I find my cabin – or couchette, as they call it – which has six bunks, three down each side. Thankfully, I’m on a bottom one. I sit by the window and stare out at the cold snowy darkness, wishing I was . . . well, anywhere but here. Back in my nice hotel room would do the trick, having room-service dinner and a glass of wine. It’s coming up for 6:30 in the evening but it feels like the middle of the night. Lars drove me to the station and helped me with my ticket, promising he’d say nothing to anyone about the mislaid rings!
I shut my eyes. I wish I had my travel log with me right now. I start to imagine that I’m writing in it. I’m writing about how clean Swedish trains are. I’m writing about the various types of cake, traditionally seven varieties, I was offered with my fika and how the custom is considered a leveller within industry here in Sweden. The workers and bosses all meet for fika, a chance to talk, relax and exchange ideas and news over coffee and cake – not some kind of seedy Swedish massage as was my first thought!
Then I try and remember how the pages of the book smell, closing my eyes and breathing in deeply. The aromas of the trips I’ve taken since I started this job two years ago. The fragrance of herbs as you step out of the plane onto the warm tarmac in Crete, the pine trees of the south of France, the canals in Venice and the car fumes and seasickness on the cross-Channel ferry. Two years since I walked out of my old life at Dionysus Travel, picked up my case on wheels and my travel log and started on this one.
I let myself sink into the comfort of the train seat, eyes shut. I’d google the route if I wasn’t trying to save my battery. Argh! How could I have let this happen? I’m so cross with myself. I’m usually so organised. What will the office say if they find out? What will Sign-Off Sybil say? And more importantly, Mansel. I’ll never get that long-haul job, wherever it may be, if I make a mess of this one . . . in fact, I may not hang onto my job at all if Mansel finds out I’ve failed to deliver the wedding rings on time. And what if I’ve actually lost them? No, don’t even think like that, I tell myself, taking a deep breath as I feel the train pull smoothly out of the station. It’ll be fine. I just have to find this man, this Daniel Nuhtte at his restaurant in Stockholm, and return his bag and pick up mine. He’s probably been trying to ring the airline too. He’ll be extremely pleased I’ve gone to all this effort. Of course he’ll want his bag back, it’s got his . . . I think about the contents of his bag: a few clothes, a toothbrush, but there’s that recipe book with the cuttings in it. If it’s actually as personal as I think it is, he’s going to be very glad to get it back.
I settle even further into my seat and look out at the passing countryside. The snow is falling like little pieces of powdered glass and the moon is throwing a strange silver-blue light from behind the snowy clouds. I resist the temptation to take out my phone and photograph it, reminding myself that with my charger in my case, I can’t afford to use the phone for anything other than essentials.
I close my eyes again and finally let sleep in. By the time I wake up, I’ll be in Stockholm and on my way to finding my bag and getting this trip back on schedule.
‘Hey! Give me back my ears!’
I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep when I’m woken by someone shouting. My eyes ping open to see an elf in a pointed green hat standing in the doorway, another elf behind him, this time female, both of them balancing large rucksacks on their backs. The female elf is laughing as she brandishes a pair of plastic ears, which the male elf is trying to grab with the playfulness of a puppy.
‘I want to keep these safe. I want my children to know I was one of Santa’s elves in Lapland!’
I take a moment to process this information. Perhaps I’m still asleep, and dreaming. I look out of the window. We’ve stopped at a small, snowy station where people are boarding the train, and I realise I’m awake after all, and that we haven’t gone that far. I look back at the elves, who are still bickering good-naturedly.
‘Oh yes, and one day when you’re being interviewed for your latest blockbuster movie on the red carpet, you can say how it all started with a Christmas job you saw advertised in The Stage.’
‘There are worse ways to get your Equity card!’
The pair of them bundle into the carriage, followed by another girl, similarly dressed, knocking into each other with their rucksacks, which they remove awkwardly and shove under the lower bunks.
‘Sorry,’ says one of the girls as I have to lift my legs for her to get her bag beneath the seat.
I raise a hand, telling her it’s no problem.
‘Well I’m not looking for any more acting jobs. It was fun but I’m not doing another season of kids kicking my shins when they didn’t get the present they wanted from Santa,’ says the second young woman, taking a seat opposite me.
‘And when you asked them if anyone could think of a joke when I took them on the Santa trail, you’d be amazed how many came up with totally unsuitable ones. I had to start singing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” to cover the punchlines!’ says the man, settling in next to her. ‘Now, who’s for poker and vodka shots!’ He pulls a bottle from his bag. ‘Let’s toast the end of a great holiday season. And to next year!’
I smile at them and lean my head against the window, shutting my eyes again. Not such a quiet trip after all.
‘Come on, Holly, have a drink,’ says one of the girls. ‘You’ll feel better after a few shots!’
‘Oh, I don’t think I’m up for it, guys. I just . . .’ Her friend trails off, like something has caught in her throat, a tear or two maybe. I keep my eyes shut. ‘It’s just, well, y’know . . . I thought he was different, special.’ She lets out a big sob, and my eyes fly open at the familiar sound. A huge, heart-stopping gulp that takes your breath away, making you judder as if expelling the loss you feel, though you never actually do.
The other two gather around her on the opposite bunk, wrapping arms around her shoulders from either side. I try to make myself as invisible as possible, not wanting to intrude. I sit still and look straight out of the window, although of course I can see the trio’s reflection there in the glass.
Holly sniffs and drops her head.
‘Hey!’ the other young woman says. ‘I know how you feel, but this is how it goes at the end of the season. You had great fun . . .’
‘If it’s any consolation, me and Mrs Claus have finished too,’ says the young man. ‘She’s gone back to the States and her college studies. But we’re planning to meet up again next year.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be back. I just couldn’t bear it if he’d, y’know, met someone else and moved on.’ She lets out another sob.
‘Have you got a tissue, Matty?’ the second girl asks.
‘No, but you can use my sleeve. I won’t be wearing this again for a while.’ The man holds out his arm, clad in a Christmas jumper.
‘No, wait! I think I’ve got one,’ I say, admiring his selflessness but not keen on a sleeve being used as a tissue. I look in my little travel handbag and find a small packet. ‘Here.’ I pull out a tissue and hand one over.
‘Thank you,’ says Holly. ‘And, um, sorry,’ she adds.
‘Oh, don’t be sorry.’ I wave a hand, and as I go back to looking out of the window, I hear a reassuringly big and loud blow into the tissue.
‘If you feel that way about him, why didn’t you tell him?’ Holly’s friend asks.
‘Oh, he had this thing about fate bringing him the love of his life. He said he really cared about me, but well, it was like he was too scared to commit, in case he got it wrong.’
‘Pah!’ says her friend. ‘If you think he’s the one, you should tell him.’
I think about when I first met Griff. It was him that did all the running. We met in the pub where my mum worked, on New Year’s Eve. He was visiting a friend from his regiment. Midnight came and we kissed and I wanted it to last forever. But then he got dragged off to a party with his friend and I didn’t think I’d see him again. But he tracked me down and came back to ask my mum to put us in touch. She checked with me first. I’ll never forget her texting me, saying, There’s some bloke here says he met you on New Year’s Eve, and I knew exactly who she meant. That was ten years ago. I was probably the same age Holly is now. New Year’s Eve will always be special.
‘Here, keep the packet,’ I tell her, handing it over. ‘It’s none of my business, but . . .’
Holly looks at me.
‘Sorry, it really is none of my business.’ I wave a hand. It’s not my place to be telling people what to do.
‘No, please, what?’
‘Well, it’s just . . . I just think that if you believe you’ve found love, you should grab it with both hands. It might sound silly, but love is precious, and rare. Don’t miss your chance if you think he’s the one,’ I finish.
The elves fall silent as we gather speed and leave the snowy north behind, and Holly’s heart looks as if it’s slowly breaking.
‘Shot?’ Matty interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to see him holding the bottle in one hand and a little glass in the other, a wide smile on his face. ‘We’re toasting the end of our season working at Santa’s grotto,’ he says.
‘So the ears aren’t just for fancy dress then?’ I say.
‘A souvenir!’ He beams.
‘So what happens now?’ I ask.
‘See what’s around, auditions, but for most of us it’s onto the cruise liners, singing or dancing. Go on, have a drink,’ he adds.
I look at the glass. Well, why not? I thank him and take it.
‘Now, know any good Santa jokes?’ He laughs loudly and looks at me expectantly. Even Holly is smiling, despite her red nose. It’s going to be a long and interesting night, I think, and rack my brains for the best Christmas joke I can think of.
‘It’s not a Santa one, but here goes. What did one snowman say to the other?’
‘I don’t know, what did one snowman say to the other?’ Matty says loudly in full pantomime voice, making me smile.
‘Can you smell carrot?’
‘Whoa!’ He roars with laughter and the other two join in. ‘Skål!!’ he says, pointing to my glass. ‘Drink, drink! It’s the only way to pass the vargtimmen!’
‘The vargtimmen,’ he repeats with a wicked smile. ‘Wolf-time here in Sweden. The menacing hours of night before dawn,’ he explains.
I look out into the blackness, and then pull down the blind and drink another shot.
After I lose count of how many shots I’ve had, I attempt to sleep on my bunk. I listen to Holly’s quiet sobs and think about the tears I shed every time Griff went back on tour, and about the tears of joy when we married and when he finally said he was going to retire from the forces.
I wake to the sound of an announcement letting us know that we’re arriving in Stockholm. Bleary, and with a banging headache, I quickly find my bag – well, Daniel Nuhtte’s bag – the recipe book safely zipped into the front pocket. My travelling companions, Santa’s elves, begin to wake, not half as bleary as me. That’s what a ten-year age gap does, I think. I was them once! But now I need a bottle of water and a couple of painkillers. I pull up the blind and squint out of the window, hoping ‘wolf time’ is over. It’s still not quite light, but the street lamps make me feel like I’m back in the real world.
‘So, you on your way home?’ Matty stretches and yawns.
‘Um, actually, I’m looking for this place.’ I show him the picture of the Michelin-starred restaurant from the newspaper cutting.
Matty turns to his friend – not Holly, who is looking tired but better than last night, but the other girl, Liv, who it turns out has lived in Stockholm. ‘You know your way around,’ he says. ‘Know this place?’
‘Oh yes, shouldn’t be too hard,’ she replies. ‘It’s really well known. I can show you on Google Maps,’ she adds, taking charge of my phone.
As we draw into the station, Holly looks at me and then, surprisingly, hugs me. I’m not a hugging person, but somehow this hug has an awful lot of unsaid words in it and I return it, hoping she finds some comfort there. Then I bid them all goodbye and make my way off the train in the direction of the restaurant.
Everything is back on track, I think, breathing a big sigh of relief. In just a few hours I’ll be back at the hotel in Tallfors, delivering the rings and signing off on this job, and that’ll be the last I’ll see of snow and ice for a very long time. I keep my fingers crossed that Holly finds exactly what she’s looking for too.