‘Some kind of virus,’ I finally hear Lars saying. ‘They can’t trace anything, not a thing.’ I look at him, this complete stranger, realising that for once, all my forward planning and schedules are completely useless. ‘What am I going to do?’
He smiles his optimistic smile. ‘Well, as my grandmother always said, fate will find a way.’
‘I’m really sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t believe in fate. All I know is that I need to find a way to retrieve my bag. I need to find the owner of this bag, because if I’ve got his bag, he’s obviously got mine.’
‘Well, do you have an address?’
‘I’ll look . . .’ I quickly put the case on the desk and start unzipping it. Suddenly there’s a cacophony of sound from the foyer.
‘If we hadn’t had to wait for your mother to come out of the toilets at the airport, we might have made it here while it was still light! Who goes to the toilet and locks themselves in for two hours? I mean, I’ve heard of waiting around in departures, but never in arrivals!’
‘Shh, Nan! She’s upset. She’s had a shock, that’s all. She’s just taking time to adjust.’
‘Adjust? From the look on her face, I’d say it’s more than adjusting. She looks like rigor mortis has set in.’
‘The wedding party!’ Lars beams and turns towards the door.
‘Wait, Lars. I really need your help,’ I say as I take a deep breath and start to rummage through the clothing in the case. ‘Please, don’t tell anyone I’m here.’
He cocks his head, but agrees.
‘I’ll be back,’ he says. ‘I just have to check in the wedding party and see them to their rooms. Sounds like they’ve had some problems. But they are here now and that’s all that matters . . . just like you,’ he says triumphantly.
‘No, wait, Lars, I think you’re mistaking me for someone . . .’ But he’s gone.
‘Hallå, välkommen to Tallfors, and the Tallfors Hotel. Tallfors means tall pines beside a fast-flowing river’ – he holds out a hand to the snowy trees outside – ‘and I am Lars, your concierge and tour guide for the week.’
I sigh and stare helplessly at the bag while Lars explains the itinerary he has lined up for the guests, involving a week of outdoor activities for the families to get to know each other before the wedding at the weekend. Sounds fun, if you like outdoorsy stuff.
Slowly I extend a shaking hand to the bag and lift the lid, standing back holding a hotel biro in front of me in the other like a stick, as if expecting to find a large snake curled in amongst the clothes. I flip the lid back quickly and start to move and lift the clothing with the biro; men’s clothing, I conclude, spotting the dreaded boxer shorts at the bottom of the bag and avoiding them. Once again I am enveloped in the smell of woodsmoke and pine forests – how I imagine a scene from a Christmas card would smell. Maybe how the great outdoors outside this hotel would smell, not that I want to hang around to find out. I want to find my bag and get going. Christmas-card scenes are for people who have something to celebrate, someone they want to be with. I prefer to work over Christmas and take the jobs that other people don’t want. My sister wasn’t very happy about that. Both she and Mum wanted me to spend the festive period with them, but I was happy to work, to keep on the move. The last thing I wanted was time to sit and reflect. Christmas to me feels a bit like life: full of promises that sometimes Santa just can’t deliver.
I close the lid and look for an address label. Nothing. From the outside, the case is just the same as mine, and a sinking feeling washes over me. If I’m going through his bag and his underwear . . . is he going through mine? I shiver. He could be anyone! And if he is going through my bag, has he found the rings? If so, has he realised how valuable they are? Is he trying to get in touch? Or will he call my office and tell them what he’s found, which means I’ll have to own up to what has happened.
‘It’s no good, Gerald, I can’t stay. I want to get the first flight home,’ I hear a strained voice say.
‘Oh no, please, Mum . . .’
‘Sylvia, I really think you just need to not overreact,’ a deep voice says, and I realise this must be Gerald, Mansel’s friend. I freeze. I can’t go out there. I can’t let them see me when I don’t have the rings.
‘How can you expect me to stay after what I’ve just discovered?’ Sylvia hisses. ‘Did everyone else know already? I expect they’re all laughing at me. Mother of the bride, last to find out, because her daughter knew how she’d react!’
‘Let me get you all checked in.’ Lars is there, trying to smooth over whatever crisis has hit the wedding party.
‘Please, could you book me a flight back to Stockholm, and a taxi too,’ I hear Sylvia saying.
‘Oh no, Mum. Why can’t you just be happy for me, like Mika’s family?’
‘Because you should have told me!’
‘And I knew you’d react like this!’
I look through the open door at the short, plump and very beautiful young woman with dyed deep-red hair, bosoms like plump pillows and a bottom to match. Her mother, taller than her daughter, is thin, with neat short streaked hair, her pearls sitting just above a pale-blue pashmina. The atmosphere is as frosty as the air outside. Obviously the row has been going on all the way from the airport.
‘This is ridiculous! A farce!’ Sylvia says in hushed but forced tones.
I look at the bride’s face, etched with worry and strain. I remember the stress of getting my own wedding organised, and feel for her. And now I’m going to have to tell her I’ve . . . mislaid the rings! I swallow and take a deep breath.
‘You had a wonderful boyfriend in Rob. He had a great job, good prospects, and you left him and broke his heart. I don’t what you’re thinking. It’s madness. Who’s going to look after you now?’
‘I didn’t leave Rob and break his heart. And I don’t need looking after. I can look after myself! Rob and I split up. We didn’t want the same things. And then . . . I just fell in love.’
Sylvia sniffs, then turns her attention back to Lars. ‘Please, a flight.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘but all flights are cancelled. I have just contacted the airline on behalf of another guest . . .’
Please don’t tell them why, Lars, I silently implore him.
‘. . . but the computers are down and flights are grounded.’
‘Look, let’s just get to our room. You’ll feel better after a gin and tonic,’ Gerald says.
‘Not at these prices!’ Sylvia snaps, and Lars quickly books them in and hands over the keys. ‘At least if she’d married Rob we’d know who was paying for what! And I’d’ve made sure it was somewhere cheaper than Sweden!’
I turn back to the case. There has to be some clue in here! Suddenly I feel it. The sharp corner of a book in the front pocket. The one I had assumed was my travel log. Quickly I pull it out. It’s handwritten, similar to mine, but it’s full of what look to be recipes. And there are newspaper cuttings too. Bingo! I breathe a sigh of relief.
I flick through the pages. The recipes are in various languages – English, Swedish and French by the looks of it. It’s covered in splashes and stains and has small writing in the margins and arrows pointing at different parts of the recipes. There are sketches, too. I turn to the back of the book, where I spotted the newspaper cuttings. They’re reviews of a restaurant, in Stockholm, Michelin-starred by the looks of it, and they mention a man called Daniel Nuhtte. In that moment I realise where my bag must have gone missing. At the airport café back in Stockholm, when the Frenchman tried to chat me up. He must be Daniel, and he has my bag!
Now all I have to do is work out how to get in contact with him. I try ringing the restaurant number, but there’s no reply. I put the phone down in frustration, then look around for Lars. I go to wave to him but am stopped in my tracks. The short, plump bride is wiping away tears and Lars is making his way round the reception desk, handing her a tissue.
‘Hey, don’t worry,’ he tells her. ‘As my grandmother always said, fate will find a way.’ I shake my head at this man’s belief in fate, but also smile at his kindness.
Standing next to the bride is a taller woman, blond hair tied back, wearing a cream ski jacket that hugs her slim figure.
‘Please don’t cry,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry it was such a shock to your mother. My family have always known, but for you, well . . .’
‘I just fell in love. It didn’t matter whether you were a man or a woman; it’s you I fell in love with. Why can’t my mum see that? I’m so embarrassed by how she reacted at the airport. I thought that once she met you, she would get over the shock and be pleased for us.’
I want to step out of the office and hug the pair of them. I can’t imagine how they must be feeling. My mum took to Griff straight away, like he was her own son. The taller woman hugs her fiancée.
‘Don’t worry. It’s you I’m marrying, not your mum,’ she tries to joke in her strong Swedish accent. ‘It’s you I love. And when we exchange those rings that we made and engraved together, we will tell the world how we feel about each other. We will be a family together and only death will part us.’ She wraps her arms around the shorter woman and pulls her to her like she’s never going to let her go, and I feel every bit of that hug.
Tears spring to my eyes and I quickly try and brush them away. Oh God, they made and engraved those rings themselves, and I’ve lost them! I have to put this right!
Lars steps forward with a smile and hands them both more tissues.
Once he has organised all the guests to rooms and chalets, including Nan and a very reluctant Sylvia, I finally step out of the office, case in hand.
‘So, how are you getting on? Do you know where your bag is?’ He beams. ‘Can I help?’ he asks, as if he has answers for all kinds of problems.
I nod. ‘Lars, I think I’ve found my man!’
‘You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words,’ he says joyfully. ‘My grandmother assured me that when one door slams in your face, a window opens.’
‘Not you, Lars!’
And his face actually drops.
‘Living in Lapland, it’s not easy to meet people. Tinder can be limiting in a population of five hundred and twenty-three. You have to first check you’re not related. One site kept telling me that me and my aunt Agnes were a perfect match!’ He laughs, but it quickly peters out. ‘But even if you do meet someone you think is the one, it doesn’t mean they’ll stay with you. Tallfors isn’t for everyone.’ His smile slips for just a moment and there seems to be real hurt behind those eyes. But then he shakes himself and beams even wider than before.
‘I need to get to Stockholm, Lars. That’s where my bag is, I know it. Back where I started. I’ve tried to call, but there’s no reply. I need to go now.’
‘Stockholm?’
I nod again.
‘Or you could just wait here with me until the planes move again. We could get you another wedding outfit. There’s a store in the town, I could drive you.’
I can’t help but smile. I need this man’s help, however quirky he might be, going on about his grandmother and doors closing and windows opening. I think of the two brides, and the mother, so unhappy that her daughter just wants to celebrate being in love. I need to find that bag.
‘I’m not a wedding guest, Lars. I’m delivering the rings.’
‘Ah.’ He nods.
‘The wedding rings that were in my case, Lars.’ He looks blank for a moment. ‘The one that’s been swapped!’
He finally gets it, and his face drops and is serious.
‘I have to find my bag!’ I follow up.
He nods, then tips his head. ‘Well, there is another way.’
‘Tell me, Lars, how can I get to Stockholm to get my bag?’
‘Night train. I can take you to the station. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll come back, right?’ He smiles and nods.
‘Night train,’ I repeat. I think about the two brides, who clearly have enough to worry about already without me losing their wedding rings, which obviously mean so much to them. ‘Night train it is then. I have to do everything I can to find that bag.’
At least I have an address for the restaurant, and this time tomorrow I should have my bag and the rings back in my possession and no one will be any the wiser – not my boss, my boss’s friend or the brides, no one. Tomorrow I will have delivered the rings and this job will just be a funny story to write up in my travel log. I have to go and find Daniel Nuhtte. Stockholm, here I come.