It sounded utopian, she had to admit…but possibly not super practical. Who would really want wolves running around their property? She could see both sides, but it was easy enough to understand the Scottish landholders’ point of view.
“It must be really interesting,” she said, staying neutral. “But why are you here in Sweden, instead of there?”
“It’s still only a plan. A dream for them. Right now, they’re writing proposals and trying to convince the government, and the people. And the information from Sweden will be very helpful. It’s not all positive, but sometimes the negative things teach you more.”
Her ears pricked up. “What kind of negative things?”
“Nothing so bad.” He waved it away. “The wolves do attack farm animals sometimes. But my information is helping them to make a good argument. And if they are successful, they need someone like me to help monitor the programme there.”
Finally, they were having an actual conversation. After his attitude in the office, she hadn’t been sure he’d talk to her at all—about anything. It was going so well, she hated to be a downer, especially when he was talking in that ridiculously charming and musical Swedish-Scottish English. But she was here for a reason, and she had to ask.
“Do you really think it’s a good idea though? Wouldn’t it cause trouble?”
“Honestly? Yes, I think there would be conflict between the wolves and the people, especially the farmers. We can see it in Sweden. But they really believe it should happen.”
“Do you?”
He looked at her, his dark eyes seeming to deepen in intensity. “There’s something special about the wolves. When you see them, you know they’re meant to be.”
“When you say it like that, I believe you.” And right then, she did.
“Maybe you’ll see them yourself, while you’re here.”
She didn’t want to admit that the thought made her nervous in the extreme. “Maybe.”
Suddenly he looked at his watch. “We’d better go. I have a Skype meeting soon.”
He got up and stepped out of the sleigh, then turned to her. She took the hand he offered, and got down as gracefully as she could.
“Thanks for showing me this. It’s beautiful. I’d love to see it out on the snow one day.”
There was a pause. As they stood on the hay-strewn floor, dust mote stars floated between them in the pale strip of light coming from the window. Then she realised that her hand was still in his, politely resting in his grasp, but very obviously still there. They both looked down at the point of connection, and all at once she wanted to tangle her fingers in his, pull him in close, and uncover all the other overly-clothed parts of him…
She looked back up, but when he met her gaze, there was nothing to be discerned from his expression. Was the air extra thin up here, making her light-headed? The angsty, handsome loner, with a sleigh in a boathouse by a lake, the dark charm of his wolves, and a moving story about his mother. It was good, she’d give him that, and so tempting. It was cold, he was hot, and would it be so terrible to throw in a little pleasure with the business?
But no. She couldn’t let herself be distracted. Three weeks, in and out…and not that kind of in and out. She laughed out loud, and took her hand back. He gave her a quizzical look, but she shook her head.
“Nothing.” She pulled her gloves back on. “Let’s go.”
He put the key back in its hiding place, then strode over to her snowmobile, starting it with two mighty pulls on the cord. Then he went to his own machine, and started it up too.
As he pumped his left arm, the signal for them to go, she remembered what Greta had said the night before. The volunteers do seem to like him a lot. She was starting to see why. She liked him a bit too much herself.
Seven
Up, up, up in the bare branches of the towering birch tree sat the nest, a huge, twiggy mass so big that Zoe wondered how the branches held it, let alone the added weight of the eagles once they settled in.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Greta smiled with pride, as though she’d overseen the construction herself. “They used this one last year, and the year before.”
“It is amazing,” she agreed. “Will they use it again this year, do you think?”
“We’ll have to wait and see.”
Zoe turned in place, scanning the forest and sky around them. “I wish we could see them now.”
“I wish you could too. They are very impressive. Pictures don’t compare with the real thing.”
It was another out-of-the-box day, the sun shining and the snow achingly white in the cold air. Jakob hadn’t been in the little volunteer office when Zoe got there after breakfast that morning, so she’d entered the weather data into the computer—minus fifteen, positively balmy—and then gone to help Greta with a few jobs in the guesthouse. Wolfy stuff would have to wait until he turned up, she supposed. Alongside Greta, she helped to confirm bookings, plan the following week’s guest activities, and peel potatoes for the night’s dinner. But it was obvious that Greta was as keen to get out on the snowmobiles as she was. Before long, she threw up her hands.
“That’s enough! I’ll do the rest later. Let’s get outside.”
And Zoe was happy to agree.
Now, with the nest still empty, they did a quick survey of the surrounding area for animal prints or droppings, or anything out of the ordinary. Zoe paced a methodical route around her side of the nest area, as Greta had instructed, glad of her sunglasses in the pristine brightness. There was nothing to see but pillowy snow and sugar-dusted trees, a tantalising landscape that beckoned her to come, come further in. She paused for a minute and peered into the woods, where the tree trunks and whiteness stretched into a gauzy distance. If this was a fairy tale—and coming from the concrete streets of London, she totally felt like it was—she would step forth into the forest’s enchantment, only to find herself face to face with…what? A troll? A wolf? On second thoughts, maybe the woods weren’t that inviting after all. And she knew that there were even bears in Sweden, although they’d all be tucked up asleep at this time of year, she supposed.
“Zoe!”
Greta’s voice rang through the clear air, breaking the almost-spell. She turned and headed back to the tree with the unoccupied nest. Just on the other side, Greta was taking photos of the snow. Or, as she could see when she got closer, of prints in the snow.
“Jakob is going to be so excited,” Greta said, leaning carefully in for a close-up of a single print. “I don’t think we’ve had prints so close to home before.”
Zoe crouched down and looked at them, tracked in straight lines through the snow. They were almost big enough to put her hand into, and she could clearly see the claw marks on each one.
“Wow,” she said. “How…amazing.”
Did she sound enthusiastic enough? Because yes, part of her was excited—but part of her found it flat-out freaky that she was standing where wolves had passed, what…a few hours before? Or less, even?
Greta must have heard the uncertainty in her voice, because she smiled reassuringly.
“Don’t worry. You know, they are scared of us more than we are scared of them.”
Zoe pursed her lips. “Mmm. I think you’re thinking of spiders.”
Greta laughed. “Okay, maybe they’re not very scared. But they would rather avoid us, honestly. They have their territory, and they just want to live. It’s sad that the government is allowing them to be killed.”
She’d read about this in her briefing notes—it would be good to get some on-the-ground perspective. “Why is it happening?”
“Well, they call it ‘managing’ the population.” Greta frowned as she made air quotes. “They say they have calculated how many wolves are needed, so they don’t become endangered, and they decide how many can be killed each year. But some farmers want them to be completely gone, and some wildlife fighters think they should be free to breed. I don’t think there will ever be an agreement.” She shook her head.<
br />
“But you said they’re not dangerous?” Zoe asked, as they walked back to the snowmobiles.
“No human has ever been killed by a wolf in Sweden, since they came back in the country. But farm animals…yes.”
Hearing that, she felt herself leaning to team wolf. Surely it wasn’t their fault that farmers were leaving animals out in their territory, when they had to eat to survive. But something else had caught her attention. “Since they came back?”
Greta leaned against the seat of her snowmobile, her expression sombre.
“At one time, it was legal to kill wolves—so people did. Until there were almost none left at all. Then in the 1960s they became protected, and only the government could…what do you call it? Cull them?” Zoe nodded, and she continued. “But now hunters can shoot them in the winter, a certain number every year. This year the European Commission is arguing that Sweden does not have good enough reasons to kill any wolves, so everyone is in court to argue about it.”
“Is anyone hunting them here?”
“No one from Lillavik, because they know they would have to deal with Bengt. And me.” She pounded a fist into her opposite palm, parodying toughness. But there was a steel in her eyes that showed how serious she really was.
“And Jakob,” Zoe said.
“Yes, and Jakob, as long as he’s here. He stays so quiet, but I think if anything happened to his wolves, that would be the thing to set him on fire.” She reached for the snowmobile’s starter cord. “What do they say, about some people…something about deep water…”
“Still waters run deep?”
“That’s it. That’s Jakob.” She pulled once on the cord, and again, and the snowmobile started, the sudden sound of the engine jarring in the wild space.
“I sort of got that impression,” Zoe replied, over the noise, and Greta nodded.
They set off, Zoe hoping that the ruckus they made would be enough to scare off any lingering wolves. At the same time, she hoped that they stayed around, for their own sakes—because they were obviously safer here, on the Nilssons’ turf.
And for Jakob’s sake, too, even if he was an unpredictable (but annoyingly attractive) grump. Because didn’t everyone need that one thing that meant something? The thing that lit your fire, made you want to get up in the morning?
She hadn’t managed to find the thing that lit her fire yet. PR was her job, but not her passion, like it was for some of her colleagues. Sometimes she wondered how she’d carried on for so long, putting in so many hours at work that she didn’t have time to think about what her thing might really be. Her parents had found it in their work, Claire had found it in her coding, and it was obvious that the Nilssons lived theirs every day of the year.
And she’d seen it in Jakob’s eyes when he talked about the wolves.
Anyway, best not to think about him and his sleigh and his come-hither-grouchy eyes, wherever he was. This afternoon she was working on her other mission—to find Claire.
Whether Claire wanted to be found was another question.
* * *
The road was clear of snow between the lodge and Lillavik, but Zoe drove like a nana anyway. She might strike a patch of ice, she reasoned, and even though there were winter tyres on the lodge’s spare car, she was used to driving on the left, not the right. Also, those moose signs on the side of the road weren’t exactly reassuring.
Elk, she corrected herself, remembering that Greta had called them that before she left. But not the same as an American elk, she had explained, which was a different animal entirely, so there it would be a moose, although on the other hand an elk in England was an elk…at that point, Zoe’s eyes had started to glaze over, but she’d got the message. Moose, elk, whatever—if she drove into one, Greta said, there would be no winner. Whatever you called them, even airbags were no match for the arrival of a fully-grown animal through your windscreen. And being squashed behind the wheel of a Volvo by seven hundred pounds of Scandinavian ungulate was not the way she’d choose to go. Far too comical to be truly tragic.
So, careful driving it was.
After barely twenty minutes, she was approaching Lillavik. Despite its name, which translated as ‘small bay’, it wasn’t actually by the lakeside. Instead, it sat on elevated land above, at the edge of the forest. She’d seen a little of it the night she arrived, of course, but she was keen to see it in daylight. Now she slowed even more, from nana to great-grandmother speed, so that she could take it in.
The requisite red houses were interspersed with blue or yellow ones, all with the traditional white trim. On the outskirts they were set back from the road, but as she came into the centre of the village, they sat right on the narrow cobbled street. If she got out and walked, she’d be able to press her nose against the windowpanes as she waved to the occupants.
She emerged into an unexpectedly wide square, and bumped slowly around the perimeter, taking care not to veer into the empty market stands that sat in one corner. On each side, low buildings lined the square, giving it a snug feeling. Nothing was more than one storey high, and in the centre a flagpole stood tall. There were a few shops—amongst them she spotted a bakery, some kind of eatery, and maybe a pharmacy. Outside an unassuming-looking premises, she recognised the word Systembolaget. Apparently the government-controlled outlet was the only place Swedes could legally buy alcohol, other than bars and restaurants. Good that she’d found it—she might be heading straight back there if her visit to Defrost Digital didn’t go well.
There were no other vehicles driving in the square, so she let the car idle while she gathered her thoughts. According to the Google maps navigation, the Defrost offices should be down a street on the other side. Would she discover anything of Claire there? She tried to ignore the churning in her stomach as the words in Claire’s letter ran through her head, heart-wrenching despite the tinge of teenage melodrama. She’d re-read it before she came, and it even now it still hit her right between the ribs.
* * *
This life is suffocating me. I don’t need you any more, and you obviously don’t need me. You had a daughter, but I wasn’t enough. Now you have a good girl you can be proud of. I hope you’re all happy together. I don’t want to see any of you ever again.
* * *
She’d never forget standing in Claire’s room, the note in her hand, nausea welling up as she realised that this was what Claire really thought of her. How could she have been so blind, to not see the truth?
While Sarah shut her daughter out of her heart and mind, and Paul reluctantly stood by her decision, Zoe had veered between anger at the abandonment, to aching sadness, to a hideous embarrassment. Embarrassment that she’d thought everything was fine, still confiding in Claire, sharing what she thought were reciprocal sisterly moments. All that time, had Claire been playing along, listening with sympathy to Zoe’s stories and secrets and doubts, while despising her for intruding on her life?
She didn’t want to see them ever again, Claire had said. But ever again was an awfully long time. Even if she mostly felt like a kid playing at a grown-up life, a decade of water under the bridge had given Zoe some perspective—wouldn’t Claire be the same?
This was her friend and sister—the person who’d been her anchor, and given her a taste of the normal life she’d never have experienced with her own parents. She’d never tried to push in front of Claire, even if she was the ‘good girl’ to Claire’s self-assured rebel.
And now, after years of press releases, positioning, trend analysis, advertorials and crisis management, schmoozing clients and accounting for every minute of her long days, all while smiling through gritted teeth…this ‘good girl’ was teetering on the edge of a pre-thirties rebellion. She’d never really been one for ‘spin’ in the first place, and now she was all spun out, with no clue where her true heart lay. Having spent her childhood here, there and everywhere, and her adulthood hopping from flat to flat, and job to job, always with an exit in the back of her mind…maybe she’d ne
ver figure it out.
Claire the bold would never have gone along with the career choice of her parents (if she happened to have those sorts of parents, which she didn’t). She would’ve raised one finger to it all as she made her exit, off to conquer the world.
Which was pretty much exactly what she’d done, except the raised finger was aimed at the people who loved her.
And now, if Zoe could find her, she had to tell Claire that her mother was in hospital, struck almost senseless by a stroke, while her father was at a complete and lonely loss. Before it was too late, she wanted to give Claire the chance to heal the family she left in pieces. The family that had also become Zoe’s, whether Claire liked it or not.
She took a deep breath in and out, and turned the car towards Defrost Digital, and her past.
Eight
After the luxury of the heated car seat, it was a shock to emerge into the chilled air. Zoe slammed the door and hustled to the entrance of the Defrost Digital building as fast as she could, without risking another tumble.
But on the doorstep, she hesitated. She’d never let herself think about what would happen if, once face-to-face, Claire told her to get lost. Probably in stronger language than that, knowing her. Now though, thoughts of rejection came second to the need to let her know about her mum.
She pushed her shoulders back, pulled the heavy glass door open, and went in.
The reception area was empty, the desk unattended. She stood at the counter for a while, wondering if someone would be back shortly. The décor was everything a ground-breaking tech company should be—lots of chrome and sleek surfaces, with the furniture in cool colours, and one wall inset with tiny bulbs that switched on and off to create the outline of the company’s double D logo. In the corner was an elegant tree, its leaves made entirely of green computer chips. She had to smile. This was Claire all over.
The Near & Far Series Page 5