It was impossible to hold anything resembling a conversation and, after a while, Niilo observed Nari’s pose of contented poise and excitement fade. She was the one who suggested they leave.
‘I’m sorry. You said you wanted nightlife and I thought you’d enjoy it, or at least… find it interesting enough to write about,’ Niilo said as the heavy doors slammed shut behind them, leaving them peering into the darkness of the car park and hurriedly pulling on hats and gloves. Nari protested that, on the contrary, it had been fantastic, but they both knew the evening was over.
The only respite from the awkward silence of their drive back to Frozen Falls is the soothing sounds of a Finnish talk show on the truck’s crackling radio. Overburdened by disappointment and shock, Niilo barely hears it. He’s absorbed in the task of trying to comprehend what just happened. Where had their crystal clear connection gone? Why could he not reach Nari today, make her laugh, get her to open up, as he had done the day before? Was it possible his instincts really had been wrong? Why would they fail him now, when so much seemed to be at stake, when he was driving the most incredible, wonderful, interesting person he had ever met back to her cabin and most probably wouldn’t see her again after tonight?
He ruminated as he drove, while Nari, resting her head against the taut seatbelt strap, let her tired eyes close. She drifted off to sleep, not knowing the torment in Niilo’s heart.
His voice was low and soft as he woke her. ‘We’re home.’
Home. How desolate and studded with thorns that word felt as it formed in his mouth.My home, not yours, it said.You’llbe leaving soon.
He watched Nari groggily coming round and snapping suddenly upright as she realised she’d been sleeping soundly.
Niilo ran round to pull her car door open and she thanked him for a lovely afternoon and made her way to the cabin door, fumbling for keys in her pocket, bleary-eyed. ‘Come in for a drink, now you’re not the taxi driver.’
He’d been ready to accept as she worked the cabin door open, but there on the floor, just inside, stood an elaborate display of long-stemmed, blood-red roses. Nari gasped and gaped at them as Niilo watched her expression change and her mind at work.
‘What on earth?’ she exclaimed, still standing on the snowy doorstep.
Some of the blooms were partly dipped in gold lacquer, others were bejewelled with sparkling stones like black diamonds held on pins that pierced through the centre of their tender buds. The whole arrangement was contained in a wide gilded vase and tied with an elaborate black velvet bow.
‘I don’t get it,’ Nari said as she stepped inside and reached for the card. ‘Stephen?’ She glanced hurriedly at Niilo and added, ‘He’s a friend of mine. He’s in Singapore.’
None of this was of comfort to Niilo who was now looking beyond the bouquet towards the dining table where there lay a large, shallow dish of enormous hothouse strawberries, shining, red and fat. Their dish too was adorned with a garish bow.
‘How did anyone find roses or strawberries like that at this time of year in the arctic? It’s impossible.’ The words had escaped his lips before he could stop them.
‘Typical Stephen,’ she said, flustered. ‘His PA said she was sending something over from him, but I thought that arrived this morning.’
‘This morning?’
‘Yes, breakfast stuff. I mean, it was the most beautiful gift basket, local delicacies and carved bowls and spoons…’
‘Those… those were from me.’
Nari exhaled sharply with a look Niilo couldn’t read. Was she angry? She seemed mortified. Had he overstepped the mark, sending her gifts? He couldn’t tell, but he knew he wanted to get away.
They both looked back at the lavish flowers before Niilo quietly excused himself with a sharp nod, wishing Nari a good evening and a happy Christmas. As he turned over the truck engine he watched her wave distractedly from the cabin door before turning her head to look again at Stephen’s gifts.
Those roses, he thought, grown in some perfumed, sun-baked Moroccan valley and transported at speed over land and sea, were just what Nari deserved: rich gifts, glamorous and sweet, befitting her temperament. They would remind her of her travels and make her think of adventures to come. The perfect gifts for Nari.
How paltry his little basket must have seemed beside them. Niilo had no mind to compete with this Stephen guy. His was not the soul of a jealous or possessive man. He had been sent another sign, he told himself, and this time it had come in the form of a lavishly expensive warning.
Stephen’s gifts told him that Nari deserved better than a man tied to his homeland, a man who could only offer the simple things he had carved with his knife on long, Lappish winter nights, a man who had never even left Scandinavia.
He understood in that moment that he was not suited to Nari – not because of his modest income or his few possessions, but because Nari, when she found love, would love an adventurer, not a homebody.
Something within him said she didn’t love this Stephen, but she needed someone like him to sweep her off her feet. After all, she was entirely self-sufficient, she could go wherever she pleased of her own volition. She had seen the world, learned new languages, tasted every food – and her journey was still only just beginning. Whoever joined her on it would have to be just as free and adventurous. It would be preposterous to expect her to tie herself to a tiny Lappish town and a grounded, tethered man like himself.
With the truck headlights blazing, he turned onto the wilderness road towards his own small cabin and the enclosure where his herd was sheltered. He comforted himself with the thought that it was still early in the evening and he could send his staff home to enjoy the festivities with their families. The men had been kind to cover for him on his date, but he was home again and it was, after all, Christmas Eve. He would feed the animals, spread fresh bedding straw, and tend to the young ones late into the night, just as he should, and just as he always did.
Chapter Nineteen
Everything seems to have the special lustre that Christmas morning brings. Snow has fallen heavily overnight and, unusually, the paths haven’t been cleared this morning as Nari and I walk from the cabins to breakfast. The whole landscape seems fresh and new. All of yesterday’s icy, impacted footprints and gritty tyre tracks are overlaid with a pristine white blanket. There is lightness and laughter everywhere, with the exception of me and Nari; we’re both a little subdued today.
‘So, how did it go yesterday, with Stellan?’ Nari asks, peering at my face for traces of… I don’t know what, wanton shagged-out-ness?
‘Well,’ I hesitate. ‘I told him I wanted a baby, I demanded to know why he dumped me, and I cried.’
