I turn away from Björn, who starts to eat his own food.
‘This place is amazing,’ I say.
‘The guests love coming here,’ Lars tells me, swinging his leg over the bench. ‘Well, most of them!’ We look at Pru’s mum, who is barely eating, pushing her food around her plate.
‘She needs to stop looking back at what might have been and realise there’s a lot of happiness to be had in the here and now,’ I tell Lars, who nods in agreement.
Björn, on the other side of me, stops eating for a moment. The words hang in the air between us. ‘The owners were lucky you were here to help them out with the food,’ I say, changing the subject quickly. He nods and wipes the corners of his mouth again, putting his knife and fork down.
‘If only they could get more people to come and stay,’ he says. ‘These days Sami people can’t just rely on the reindeer to make their living. They need tourists. This has been a big party for them, but they’re few and far between so they can’t afford full-time help. No one knows they’re here. Lars has done well to find them and bring his guests here.’
Lars’s beam returns.
‘It is such a shame more people don’t come.’ I take another mouthful of food, this time with the creamy potatoes soaking up the sauce, and look round at the warm, inviting cabin.
After dinner, the owners put out tea and coffee and pour little shot glasses of vodka.
‘A toast!’ the owner calls. ‘To health and happiness.’ We all raise our glasses – ‘Skål!’ – and down the shots in one, then the glasses are refilled and the owner calls on Lars for a toast.
‘To fate and finding your one true love!’ he says, looking longingly at me, and I down my shot for courage. I have to tell him!
Björn is asked to make the final toast.
‘We have an old Sami saying, may you never travel faster than your soul.’ He raises his glass but doesn’t look at me. ‘Skål!’ and we all drink.
The owners thank Björn as the rest of the party get ready, pulling on coats, hats and gloves ready for the lantern walk to search out the Northern Lights. I make a jotting on the back of my paper napkin about the food we’ve eaten and the flavours that are still lingering on my tongue and writing themselves into my food memory bank, next to roast chicken.
‘You still making notes for your travel log?’ Björn asks as the wedding party prepares to head off. Lanterns have been lit and everyone is holding one, illuminating the room like the Christmas lights in town. Everyone is feeling excited about what they might see.
‘Come with us!’ Lars calls over to me. ‘You can share my lantern,’ he adds, smiling broadly and then glowering a little at Björn.
‘I can’t. I have something I want to do,’ I call back across the excited room.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to go?’ Björn is close to me again and I feel his breath on my neck. ‘Maybe Lars is the reindeer loin; something new.’
I turn to look at him, knowing that it’s not Lars who is the reindeer loin. My mouth is tingling with its new taste sensation and I’m wondering if it’s the delicious dish I’ve just eaten or the way Björn is looking at me that’s making me feel like that.
After everything has been cleared away, I ask Björn if I can borrow his phone. I’d borrow his charger, but we have different phones. I know he’s looking at me wondering who I’m phoning and whether home is on my mind. When I’ve finished, I join the owner’s family around the fire pit. They give me a reindeer throw to wrap round myself. There’s light snow in the air, but no one seems to mind. It’s a clear night and it’s warm by the fire.
‘Can I show you something?’ I ask Björn after a while.
‘Sure, let’s walk to the jetty,’ he says. I stand and he insists I keep the throw around me.
The dipping pool is still lit up by the candles surrounding it. In front of us I can see the wedding party making their way across the lake, like fireflies in the night, to the tree-covered bank on the other side.
‘They may not be interested,’ I say, feeling shy as I hand Björn his phone, ‘but I’ve set up a Facebook page for this place. The signal is good here. I took some pictures, and added them with a brief description of the village and what people can expect if they come here.’ I show him the screen.
Björn looks closely, the glow from the candles lighting up his face, his Lapp dogs at his feet.
‘This looks fantastic! And it reads well, really well. Is that something you do? Were you a journalist?’
‘No.’ I laugh at the idea. ‘I just worked for a travel company, in reservations . . . and sometimes when it was busy, in complaints. On the phones. But I used to love it when the new brochures came in. The pictures, the words describing them, selling people their dreams. I would have loved to have worked on those brochures.’
‘Then why don’t you?’
I shrug and shake my head.
‘I think you’re scared,’ he says. ‘Scared to try.’
‘It’s not . . .’ but I stop myself.
‘Look at what you’ve done this week, the obstacles you’ve overcome, facing your fears. You shouldn’t be scared of what’s in your heart.’
We look up at the dark blue sky scattered with stars, which are getting brighter all the time, and the snow easing up, fluttering around us.
‘I just never thought I could write well enough, but if it helps these people . . .’
‘But this is brilliant. You could sell snow to the Sami with stuff like this!’
‘Well, I suppose I’ve had a lot of practice since . . .’
He doesn’t help me this time.
‘Since Griff died,’ I finally say, feeling as exposed as if I had taken off all my clothes and run into the plunge pool totally naked.
He nods, and puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘You’ve been writing for all this time, not showing anyone, keeping what’s in your heart locked in there.’
I nod.
‘And now you’ve done this. Welcome back to the real world!’
As Björn returns to the fire pit to show the owners what I’ve done, I look up at the star-studded sky again. I have tears in my eyes and I have no idea if they’re tears for what has happened in the past, or for what’s to come . . .
I join him showing them the Facebook page and the pictures I’ve put up there of the cabin with the candles glowing and the candlelit plunge pool. He translates what I’ve written, and they are delighted. I tell them to keep it updated so people can see what’s happening, and show them how to do it on their phones. If they need any help with the English words, they can always use Google Translate. It’s amazing that somewhere as remote as this has such good wifi! Then I show them TripAdvisor and the review I’ve posted there.
They thank me profusely, then hand us more beers and retire to bed, leaving Björn and me sitting by the fire, wrapped in throws, looking up at the big dark sky and the stars shining brightly.
‘The stars are always there, familiar and reassuring, ready to guide you if you look up,’ he says.
I nod. ‘I wonder if the others saw the Northern Lights.’
‘That’s the thing when you go looking for something like the Northern Lights,’ he says. ‘You’re so busy chasing what you’d like to have, you miss what’s right under your nose.’
I’m about to ask him what he means when we’re interrupted by someone coming out of the sauna cabin. It’s Pru’s mother, Sylvia, carrying a towel and wash bag.
‘Hi!’ I say, surprised. ‘Back so soon?’
‘Didn’t go in the end,’ she says, but not like she’s sucking a lemon this time. This time there’s a sadness about her. ‘I’m still . . . taking it all in.’
‘Shame. But come and see these stars. They’re amazing!’ Obviously the beer and the thrill of writing my first ever copy has given me a confidence boost.
She comes and joins us by the fire. Björn offers her a beer, and she hesitates before accepting it with a smile. We sit and look up at the stars. Björn gives her a reindeer hide to wrap around herself, and she thanks him politely. A very different woman from the one I’ve seen so far.
‘Björn was just telling me that we shouldn’t go in search of something that might not be out there . . . we should enjoy what’s in front of us here and now,’ I say, taking another sip of beer – not that I need any more, clearly.
‘Björn may well be right.’ She looks from me to him and back again. ‘She had a fiancé, you know. Rob. I could see her future laid out in front of her. A life together. A good life. Children. And then they finished, just like that, and the next thing we knew, she’d met someone else. Mika. But she never told me . . .’ She swigs from the bottle and then looks down. ‘She didn’t tell me that Mika was a woman. I wasn’t expecting it. I mean, everything changes. What about grandchildren?’
‘They could still have children,’ Björn says, looking up at the sky again.
‘But would they still be my grandchildren? How will I feel? How will I feel about them as a couple? Will I love Mika like I would a son-in-law?’
Suddenly feeling bold, I say, ‘We don’t know when we’re going to find love or lose it. But I do know that if we find it, we should make the most of it while we can.’
She looks at me and back at Björn again.
‘It might not be what we went looking for, or what’s familiar.’ I think of the roast chicken, and then of the reindeer loin. ‘But it might be just as heavenly. I think they’re very lucky to have found each other. Isn’t that what we all want, to love and be loved?’
She says nothing; just looks up at the stars in silence, as do we, all lost in our own thoughts. Finally she says quietly, ‘I suppose it is.’ Then she drains her beer and bids us both goodnight.
Björn tips back his head and sticks out his tongue, letting the snowflakes land there and dissolve. I laugh and do the same. After a while, we stand and blow out the candles, and as I do, I suddenly feel something hit me on the back of the head. I turn to see Björn rolling another snowball in his hands and aiming it at me, a big smile across his face.
‘Like I said, you need some loosening up!’
‘Right!’ I bend and make a snowball of my own, then lob it, but it falls short. I roll another one quickly as he sends his into the air. I dodge and it lands in the snow behind me. This time I focus and land one right on his chest. ‘Yes!’
He picks up another handful of snow, this time running towards me. I turn to escape, and he’s chasing me. I bend and grab some snow as I run, just as he catches up with me, slipping his arm around my waist, and we’re rubbing snow in each other’s face, laughing, tumbling and suddenly falling together into the mound by the sauna where Björn made snow angels earlier with Pru’s nan. He’s lying on top of me heavily, his breath hard and fast, his thick curly hair falling around his face and neck, and I remember the tattoo up his forearm and the image of his buttocks as he leapt into the lake.
We hold each other’s gaze, locked there, wondering if either of us dares to take the next step and move in closer. A yearning starts to burn in me and I feel my arms reach around him to pull him towards me, when all of a sudden his breath tickles my nose, making me shake my head and lift my hand, breaking the moment. He pulls away, moving his weight off me, and I don’t want him to, I want that moment back. I want to go forward, go further, suddenly craving his body on mine, his breath on my face and neck, his lips touching mine.
He stands up and reaches a hand out to me, still smiling a lazy, sexy smile, then pulls me to my feet before letting me go again, to my shriek of delight, and we make snow angels of our own, knowing that by the morning they’ll have disappeared, but the memory won’t.
We’re still laughing as we tumble in through the door of our cabin, and I suddenly see the line of clothes rolled up down the middle of the bed like a wall. It brings me up short, remembering we’re not going to fall into bed and have a night of lovemaking, even if I wanted to back on the snowy mound. All my confidence is slipping away at the reality of what I contemplated doing, the line of clothes reminding me that I’m not quite there. I haven’t quite let Griff go; he’s just holding on by his fingertips. I can’t say goodbye for good. I have to stop it happening.
‘No snoring or you’re out with the dogs!’ I joke, the beer and vodka having found their voice.
‘And that goes for you too.’
‘I don’t snore!’ I retort with fake huffiness.
We both try and get ready for bed without the other looking, but eventually I give up, dump my inhibitions and strip down to my undies before sliding under the covers. I mean, it’s not like we haven’t spent the week living with each other, even if I can’t let it go any further.
The light from the stars and the silvery moon throws a path across the bed. I lie there listening to the breathing of the man next to me. There is no way I can let myself get close to anyone. I have lost all the men I have loved, my dad first, and then Griff. I can’t let myself care about anyone else.
‘Thank you for doing the Facebook page for Álvá and her husband. It will help.’
‘Build it and people will come,’ I say tipsily.
‘But you were the one to put the words out there and tell people. Thank you.’
We lapse into silence.
‘And thank you for getting me to try reindeer and that delicious sauce,’ I say sleepily.
‘Respect the animal. Make it a life that was worth living,’ he says.
Just for a moment I wonder what it would be like to turn to him and see his face in the moonlight. What if I were to reach out and touch his hand and remember that I’m alive; to stop surviving and start living again? I chew my bottom lip. What if . . . what if I could let someone back in again? Could it really be this infuriating man lying next to me? I stretch out my hand and my little finger meets the wall I have built between us, knowing he’s still on the other side.
Björn lay there listening to her breathing, just a few centimetres from him. He wished he could turn and look at her, see her face in the starlight. But he knew he couldn’t. How had this happened? How had she got in? He’d been determined not to fall for her. But somehow, in between losing his dog team and saving his reindeer herd, she had got right under his skin and into his heart.
He knew that only she could decide where she wanted to go from here. He had no idea where he himself was going, but he’d love her to go along for the ride with him, even though he knew she wouldn’t. She’d move on, like she always did. She didn’t even know who he really was. Even if he wanted to tell her, he couldn’t. He should have told her right at the start. If he owned up now, what would she think? Maybe he should just tell her. Get things out in the open. At least he wouldn’t feel as guilty as he did now. But for now, he reached out his hand and his little finger met the wall of clothes between them, and he knew she was just the other side.