by Karen Swan
How long had Gisele known about it, she wondered? Had she read it? Had she spent every night since he’d left, on her own, staring at it, wanting to? What torments must she have gone through trying to guess its contents? It was bad enough for Lee and at least she knew something of the story.
‘Anyway . . .’ Gisele hesitated, looking uncomfortable. ‘I thought I’d bring it over as soon as I could. I don’t know if there’s anything important in it, but . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
Lee felt a shot of adrenaline. ‘Oh, I doubt it,’ she said. ‘Knowing Cunningham it’s some old IOU.’
They both gave forced laughs that fooled neither one.
Gisele turned to go. ‘Oh, and I know I’ve said it before, but it really was so kind of you to have me over last weekend. I know I’d said I was fine about spending the holiday on my own, but the truth was, I’d been dreading it so much. So thank you.’
‘We loved it too; we were so pleased to have you. I think for Jasper especially, it can get pretty boring when it’s just him and me on our own all the time.’
Just then – as if on cue – a shout and some laughter escaped from upstairs. The shout had been very definitely male and adult.
Gisele looked back at Lee questioningly – it was early, still; too early for most breakfast dates. Only overnight guests would be in the house at this hour. ‘. . . Well, anyway, I should get on. I’ve got the interior designer coming over to look at the nursery today and the house is a wreck.’
Lee knew that it absolutely wasn’t. ‘Sure. Well, listen, thanks for bringing this over, I appreciate it.’
‘No problem. Let’s have coffee soon.’
‘Yes definitely, I’d love that.’ Lee waved, knowing they wouldn’t. Whatever stilted rapprochement had formed between them in these odd few weeks since Cunningham’s abrupt departure, she sensed it ending now. Their reason for contact had closed.
She gently shut the door and leaned it against it, staring at the letter. It was clear Gisele had lied about having it. Had the guilt of accepting their hospitality last weekend forced her into a fit of scruples?
She turned the letter over in her hand. It had only her name, not her surname or address, on the front and at a glance she knew this wasn’t a letter that Cunningham had intended to post. It had clearly been left out for Gisele to distribute.
There was no sign of it having been opened that she could see. Lee stared at its unthreatening blankness, knowing that it was anything but. Cunningham didn’t write letters. He wasn’t moved to sentimentality or nostalgia. If he’d written, it was because he had something to say. To share. To confess.
She felt light-headed, cursing him all over again for whatever the damned hell it was he was doing. Just for a few hours, she’d forgotten all about him; she’d shut him out and let in a little happiness, someone she thought perhaps she might trust. Why did he have to take that away from her? Because he would. Whatever that letter said, she knew there was an earthquake inside that envelope – something that was going to shake the ground beneath her feet and send her flying, all over again.
‘Everything okay?’
She looked up to see Sam standing at the top of the stairs, her blue gingham frilled apron on over his trousers and shirt, a whisk in his hand. Was this what had prompted their laughter? She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a man look sexier.
She forced herself to smile, putting the letter on the shelf of the coat rack. Whatever Cunningham wanted to say, he’d waited six years to tell her. She could wait a little longer. This morning was the happiest she’d been in years. Couldn’t she have a few moments more of pretending that theirs really was a normal family, that she was just the girl next door after all?
‘Yes,’ she stammered, forcing Cunningham to the farthest reaches of her mind again, a long-standing habit of hers. ‘It’s all fine. I was just collecting the post.’
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Okay, hold onto mama.’ Lee held onto Jasper’s hand as they took their first tentative glides along the ice. There was something especially thrilling about skating on natural ice, knowing there was a dark body of water beneath their feet and not the concrete dish of an ice rink.
Jasper’s fingers gripped hers tightly, though he was a far better skater than her. She’d first put him on skates when he was three, like all the Dutch. She – having not skated till she was in her teens – would never be such a natural.
‘Whoa,’ she laughed, windmilling her arms as they pushed out towards the middle of the canal, trying to avoid all the other people doing the same, albeit with more grace than them. The whole street had come out, it seemed, people setting up chairs on the ice to either rest on or get their boots on. A few people – probably tourists – didn’t have skates and were trying to glide in their shoes, with predictable results, whilst the locals swept up and down in easy, languid strokes. An older woman had set up a large urn on a table on the jetty and was serving up hot chocolate with marshmallows; some other people were coming over with tins of koek cake too and setting them down beside the cups for her. Lee was sure the lady lived about three buildings up on the left; she walked past most days with a small white dog.
‘Jasper, look, there’s Mr Kuiper,’ she said, seeing Pabe standing at his living room window, watching them all. They waved, Jasper almost losing his balance in the process. Pabe waved back, laughing, but Lee felt a pang of sadness that he had to watch it from behind a pane of glass. Even just to come down to the water’s edge and watch from there would be something, to be part of the crowd, the noise, the spectacle . . . The entire city was quite literally at play.
They traced a large oval, taking care to avoid twigs that had fallen onto the ice from overhanging trees, gradually becoming more confident as they went. They did a figure of eight, making their turns tighter each time, laughing when Jasper went to catch her hand as he skated up to her and missed, sailing on for another hundred metres.
It was odd skating alongside the moored boats, able to peer through the windows, their hulls gripped in solid clutches. The residents of the biggest houseboat had put speakers on their roof and were playing Christmas carols, no one minding as tired skaters stopped for a rest on the bows. One man skated past Lee with a pickaxe around his neck – to break the ice should he fall in – which did nothing for her nerves.
She wondered whether Sam was skating as well. His skates were back at his place, naturally, and he’d needed to go back and get changed out of his dinner suit at last. But she had resisted his suggestion of meeting up later. Even though her every instinct was wanting to set a time when she knew she could be with him again, she wouldn’t do it; even though she knew they had gone beyond this being a one-night thing, she still couldn’t risk Jasper becoming attached when they didn’t know . . . when in all likelihood . . .
Still, her eyes naturally looked for him, trying to find him in the crowds and hoping maybe he was going to pull another one of his surprises and disregard her wishes and just turn up anyway. She did double-takes every time someone glided past who looked like they knew what they were doing.
‘What do you think? Shall we try Prinsengracht?’ she asked as they did another lap of Bloemgracht. ‘It’ll be a lot bigger over there, we’ll have some more space.’
They skated under the bridge and took a right turn onto the main drag of one of the grandest canals in the city. It was vastly bigger – much longer and wider – but also a lot more crowded. There were fewer children, and the speed and skill levels were greater as teenagers raced each other, as club members sped past in the familiar pose of hands behind their backs, bent forward from the hips. Older people were generally skating in the genteel long gliding style – schoonrijden – of a bygone age.
‘Whoa!’ Lee laughed again as they moved into the flow of skating traffic. The surface of the ice was chopped up, sliced into piles of shavings, calling for more skill than perhaps they had. One audacious salesman had wheeled his coffee cart onto the ice and set up shop in the midd
le, with people standing around drinking and taking a rest. Someone else had dragged a Christmas tree into the middle of the ice and people were skating around that like it was a handbag on a dancefloor.
The Prinsengracht was long and she was tempted to turn left onto Keizergracht and Herengracht too, to glide around the city like it was a playground. But Jasper’s legs were still only little, and they contented themselves with a few long loops before heading back to the cosy confines of Bloemgracht.
She felt her neighbourhood’s arms close around them as they passed under the bridge again, back into the orbit of the Christmas carols and the slower, jerkier pace of the baby canal.
‘What do you think?’ she asked Jasper as they finally came to a stop by the jetty. ‘Have we earned ourselves a hot chocolate?’
‘Yes!’ he cried, his cheeks pink between his scarf and bobble hat, his eyes burning like bright coals.
They sat on the jetty and Lee tugged off his boots, finding their shoes scattered at random in the pile that had built up since they’d left.
‘Phew, I’m going to be stiff tomorrow!’ she said, holding his snow boot upright so that he could jam his socked foot back into it. She started untying her own boots, getting one off, when she glanced up and saw Lenka coming out of her apartment. With a jolt, Lee realized she owed her a thank you – and Mils an apology.
She scrambled to stand up. ‘Jazz, I’m just going to thank Lenka for looking after you last night. You stay by the bench there, where I can see you, okay?’
‘But—’
‘Lenka!’ she said, calling over as she saw her start to head down the street.
Lenka turned, looking surprised – not to mention cold. She was woefully underdressed in a thin jacket and no hat or gloves, and there certainly wasn’t any weight on her to keep her warm. Was she mad? Sad, certainly. She cut a forlorn figure, too stooped for such a young woman, as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.
‘Hi!’ Lee panted, hobbling over with an ice skate on one foot and just her sock on the other. ‘Hey.’
‘Hello, Lee,’ Lenka said in her strong Eastern European accent; Lee had asked where she was from when they had first met, but to her shame she had forgotten.
‘I’m so glad I caught you.’ She gave an exhale, trying to collect herself. ‘I just wanted to say a massive thank you for looking after Jasper last night.’
‘Oh—’
‘I nearly died when my friend Mila told me what had happened. I really hope it didn’t put you out too much?’
‘Oh . . . no,’ she said, but there was hesitation in her words.
‘You know I would never just presume . . . I mean, Mila’s a wonderful friend and she means well, but I don’t think she appreciated what a big ask it was to burden you with Jasper on your Friday night. You didn’t have plans, I hope?’
‘No. It was all right. No problem for me.’
‘Good. Thank God.’ Lee smiled, pressing a hand to her chest. ‘I was mortified when she told me. I was going to come over later with something to say thank you.’
‘Oh, no,’ Lenka said quickly. ‘Is not necessary. He is lovely boy.’
‘Gus didn’t mind, did he?’
‘. . . No. No problem.’ Lenka glanced to her left.
‘Well, I promise I will never impose on you again—’
‘Hello, Lee.’
She looked right to see Gus standing by their front door, a cup in one hand, the other resting on the door frame. Talk of the devil!
‘Gus, hi!’ she said, realizing she was going to have to say it all over again. ‘I was just thanking Lenka for you two looking after Jasper last night. I was so horrified when my friend told me what she’d done, imposing on you like that. She just doesn’t think sometimes. I really hope it didn’t put you out.’
Gus gave a casual shrug to match his casual smile. ‘It didn’t. We had a great time with the little guy. He’s very cute.’
‘Well, thank you. That’s very kind.’ She wasn’t sure what more she could add to her apology and thanks, and a small silence bloomed.
Gus looked at his girlfriend. ‘Aren’t you late for work?’
Lenka looked at Lee apologetically. ‘Yes, I am sorry. I must go.’
Lee winced, seeing the friction between them, remembering their overheard argument when she’d been over at Pabe’s. ‘Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.’ Lee heard herself and inwardly groaned – over-thanking, now over-apologizing. ‘Don’t let me make you late.’
Lenka gave a shy smile and Lee smiled sadly back, wondering if this poor girl – so timid, quiet, pretty – had any idea at all that her charming boyfriend was cheating on her.
A sudden whine made them all jump as the Christmas carols were abruptly switched off and several further whining sounds suggested a PA system was being switched on. Lee turned to see a portly man in a dark-green knitted jumper climbing onto the roof of the big houseboat, a microphone in his hand.
‘Ladies and gentlemen of Bloemgracht,’ he said, one arm in the air and turning a slow circle, ensuring everyone could see him. ‘Can I have your attention please?’ He completed another full turn, waiting for the skaters to stop skating, people to stop talking. ‘We have some exciting news.’ Slowly, the activity on the ice came to an expectant stop. ‘It has just been announced that—’
A murmur rippled through the crowd, and in the near distance, just over the next row of canalhouses, coming from Prinsengracht, an almighty roar erupted.
‘IT! GIET! OAN!’
Lee felt the hairs on her arms rise on end as every single person on the canal, on the cobbles and in the houses screamed with delight, their arms in the air, jumping up and down dementedly. Lee’s hands flew to her mouth, as she looked over at Jasper fully throwing himself into the celebrations too, and she realized what this meant. It had been twenty years in the making, but Sam’s dream was about to come true. The Elfstedentocht was on!
Chapter Twenty-Two
The doorbell went. Lee stopped chopping the onion and hesitated.
‘This is getting to be a habit,’ she said several moments later, as Sam stared back at her. On her doorstep again.
‘Yes,’ he agreed unapologetically, stepping into her and clasping her head with his hands, his eyes blazing. ‘It is.’ He kissed her, not caring who saw. And there were plenty to see. The entire neighbourhood was out on the ice, the excitement of canal-skating now having turned into an Elfstedentocht street party.
He pulled away. ‘Damn, I missed you. Was that really only four hours?’
She laughed. ‘Yes!’ But she felt exactly the same. She closed the door behind him, seeing how his movements seemed charged with an electric current, more powerful, channelled. ‘So, good morning?’ she asked blandly. ‘You got changed, I see.’
He looked back at her in disbelief. ‘Have you heard the news?’
She laughed again, unable to keep up the charade in the face of his excitement. ‘Sam, of course I’ve heard the news!’ She motioned to the door and the party going on behind it. ‘The entire country’s heard the news!’
‘Woo-hooooo!’ he roared, picking up her suddenly and whirling her around the hallway, so many times she felt dizzy. He held her above his head, looking up at her. ‘I can’t believe it. My whole life I’ve been waiting for this. I didn’t think it would ever come.’
‘It’s amazing,’ she laughed, feeling lifted by his joy.
‘My father’s been in tears all day. My father! He’s a goddam potato farmer!’ he laughed. ‘Almost nothing makes that man cry!’
‘Sam?’
They both looked up and saw Jasper standing at the top of the stairs, his eyes shining brightly too.
Sam lowered her to the ground and held his arms out. ‘Jasper, did you hear?’
‘It giet oan!’ Jasper hollered, tearing down the stairs and into Sam’s arms, being spun around too, just like his mama.
Lee laughed as she watched them, her hands to her mouth as she saw he
r son’s unbridled delight. There was no doubt this had come alive for him because of Sam. Had it just been the two of them, hearing the news on the TV, it would have been something theoretical, a notional excitement, like the national football team getting into the World Cup final – fun, but they ultimately couldn’t care less either way.
But Sam was going to be competing in this. History was going to be made. This could very well be the last Elfstedentocht ever and he was going to be part of it.
They went upstairs into the kitchen, Jasper on Sam’s hip, the two of them chanting ‘It giet oan! It giet oan!’
‘So you do cook?’ he mused, setting Jasper down and seeing the meal prepped on the worktop.
‘This is for Pabe, next door,’ she said, picking up the knife again. ‘I’m just helping him out till his new carer comes in two weeks. The poor man was living on microwave meals. He needs better nutrition than that at his age.’ She glanced up to find Sam was grinning at her. ‘What?’
‘You just can’t help yourself, can you? You’ve always got to be helping people.’
‘Most of my friends would consider this attempted manslaughter,’ she said, crushing some garlic.
He leaned against the counter, brushing a hand against her cheek. ‘You’re extraordinary.’
She checked to make sure Jasper wasn’t watching. He wasn’t. He was trying – yet again – to get his Scalextric cars to connect with the track.
‘Do you want a coffee?’ she asked, moving away to fill the machine with water. She felt his eyes on her back.
‘Sure.’
‘So when are you leaving?’ The race was set for Monday, with a predicted low front beginning to move in on Tuesday and, with it, slightly milder temperatures. It would be a race against time to get the event completed before any coming thaw, and the entire country was gripped by a simultaneous joy and terror.
‘Now. Within the hour. I need to get back home, get on the ice, get my head in the right place, sharpen the blades . . .’