‘I didn’t say Ilikehim, like him,’ she protests. ‘He’s just good company, that’s all. And it’s a work thing, really. There’s a few things I want to check out for the blog, and maybe we can have some fun along the way. I want to sample all the Lappish alcohol and get to grips with the nightlife, if there is any. Anyway, what plans have you made?’
‘Umm,’ I murmur, unsure how to describe it. We’ve come to a stop at the very edge of the busy strip of hotels and restaurants at the town centre. We need to think about catching our bus back to the resort at some point. It’s getting late, almost eight o’clock, and most places seem to be closing up for the evening.
‘Is it a date?’ Nari says, nudging me, almost making me spill the last of the tea from my paper cup.
‘No. Not a date. Just old friends. I think he feels awkward about me being here and feels obliged to show me his resort. He’s picking me up in the morning. I imagine I’ll be back by the time you set off with Niilo.’
‘O-kay,’ Nari says, with long drawn out vowels that tell me she thinks this is bull.
‘What?You saw how he was today, all rude and belligerent. Hardly the behaviour of someone who fancies me, is it? We’re friends, if that.’
I stop Nari’s eyebrow raising in its tracks by throwing a question back at her.
‘So, are you going to write about your date with Niilo on your blog?’
‘I hadn’t really considered that. I’m saying,no. That would be totally off-brand these days. It’s been years since I combined my dating stories with my travel blogging.’
I think about the comments I often see popping up on Nari’s blog posts. I’ve got my notifications set to alert me to any new posts and followers’ comments appearing on her elegant website. Her old posts are all on there, dating back years. Some of Nari’s followers from those days still remember Nari’s hilarious dating antics that first drew them to her site, they often say how they would love to see a return to the old dating blog, or a combination of the two (romance and travel) again.
‘No, whatever happens with Niilo, I’ll be keeping it strictly off public record, thanks very much,’ she says.
‘Sosomething’sgoing to happen?’ I say with a teasing laugh, wishing my lovely friend could at last have a bit of love in her life, and not just between the pages of the novels she reads. Nari’s about to tell me off, when we both hear a sublime sound, and we turn to one another, eyes wide.
‘Is someone singing?’ Nari says.
We look all around searching for the source of the soaring voice resonating in the air and the deep melodious piano sounds that seem to be rumbling through the ground beneath our feet.
‘It’s coming from over there,’ I say. ‘Through those trees.’
The church stands alone by the roadside, concealed by great Christmas trees and white-trunked birches. The timber building has a high roof pointing heavenward with a white cross on top, and looks as though it has stood on this spot for centuries in spite of its modern architecture.
Nari photographs the handwritten sign on the door using her phone, does some kind of technical jiggery-pokery, and magically translates the words.
‘It says it’s open and all are welcome, apparently. There’s a rehearsal for a new year’s concert going on. Shall we?’
She’s already got her hand on the glass and is pushing her way inside. The heavy door creaks as I pass through it and we come to a stop in the wide vestibule. I’m hit by the comforting array of smells; wood polish mingling with recently struck matches and candle wax, and there’s something sweet baking somewhere, and the roasted, savoury smell of coffee.
An elderly man greets us and points towards the next set of doors. Neither of us know exactly what he said, but we get the gist that we’re to go inside and investigate where the music is coming from, which we gladly do.
Nobody notices us as we sneak into the high-ceilinged chapel just as the music swells to a climax. We pull our hats off and grab two of the very few unoccupied chairs which are set out in rows, and we become part of the congregation.
A bearded man in jeans and a baggy cream jumper with a golden woollen cross on the front is standing on a raised stage in front of the pulpit. He’s wearing a Madonna-style headset and microphone which is sending his calm, steady voice over the church’s speakers as he leads the rehearsal. I’m guessing he’s the priest – or he’s just really into statement knitwear. He twinkles his eyes at us to signal that we’re welcome and we settle in to listen to the singing.
The elderly man who met us at the door shuffles in holding a violin and makes his way onto the stage, where he is joined by a little girl, who can only be about ten years old. The knitted vicar helps her arrange her sheet music on the rack above the piano keys. As she sits down to play, some unseen person dims the lights. The room darkens and a spotlight shines onto the stage. The fairy lights from the Christmas tree by the pulpit glow out in the half light.
There is silence in the audience as the vicar says a few words to the child and she nods before spreading her fingers over the keys and beginning to play. The vicar takes a guitar from behind the piano and sits on a chair by the Christmas tree, waiting for his cue to join in.
I close my eyes as the room fills with a beautiful melody. I hear the violin and guitar strings join in after a few moments as the introduction swells, and I’m aware suddenly of the sounds of people rising to their feet around us. My eyes flick open and I find I’m the only person still sitting; even Nari has sprung up and is looking around, a little alarmed that we’re expected to sing any moment now.
The congregation opens its voice and they sing in festive accord. Whatever it is they’re singing, it’s beautiful. There’s nothing Nari and I can do but sway gently to the music and try to hum along – singing is difficult when you don’t speak the language. The young couple next to Nari notice we’re clueless and pass us one of the songbooks, but looking at the Finnish words on the page, we’re still just as lost.
The sounds rise and fall and I look over the heads of the singing crowd at the huge windows at the back of the stage. There’s no stained glass in this church, instead there’s something far prettier; towering clear glass with a view beyond of the snowy churchyard with a cluster of Christmas trees resplendent in strands of shining white lights.
I smile at Nari and think how, for the first time since we arrived, I can truly feel my Christmas spirits revived. Here amongst the strangers making music, I’m somehow at home and completely, utterly peaceful; something I haven’t felt for many months.
The tall candles lining the walls flicker, and I find myself staring at their dancing light reflected in the windows, and I try to sing along without knowing the words. It doesn’t matter, I just want to sing.
After three more songs, and quite a lot of sitting down and standing up again, an exuberant round of applause signals it’s the end of the rehearsal, and I feel myself waking as if I’d slept and dreamt the whole thing.
