Onwards we go, like Groundhog Day. We move the reindeer out of the corral before the rest of the wedding party has even woken up. The dogs, as ever, are barking and leaping, raring to go. Is that what Björn thinks I do? Keep moving, excited about the next journey, never really reaching a destination? Maybe he’s right. I just don’t know where my destination is supposed to be, and maybe I have to keep moving until I find it.
And now, I smile, these guys. I look round at the herd and pat Rocky. Björn glances over at me without a word and smiles encouragingly. ‘Ready for the homeward stretch?’
I nod, and a stray shooting star from last night erupts in my stomach, leaving me excited and exhilarated and a little nervous about what lies ahead.
Just as I step onto the sled, I turn back and look at the cabins scattered amongst the trees, where Álvá and her husband and their children live with their families. Smoke is coming out of the chimneys. Maybe, just for a while, it did feel like I’d stopped moving; like I’d taken a break from my journey for one magical evening. There’s only one way to reach the end of a journey, I’ve realised, and that’s to just carry on until you get there, and when you do, there may be a whole new beginning for you. But right now, all I can do is keep going.
I turn back and look at the reindeer, already starting to make a move. There’s a wide stretch of virgin snow-covered tundra in front of us, and a line of orange, pinks and lilacs where the earth meets the huge sky. Handfuls of wind-bent trees are scattered across the incline leading up to the forest, with its snow-laden treetops. As the sky begins to lighten, and the wind swirls around my face and ears, there’s an ethereal feel to being out here. It’s peaceful but exhilarating at the same time. I watch the herd in front of me moving forward against the building wind, and sway with the motion of the sled as we travel across the freshly fallen thick snow. It’s almost like time has stood still out here, like I’ve been in a dream.
I wonder what life will be like when I get back to the real world, to the buzz of the city. Maybe things will never become easier, simpler or better; maybe I just need to enjoy being here now. I look at Björn, standing on the back of the sled, the ear flaps on his hat fluttering in the wind as he keeps an ever-vigilant eye on the herd. Suddenly he turns, looks at me and smiles, and I wonder why I feel as if everything inside me has shifted, like the ever-changing landscape around me, one minute in darkness and the next in light. Maybe here, in the middle of this mad dream, caught in the no-man’s-land before I have to return to real life, is the happiest I’ve been for a long time. I haven’t had to make anything up, hide behind a lie. I’ve just been me. And now, we’re nearly there. We’ve nearly done it. One more night and we’ll be where we’ve be trying to get to.
As we reach the forest, Björn brings the herd to a standstill and stands up tall on the back of his sled. The wind is whipping up more strongly here. The snow is like icing sugar dusting the top of a huge Christmas cake.
‘See that? Over there?’ He points towards the distant mountains, like meringue peaks. There, beyond the trees, is a town. Not a big one, but a town all the same, with roads and two-storey buildings. ‘That’s Tallfors,’ he tells me.
‘That’s it? We’re home? I mean . . . where the hotel is?’ I correct myself quickly.
He nods. ‘And on the other side of it,’ his chest seems to swell, and he lifts his head, ‘is the winter grazing for the reindeer.’
‘So we’re nearly there?’
He nods again slowly. ‘Not far now.’
‘Will we make it by this evening?’
He laughs. ‘Still rushing.’
‘I need to get the rings for Saturday, remember? I need to find my bag!’
‘Your bag will be there, don’t worry.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Have faith. I know. We’ll get there. You’ll get your bag.’
He fixes me with a stare, the corners of those blue eyes lined by the weather. Something in his expression tells me it’s all going to be fine. Maybe I should just enjoy my last night out here with the reindeer and the dogs . . . and Björn, I find myself thinking.
‘Come on, we just have to work our way through the forest. I have a friend who lives there. I’ve texted him. His family have a smallholding not far from the town. They make charcoal and keep reindeer. I grew up with them. We’ll stay there tonight before going on to the farm tomorrow. Then you will be free to carry on travelling, wherever it may take you next.’
Still he holds my gaze, and I feel everything inside me shifting all over again. Australia, that’s where life’s going to take me next. Just as soon as I deliver the rings and get back to the airport. But where are the butterflies? The excitement that I feel every time I get a new job sheet? It must be the cold affecting me, I tell myself firmly.
I think about the job my sister sent me and wonder whether finally putting down some roots is actually what I want. I’m tired. Maybe I’m tired because I’ve been out here, but I’m tired of running away from everything back home, too.
‘Best we keep going.’ Björn interrupts my musings. ‘You never know when this weather is going to break.’
‘Hike, hike!’ I hear his familiar shout to his dogs as they move off. My sled creaks into action too. I’ll be gone from his life by tomorrow, when I finally meet Daniel Nuhtte and get my belongings back. I look at Björn and wonder if Daniel will be anything like him.
Finally, around lunchtime, we stop for a break just inside the forest, in a clearing by the river. Björn ties the dogs to a tree and then takes out the fire bowl and lights it as I’ve seen him do so many times before.
‘Look,’ he says as he starts to make coffee, ‘about Daniel . . .’
‘Yes?’ I’m suddenly keen to find out about this Michelin-starred chef who has travelled all over the world and put his heart and soul into his recipes and his restaurant. ‘He seems to have such a passion for what he does,’ I say. ‘All I do is travel.’ Is that what my passion is? I wonder. ‘It’s what’s kept me sane these last two years.’
‘I think it’s your writing that’s done that,’ Björn says. ‘Not the places you’ve been to, but the way you describe them. I haven’t really read much, just what you did on Facebook, but I don’t think you know how good you are. I think the book is more than just a link with your husband. He may not be here, but he’s helped you find your passion. It’s your words that have taken you on your journey, not aeroplanes, buses and trains. It was in you all the time. We all think we can run from how we’re feeling, but the feelings come with you wherever you go, no matter how far you travel. Eventually they catch up with you. You can’t ignore them; you can’t leave them behind.’
And for a moment, I wonder if he’s talking about how I felt about losing Griff, or how I’m feeling right now, here in the forest with him: like something inside me has woken up after two years of lying dormant.
I stare into the flames.
‘Look,’ he says, ‘it’s all very well me telling you this, but you’re not the only one running away from how you were feeling—’
‘I wouldn’t call it running away,’ I interrupt, and I know as soon as the words have left my mouth that he’s right and I’m wrong. It’s what everyone else has been trying to tell me for the last two years, but I’ve ignored them. I think of all the messages from my sister and my mum. The articles my mum has sent me from the paper on finding new love, and the job adverts and houses on Rightmove Sara has emailed me so that I can be close to the family. I’ve ignored them all.
‘As I say, you’re not the only one. You see . . .’ He stands up and pokes the fire with a stick. It’s something I’ve seen him do now, a lot. When he’s stressed, when he’s relaxing, he pokes the fire. Or stokes the fire. Or chops wood for the fire.
‘You love fires, don’t you?’ I say, realising I still know very little about this man, despite having been closer to him than I have been to anyone else for two years.
‘Out here, fire is our best friend. Everything I did as a kid here,’ he nods towards the direction of the town, ‘days out, fishing, following animal tracks, it always ended with a fire. It’s in here,’ he bangs his chest. ‘It’s always in here,’ he adds quietly, then drops his hand and prods the fire once more, deep in thought as he stares at the flames.
‘Look, about your bag and Daniel,’ he says suddenly, his face contorted and troubled.
‘Yes?’
‘Oh, before I forget. Here, I finished this for you last night.’ He pulls something from his pocket, wrapped in cloth.
‘For me?’ I hold out my hand and take it from him.
‘It’s just a . . . well, a thank you. Before we get . . . well, before you get your bag . . .’ He trails off.
I unwrap the cloth and there is the piece of antler he’s been whittling.
‘It’s a knife handle. We’ll put the blade in it when we get to my friend’s house. He’s a blacksmith as well as a charcoal maker.’
‘A knife of my own! From reindeer antler!’ I look at it in awe, at the intricate carving on it of the river, a lavvu, a reindeer who I just know is Rocky. ‘I love it, thank you.’
‘It’s to keep you out of trouble. Because let’s face it, I think you will get yourself into it wherever you go!’ We both laugh.
I study the handle again, and the detailed engraving on it that he has done by hand.
‘Like I said, it’s my way of saying thank you. I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d be much help when you agreed to come. And then you lost the dogs and that Lars turned up, who I thought was your boyfriend . . .’
‘Lars isn’t my boyfriend,’ I correct. ‘I’m . . .’ He raises a questioning eyebrow. ‘I’m single, remember?’ I finally say. ‘Not with anyone.’ And it feels like such a big moment, a huge leap forward. I’m single. Widowed too, yes. But not married . . . not any more. Griff will always be part of my life, but I have to move forward now, on my own. And yes, I’m still scared, but it’s the only way I can go. I have to start living again.
I turn the handle over in my hand.
‘Respecting the whole animal . . .’ I say, understanding.
‘Respecting the whole animal,’ he repeats.
‘And Daniel? What were you going to tell me about him?’ I have the feeling there’s something he needs to get off his chest.
‘Ah, yes. It’s just that . . . well, maybe I misled you a bit, about me and him growing up together . . .’
‘Go on,’ I encourage. And then I hear a noise: ‘Hike, hike!’ just like Björn calls. The dogs hear it too and prick up their ears, lifting their heads from between their paws and barking and lunging as a two-dog sled team appears on the forest path, coming towards us.
‘Oh no! Not again! How did he know where we were?’ This time, even I’m not that thrilled to see Lars and the wedding party on their husky safari. What was it Björn was about to tell me?
‘Hey!’ Lars beams, slowing his dog team and bringing the other teams behind him to a halt at a respectful distance.
‘Oh, great fun!’ says Pru’s nan, jumping off her own sled as it comes to a standstill, and her two dogs taking off again down the forest track towards us, just like mine on the first day. This time, both Björn and I are ready and split up across the track. The herd shift uneasily but we soothe them. Björn goes to step in front of the dogs, but they dip from his reach and skirt around him, off the path, heading towards the jostling reindeer. I’m not losing the herd, though. No way, not when we’re nearly there.
‘Whoa! Whoa!’ I call to the dogs, and eventually, with me running after them just a little way, they do come to a panting stop, like excited kids on a sugar rush giving the grown-ups the runaround and finally accepting it’s time for bed.
‘Hey!’ Björn takes the dogs from me with a smile whilst Lars catches up.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ he pants.
‘No worries. It’s easily done,’ I say. ‘Rookie error!’ I laugh, then suddenly stop and find myself looking back over my shoulder towards where we’ve travelled from, as if realising how far I’ve come. I’d never have been able to do that at the start of this trip. So many things, actually, I’ve come to appreciate in the last few days: lighting fires, chopping wood, fishing, drinking vodka, learning about the stars and about myself as well. That it’s okay not to keep to a schedule. To go with what nature throws at you. And nothing bad happened.
‘This is a coincidence,’ I smile.
‘Not really.’ Lars beams back. ‘This is the route we always take with the dogs.’
Björn is scowling again. ‘There are other routes!’ he snaps. ‘Keep those dogs under control. The last thing you want is for them to get caught in their lines and end up breaking a leg or strangling themselves.’ He’s scolding Lars just like he did me on that first day, and I realise that he too has a barrier he puts up against the outside world. It’s not just me. We’re both hiding behind our own armour. I just wonder what Björn is hiding from and why he dislikes Lars so much.
I turn to watch him. He’s taking himself off into the trees, swinging his axe, looking for firewood no doubt. Either that or he’s planning something far more murderous. He couldn’t actually . . . like me like that, could he? Wouldn’t he have kissed me in the snow mound back at the Sami village? Is that why he doesn’t like Lars? Because he thinks I might get together with him? I have no idea what is going on in this man’s head.
I try and think back to last night. He didn’t touch me in bed. He didn’t make a move at all. I thought it was because he didn’t fancy me, that the near kiss was just an accident, that it was in my head. But could it be that he doesn’t think I’m ready to be with someone else, or maybe . . . maybe he isn’t either? I remember crossing the river, how proud he was of me. I recall how he told me to think of a particular food when I wanted to remember the one I loved, and I find myself thinking of reindeer and sauce, no matter how hard I try and taste roast chicken.
‘I came to find you,’ says Lars. ‘You left early, and what with you having to share a room . . .’
‘Ha! I’ve shared smaller spaces with Björn!’ I watch his big shoulders swinging the axe at an overhanging branch. He steps back as it falls into the clearing and glances at me briefly, and I blush and look away, then take a huge breath. ‘It’s not like that,’ I say, feeling awkward and very embarrassed. ‘I’m not with anyone. I’m widowed, Lars. I don’t have a husband working away. He died two years ago, nearly to the day.’
‘Excellent!’ he beams, then lets his face drop and says, ‘Sorry, I mean . . .’
‘It’s okay, I know what you meant. Look, I don’t know if it’s fate or whatever that brought me here. But I do know that I don’t know where I’m going from here and the thought of that is very scary. I may never fall in love again, but at least I know I have loved . . . and lost. I also know . . .’ I swallow, ‘that I’m not in love with you. You have been a great friend to me and I wish it could be you. But I know it’s not. Fate has someone else lined up for you, I’m sure.’ I feel bad hurting him. But better to let him know that even though I might have finally realised that I am single and there might be life for me after Griff, it’s not with him. I just don’t feel it.
He looks at the ground and nods. ‘I hope you’re right,’ he says. ‘There was someone I thought was right for me, but she left. I should have gone after her, but then I got thinking about my grandmother’s words and how she said to wish on a star and my lucky bell and fate would come. And then you turned up and I thought it was you!’ He drops his head. ‘But I think the one I love may actually have been and gone. Fate has passed me by.’
‘Oh Lars!’ I say, and I can’t help but hug him.
‘We should get back.’ He steps away from me and snaps back into tour guide mode. ‘We have fancy dress night in the restaurant.’
‘Goodbye, Lars,’ I say. ‘Thank you for coming to find me.’ He may have come to find me, but I think I may have found myself already.
‘Goodbye, Halley,’ he says sadly.
‘I’ll always be your friend,’ I tell him.
‘And I yours,’ he says, but right now, it isn’t a friend he needs. And I know how it feels to be in love with the thought of someone who isn’t there at all.
‘I’ll see you at the hotel,’ I tell him, ‘for the wedding,’ and he puts his cheerful host face back on and guides the team around and back through the forest towards the hotel, which feels within touching distance now.
I glance at Björn, who is walking towards me through the deep snow, axe over his shoulder, a pile of logs in the other arm.
‘Has he gone? Your friend?’
‘Yes, he’s gone. And yes, he’s a friend. But not a boyfriend. I . . . I . . .’ This is all so new to me, as new as virgin snow. The irony of that isn’t lost on me. I’m not a virgin. I’m a thirty-two-year-old woman who never thought she’d ever look at another man, let alone think about what it would be like to sleep with one. I blush like a teenager at the thought of it, at the thought of Björn walking to the sauna and then letting his towel drop, and I swallow, hard. But my cheeks carry on burning.
‘Okay,’ he says, his face lifting from its scowl but still not smiling. ‘Let’s get going.’ He checks the dogs, but turns to look at me as if wondering himself what on earth could be going on here.
‘Scared?’ I remember him saying as we crossed the river. Then, ‘Being scared is always part of the journey.’ It certainly is, I think to myself. And my cheeks blush and burn despite the cold wind and the snow starting to fall, heavier than before.
Through the big fat flakes we set off again, my heart racing. Part of me wants to turn around and run back, safe in the story that my husband is working away. And part of me wants to move on and see if there is a new life ahead of me. Björn was right. I had learnt how to survive, just not how to live. As we come out of the forest and start down a hill, the animals and sleds pick up speed again and suddenly I feel alive, very alive. I look at him and smile and he smiles back broadly. Suddenly what’s in front of me seems very exciting indeed.