Stellan laughs gently, amused that I’m thanking him. ‘My pleasure,’ he says.
‘I don’t want to go home.’
I think of the wet airport tarmac and the Manchester traffic; a bleak contrast to the white magic of Frozen Falls. His fingers lazily twirl the hair falling around my face, and I say, ‘I’ve loved every second of meeting Niilo, and seeing Nari happy, and Toivo was just the highlight of the trip!’
Stellan’s eyes widen. ‘Oh, really?’
‘You know what I mean,’ I say with a low laugh. ‘I love the food, and the colours in the sky, and the snow. Oh, and your ice bar, and the champagne, and the waterfall. I’ve loved every bit of my time here.’
I slide in closer to Stellan and he wraps his arms around me tightly, but he doesn’t speak. Maybe he’s going to sleep again. So I make the most of the silence and list every other perfect little detail. ‘I love the comfort and the Scandinavian practicality of it all; the triple glazing, the wet rooms, and the underfloor heating, and how the beds have two single duvets instead of a big double one so nobody can hog it! And I love—’
‘You say that a lot, don’t you?’
‘What?’ I ask, lifting my eyes, even though I can’t see him. I don’t want to leave the cosy nook of his chest.
‘You loved those cookies we made on Christmas Eve, you love the chocolate, you love everything.’
There’s a little alarm bell ringing in my head. Don’t say anything, just tell him you’re an appreciative kind of person, laugh it off, and go to sleep. You’re leaving soon and it’s been so perfect. But there they are, my fingers hovering over the self-destruct button.
‘Is there something wrong with that?’ I hear myself saying.
‘No, that’s not it. It’s just that’s not a word we use for everyday things, or for other people really. Not often.’
‘I know. You already told me that, years ago. But love’s not an unusual word for me to use.’ I’ve got a little dagger of resentment clutched in my palm, and for a moment I wonder if I’m going to use it. ‘And it’s not unusual for my family to say it. My parents tell me they love me all the time, and I say it back. It’s white noise in our house.’
I realise that I’ve just confirmed exactly Stellan’s point; my exclamations of love are just white noise, repetitive and meaningless. That’s definitely enough. Stop now, I warn myself. But I can’t help adding one last little stab. ‘It’s normal.’ I’m as cross with myself as I was with him.
I know exactly what I’ve done. I’ve taken what he shared with me about his cold, demanding, undemonstrative dad and used it against him. I’ve dredged up and weaponised painful memories of his poor sick father who surely must love his son with all his heart, whether he says it or not.
Stellan moves his shoulder out from under my head. He’s looking down at me as he talks, his arms still holding me, but slacker. I daren’t move.
‘Saying you love something or someone, using that word, it pretty much does mean you’rein lovewith the thing. It’s not something I’d say to my parents, or about a biscuit.’
Or a girlfriend? I don’t say it, but I’m thinking it.
He’s silent now, signalling he’s moved on from the topic. But I’m recklessly hurtling back round for another swipe at him. It’s been fifteen years and I’ve kept these thoughts inside and if we don’t blurt it out now, we never will.
‘I didn’t know that… but I meant it, then, when I told you I loved you. I meant the actualI’m in love with you, won’t you love me?kind of I love you.’
‘I knew that. That’s why I had to leave.’
‘Oh, not this again! The white knight making his noble sacrifice to save the damsel from an extra year of student loans or,heaven forfend, a job in a call centre or something! It sounds very much like the commitment phobic knight got his end away then beat a hasty retreat!’
‘No. I loved you.’
Silence.
My heart thumping.
A gulp moving Stellan’s throat.
‘You werein lovewith me? Not the biscuit kind of love?’ I say.
‘Yes. Of course I was in love with you.’ Stellan exhales a long breath and I feel his grip around my body break as he lets his back flatten on the mattress, rolling away from me.
All the while, I’m replaying what he’s just said, running diagnostics, scanning his voice for modulations and intonations and finding a definite stress on ‘was’. Undeniable. He’s taking pains to ensure I understand he’s referring to the past. Hewasin love with methen.
I hear the voice inside my head once more, wanting me to prod, poke, interrogate.So what about now?But I won’t ask. I’ve said enough, and for my efforts I’ve been rewarded with the hideous embarrassment of memories of myself launching million megaton love-bombs at a bewildered twenty-one-year-old Stellan and sending him running for cover, an embarrassment unchanged, inalterable, even with this new information that he was in love with me.
