‘What?’ Stellan’s eyes crinkle and he laughs a deep, delighted laugh.
‘Uh, nothing.’
I clamber into the sleigh, which is a far bigger, more enclosed affair than the dog sled of yesterday and Stellan sits me down on the seat. Plonking himself beside me, he pulls a blanket over our legs.
‘You ready?’ he asks, still grinning, and I nod because I can’t seem to get any words out right this second.
He calls out to the reindeer and jolts the reins, and we start to move off, and for a millisecond, I let myself be taken by the fancy that the reindeer’s hooves are silently treading air and the sleigh is lifting off the ground. Why not, I ask you? This is a place where the sky turns to green and gold rippling liquid fluorescence at night, and where the sun doesn’t rise for days in the depths of December, so why can’t other unbelievable, beautiful, thrilling things happen here? Why the hell not a reindeer-led sleigh dashing across an indigo sky?
As we fly, Stellan reaches an arm around my shoulder, stopping just before his hand makes contact with my arm to ask, ‘Is this all right?’ When I tell him it is, he pulls me close and I lean into him, letting Christmas Eve and the warmth of this man so close to me, work their magic.
‘Wow!’ A big puff of white breathy steam escapes my gaping mouth as I enter the igloo and stand staring in wonder. ‘This is incredible.’
Stellan hangs back a few feet behind me as I take it all in: gleaming ice sculptures of bears, wolves, arctic hares and grouse; great slabs of ice formed into tables and chairs, somehow illuminated from within by blue and green lights; and in the centre of the white, glistening room, a bar, all made from ice and stocked with colourful bottles of spirits. If anything, it’s colder in here than it was outside and I daren’t take off my hat or gloves.
When I look back at Stellan, he’s watching me and grinning.
‘You like it?’ he asks.
‘It’s amazing. Is it part of the resort?’
The reindeer ride lasted only a few minutes so we’re not that far away, but this huge ice building in the forest clearing feels impossibly remote. And we’re the only ones here.
‘Uh-huh. It’s one of my additions to my parents’ business. I have it rebuilt every November and it operates until March. The visitors enjoy it.’ Stellan pulls off his gloves and makes towards the bar. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘It’s not even lunch time.’
‘What time is it in England?
‘About nine-thirty. Nice try.’ I see him reveal a bottle of champagne from somewhere behind the bar and I relent. ‘Well, it is Christmas Eve.’
Stellan smiles and reaches down behind the bar again, this time bringing up a tray of glass tea light holders. I watch as he takes a match to each of the little candles and dots them around the bar, and I join in, helping him place one on every table. Their flickering light makes the snowy walls and white curved ceiling high above our heads glisten as though it were studded with tiny diamonds.
I hear the champagne cork popping as I sit on the tall barstool – yet another lump of ice strewn over with blankets. Happily, I feel nothing of the icy block through my snowsuit.
‘Your parents must be really proud of you,’ I say.
‘I hope so. They were glad to retire and leave the resort in my care.’ Stellan’s carefully pouring out the bubbly into tall glasses. I can smell its festive crispness from over here, the air is so clean and scentless.
‘You said they were in Helsinki. How often do you see them?’
‘I visit for a week in the summer, but there’s a lot of maintenance and planning to do here off season, and we’re always busy with walking parties once the snow clears, so my parents fly out to visit me here too.’
‘To keep an eye on their empire?’ I wink, as Stellan comes round the bar and joins me and we touch our glasses together. ‘Cheers.’
‘Kippis.’ He looks me dead in the eye as he sips his drink, but he doesn’t sit down.
The bubbly hits my bloodstream and instantly makes my limbs tingle and fizz. It tastes delicious and expensive. Stellan smiles as he watches me. He always did love seeing me enjoying something, especially food and drink.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asks, giving me the curious notion that he can read my thoughts.
He’s on the move again and is back a moment later with a dish of chocolate truffles and pink cubes dusted with icing sugar. This time, he takes the seat next to mine.
‘Is that Turkish Delight? Very Narnia, Stellan.’
He cocks his head, missing the reference, and watches as I lift a squishy square to my lips. I’ve never been a fan of Turkish Delight, it somehow puts me in mind of the inside of a granny’s handbag, but this stuff is nothing but melt-in-the-mouth delicate rose deliciousness.
‘I felt bad about thesalmiakki, so I got you these to tell you I’m sorry. I said I’d make it up to you.’ He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he too takes a bite and nods approvingly. For a moment we just enjoy the sweetness.
