‘It wasn’t?’
‘No. I saw you the day before, in the corridor, when you were pinning the notice about the welcome party on the board. And I thought you were beautiful. I came to that party hoping to meet you.’
I rush out a breath, wide-eyed with surprise. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before?’
‘There are a lot of things I should have told you.’
Exasperated and now utterly wordless, I can only look at him. Stellan seems to be retreating again and he looks glad of the interruption as Nari barges against the door from the other side, making it bump against my hip.
In the string of apologies that follow, and with Nari shouting instructions to hurry up, and the heaving of our bags into the boot of the cab, there’s no time for any other kind of goodbye.
As I fasten my seatbelt, the arctic wind slams my door shut and I helplessly watch Stellan on the steps of my vacant cabin, his eyes shining and watery from the whipping gale coming in from the north. We wave through glass as the car starts, and in seconds he’s out of sight.
I see nothing of the Lappish landscape in the late dawn light as we race to the airport, the tyres crunching over ice. I tell myself our reunion has been perfect, passionate and fun (until I spoiled it), and that now I’m fortified with the knowledge that he loved me once, and that’s better than nothing. In fact, it’s all I’m getting, so I’ll try to be glad.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘Hi honey, I’m home,’ I say into the silence of a Castlewych Boxing Day afternoon as I shut the door behind me, trundling my suitcase over the small pile of Christmas cards on the mat.
My flat’s freezing and, I notice for the first time as I turn the thermostat up and click every light in the place on, surprisingly bare and sparse-looking. I don’t remember it being so bland and unwelcoming. I really must get some pictures up, maybe some colourful blankets and some rugs. Perhaps a proper fire with flames, and some candles?
I pour some water into the pot concealing the cut, dry stump of the Christmas tree in the lounge. Still wearing my coat, I hang the bauble I brought with me from the tree at Frozen Falls that Stellan and I decorated, and I watch as the branches instantly shed half their needles onto the living room carpet.
Vacuuming up the sharp browning spikes, I try not to let in the memories that the tree’s scent conjures up in my head: snowy Lappish forests and festively decorated fireside scenes in a cosy cabin, and Stellan, warm, broad, and beautiful in his woollen jumper with his blond-white hair and pale eyes.
Air traffic control to Sylvie. Prepare for landing. You’re home now, I tell myself, but I feel as though I’m still in the turbulent air. How can I be back here in my flat? I wasn’t done with my holiday. I wasn’t done with being in the presence of Stellan Virtanen.
I switch on the telly and turn up the volume as I empty the suitcase out, filling a laundry basket to take round to Mum and Dad’s when they get back from New York in a few days, and vowing that I must get a washing machine of my own in the January sales.
I put away the milk and bread I picked up at the motorway services on the way from the airport, and I walk from room to room, not sure what else to do with myself.
Nari had to write up her notes for her blog, so she dropped me outside the flat and headed straight across town to her own place.
She’d been so quiet on the flight home, reading and re-reading her notes on her phone and looking time and again at a neatly folded piece of pale blue paper she’d been clasping all the way from the resort.
Come to think of it, she’d been unusually, weirdly quiet. I’d gradually become aware of her scrolling through pictures on her camera during the flight – she’d be picking the best ones for her blog and Instagram, I imagine – but I saw her pause and look for a long time at an image of Niilo.
I was pretending to read one of the novels she’d given me the day before, but actually I’d been staring at the same paragraph ever since take-off and none of it had sunk in, so I sneaked a peek over at the photos and smiled to see Niilo.
He was sitting serene and cross-legged by a roaring fire inset into a wall papered in a retro seventies pattern. He looked as though he was toasting bread on a long fork held up to the flames. A cosy, homely scene.
‘You OK?’ I’d asked, and she’d simply smiled, secretively and sadly. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Talk about what?’
‘Niilo, of course. I thought, when he picked you up at the restaurant, when he sang you the song…’
‘There’s nothing to talk about, really. A holiday romance, that’s all. He made that quite clear this morning when he left to go on the trail. He told me he hoped I’d live a long and happy life and that I’d get to see every inch of the planet.’
‘He said that? No plans for meeting up, or…?’
‘No. just a goodbye. He was in a hurry this morning, anyway, the tourists were waiting, but… yes, just a goodbye.’
‘Are you happy with that? A holiday romance? You’re not upset about it?’
‘He was the perfect gentleman. I’ve got no complaints.’
‘Oh, OK,’ I said, dubiously. ‘And you guys were safe, right?’
