Dear Griff, I write, leaning on the back of Björn’s cookery book in my lap, drawing comfort from it, feeling him close to me. My hands are cold and it’s hard to write small in gloves, but I only have one page left in my booklet. Still, it has to be right. I cross out the Dear and write Dearest Griff instead.
A noise behind me makes me jump, but it’s just Rocky reaching into the branches of a nearby tree and pulling at the lichen there, bringing a great clump of snow with it, showering himself and making him look as if he’s had a dusting of icing sugar.
What can I say about this trip? That it’s been the trip of a lifetime? It’s certainly been that . . . As I write, I think about my arrival at the Tallfors Hotel and meeting Lars. I have to tell you about Lars. He is one of the most lovely people I have ever met. He’s kind, funny, makes me laugh . . . a bit like you. But he’s not you. No one will ever be you. There will never be another Griff.
You would have loved this place, I continue. I write about the forest and my first day. How I was determined to push on; how I nearly lost the dogs; the ice road over the frozen lake, and the river. I look up at the sky and see that even more stars have appeared, like a child’s painting liberally covered in bright silver glitter. Some people think the stars aren’t really stars, but little holes in the sky so the ones we love can keep an eye on us. I try and work out where I’ve heard that, then smile as I remember: a cartoon sent to me by my sister.
I recall what Björn said as we looked at the stars in the Sami village: ‘That’s the thing when you go looking for something like the Northern Lights. You’re so busy chasing what you’d like to have, you miss what’s right under your nose.’ I remember telling Pru’s mother that we should make the most of love when we find it, and I also recall the guilt I felt afterwards. I know now I have to stop running and hiding, I write. I can’t feel guilty for being alive or for feeling again. I will never forget you. You are a part of me. But I need to stop just surviving and start living.
It’s really bright now with so many stars in the sky. I decide to do a check on the herd just to be sure. I switch on my head torch and pick up the other big torch. I put my hand to my little knife in its cover in my pocket, and look over at the gun that Björn has left with me. Then I put on my snow shoes and step out into the dark, silent forest.
The reindeer all seem settled, and I find the familiar sound of them snuffling in the snow comforting. It’s just them and me. On my own. The one thing I’ve avoided doing for two whole years. But I know in my heart that no matter how hard I’ve tried to surround myself with people, that’s exactly what I have been: on my own. I’ve pushed everyone away. I pull out my phone to see if I can text home. But there’s no signal, otherwise Björn would have been in touch. I hope he’s okay. I really couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to him.
I care, I realise. I really care. Am I about to be punished for finally falling for someone again? When I said I’d love Griff forever, does that mean I’m never to be allowed to love anyone else? What if Björn doesn’t come back, like Griff? What if it happens again? I’m not sure I could bear it! I shouldn’t have let him into my heart. That way I couldn’t get hurt again.
I need something else to think about. I start counting the reindeer, in Swedish, grouping them in tens and then remembering the one we lost. Respect the animal, I hear Björn saying. Its life cannot have been in vain. Its purpose now is to feed and clothe us, to make sure that we survive and look after the rest of the herd. It’s all about teamwork out here.
And Griff’s life can’t be in vain either. I can’t let his memory be about the sadness his death has brought. ‘I want to celebrate your life, not keep mourning it,’ I say to the stars. ‘I think you’d want me to be happy, not feel sad all the time.’ I think about Lars, who made me laugh. ‘You wanted me to be brave and that’s what I thought I was doing, always on the move. But really being brave is this: allowing myself to stand still, to think about you, to think about how much I miss you . . . and to let you go.’
I walk back round to the opening of the lavvu, slip off my snow shoes and stoke the fire, then sit back down at the entrance overlooking the tundra spilling away in front of me and pick up my pen and paper. Big fat tears hit the page in front of me and make the ink run, but I don’t care. No one is ever going to read this . . . no one is ever going to read any of what I’ve written. It was just part of the journey.
Thank you . . . thank you for being in my life, and thank you for the book that was my journey. Without it, I don’t know what I would have done.
My writing is getting smaller and smaller. I pull off my gloves, despite the cold. I need to get these words out. But the book is nearly full. Will I get another one, I wonder, for my next journey? Am I going to make it to the wedding on time, so that Mansel Knott will trust me with the long-haul job? I still have bills to pay. I bite my lip. Or I could go for the job my sister has sent. Maybe that’s what I’m meant to do now. Go home and put down roots. Sell up and move somewhere smaller, closer to the family, somewhere I could love again.
I look up again. The sky seems to be turning a lighter shade of blue, still scattered with sequin stars. A sky that has started to feel so familiar to me now. I remember how I felt when I got here, almost scared of its unknown expanse. But I’m not scared now. I look up at the stars and hope that Griff is looking down through those chinks of light in the dark curtain between us and knows I’m all right. I’m doing okay, Griff, I tell him; more than okay.
‘The stars are always there, familiar and reassuring, ready to guide you,’ Björn told me back in the Sami village. So . . . Björn. There is nothing else to do here but think. Yes, I couldn’t stand him to start with, and yes, that’s all changed. How do I feel? Would Griff be cross if I told him that I thought I could really like this guy . . . that maybe I’ve fallen in love with him, and that the thought of anything happening to him out there this evening is killing me? If only I could have a sign, ridiculous as it sounds, just to know that he approves, that he wants me to move on.
I reach the bottom of the page. I will always love you, Griff. But I know I have to say goodbye, I write, and sign it with as many kisses as I can squeeze in before I finally run out of space on the page. As I look up to stop any more tears falling, the sky suddenly changes and a ghost-like shaft of green light appears. Then just as quickly, it vanishes, and I wonder if I imagined it.
I wrap my sleeping bag around me and pull my gloves back on. The fire is lit but I don’t want to shut the lavvu door yet. I want to keep looking out for signs. Florá and Erik snuggle into me, and I’m so grateful to have them here by my side, keeping me warm and keeping me company. I hold them both tight. I’m not sure what I’d do if another wolverine attacked the herd. I look at the gun. Yes, I do . . . I’d have a damn good try at saving them. Because out here, living for now, that’s what’s most important. I’m living in the present, not the past or the future, wondering where my next destination is going to be. On my own, in the middle of the Arctic wilderness! And actually, I realise, although I’m scared, I’m not running away any more.
Suddenly the green light on the horizon appears again, like it’s popped up from its hiding place. As it dances across the sky like a soft green scarf caught on the wind, more shafts of green light appear, and then purple ones too. Before I know it, the sky is full of light, and I feel the delight of a child watching a magic show. I’m laughing, I realise, and crying at the same time. It’s utterly beautiful. I look for my book to write it down, but the book is full. This is just for me to remember. Maybe Lars was right. Maybe there is such a thing as fate . . . a sign after all.
‘Thank you,’ I say out loud to Griff. ‘Thank you for the time we had together, and for showing me that it’s time to move on. That it’s okay to fall in love.’ I sniff and hug the dogs draped across my lap, sitting in the doorway of the tent surrounded by the herd. And although I’m alone, I think I may be happier than I have been for a very long time.
I don’t intend to sleep. I want to sit and watch this night sky forever. It feels like a great big hug wrapping itself around me, and bizarrely, I don’t feel scared any more. I feel very much alive; happy that I stopped writing and looked up, just like Björn told me to. I want to enjoy this, even though it feels like my last goodbye to Griff. My book is full. I’ve said all I can say to him, except . . . and I know now that he wants me to do this as I sit and watch the lights and say, ‘And now, if you can, bring Björn back safely to me.’ And the lights seem to shine even brighter than before, as if showing me the way ahead, and I hug the dogs tight and smile a watery smile up at the sky.