Nine
Tuesday 15th September
I woke up in the middle of a tangled blanket doughnut, warm and snuggled, like a happy little kitten.
Slivers of light peeked into the room as I rolled up the blinds, and I was greeted by the most beautiful view: a large patio area with a wood-fired hot tub and a thick blanket of virgin snow leading all the way out to the forest. The trees were weighed down with lumps of icing and everything glittered like a Christmas cake. But however pretty it looked, my breath was making smoke rings in the air, and I couldn’t feel my nose; it was bloody freezing. I lifted my duvet and blankets as one and hulked into the lounge to put the fire on. I was not a natural fire-starter. I was more of a thermostat turner-upper. I liked radiators and underfloor heating, any kind of heating in fact, where you flicked a switch and it immediately worked. The wood burner felt alien to me, but I was an intelligent, logical woman – how hard could it be to bung a few logs in and light a match? I piled in the fattest logs I could find, crumbled in a wedge of firelighter and threw in a match. Double of everything so I didn’t have to do it twice. But rather than the blazing inferno I’d imagined, the match licked the firelighter’s face for thirty seconds, then closed in on itself and fizzled out.
So I did it again. And again, and again, and thenagain. Like a crazed arsonist. What kind of firelighter was this? Why wouldn’t it bastard-well light?
There was a knock at the door, and I caught my reflection in the window as I tiptoed across the cold tiles. I felt like a queen on coronation day, clutching my full-length cape to my chest, but in reality my hair was frizzy, and I had creases on my red cheeks from burrowing too tightly into the sheets. I wasn’t made for emergency situations. Lighting fires and answering doors.Whatever next?
‘Hello?’ I called suspiciously, cracking the door open half an inch.
‘Hei, Sara, welcome to Firefly Forest!’ With one eye, I could just about make out a man on my doorstep. Tall and tanned, with a soft Viking beard, holding a wicker basket covered in red gingham cloth.
Mr Red Riding Hood. I had no plans to open the door any further.
‘Thank you. Can you leave the basket there, please? I’m just… in the shower.’ I couldn’t go out in my blanket dress. What if J-Law saw me?
‘Sure, take your time. I’m Henrik, Tore’s son. My brother Jonas and I help run things around here, so if you need anything, just let me know.’
‘Will do!’ I said, starting to close the door.
‘Have you got the fire working OK?’ he asked. I was torn between telling him the truth and having him, or anyone, see me like this.
‘Erm… sort of,’ I replied, turning to look at it. There was no sign of fire. Fucking thing.
‘Can I help you with it? There is a knack I can show you.’
‘Well, I’m not really decent at the moment…’
‘I can come back in ten minutes if that’s better for you?’
‘Yes, actually, ten minutes would be great.’ I needed warmth and I couldn’t even YouTube ‘how to make a fire’ and get tips from strangers. It was just me on my own trying to work it all out. Where was Bear Grylls when you needed him?
‘See you then, then,’ Henrik said, and I watched him through the spyhole until he disappeared into the forest. He took big strides in his stonewashed Levi’s and battered boots, off to find his next Grandma.
I waited a full minute to be sure, then dragged the basket in like a hungry raccoon. It was filled to the brim with treats and the sugary smells made my mouth water. Fresh sourdough, croissants, raspberry jam, nutty granola and a bag of juicy clementines. It all looked so good, I didn’t know where to start. I dipped a croissant in jam and ate it on the way to the shower, luxuriating in the hot water and the power massage on my back. My TikTok jeans and pink angora jumper were both more fashion than function, so I layered them up with my skiing thermals to stay warm. It was obvious only a few of my clothes were going to cut it, so I’d just have to wear all of them,all the time. And more fool me for presuming I’d be lounging around in a robe all day inside a brick building with radiators.
By the time Henrik returned, I was back to feeling fresh again and looking much more ‘me’.
‘Hi,’ I said, opening the door fully this time. ‘Sorry about that – I wasn’t quite with it. I overslept and forgot where I was.’
Henrik laughed. ‘This place will do that to you,’ he said. ‘You’ll get plenty of deep sleep – that’s for sure.’ A taller, broader version of Tore, with the same chocolate button eyes, he was gorgeous, with his dark blonde man-bun and golden tan. A Norwegian He-Man. ‘Let’s get some heat going on in here, shall we?’ he said, rubbing his hands together.Yes, please.
He opened up the wood burner, whistled at the charcoaled mess, then started taking the logs out one by one.
‘Sorry, I’m not very outdoorsy,’ I said, embarrassed. ‘I’m a barrister.’
I winced as a chunk of wood fell out and scattered soot all over the floor.
‘Enough said. More the indoorsy type, then.’
‘Not really that either to be honest. Incourtsy. Is that a type?’
‘Not a type that can build a fire, it seems,’ Henrik said, smiling. ‘But it’s easy when you know how. You just need a couple of these small sticks piled up with some paper. I build a kind of Jenga tower to keep it all together, or make a cone and point everything up.’
‘Mm-hmm,’ I said, sliding another croissant out of the basket and into my mouth. ‘I see…’
