Massive in Lapland

by Ian Edwards

  ‘Yes, but why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why does everyone watch my clips?’

  Inari shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know. But they do and they think you’re very funny.’

  ‘I suppose it’s like people watching cat videos online’ Sarah suggested. ‘You don’t know why you watch them but you do.’

  ‘So you’re saying I have the same appeal as a cat sitting on a toilet?’

  ‘Oh no, cats are much cuter,’ Sarah laughed.

  ‘It’s not important how and why they started watching you, the point is that they do and they like you,’ Inari said. ‘And that is why we want you to stand in for Pekka. You’re the obvious choice to replace him.’

  ‘You’d better tell her you don’t speak Laplandish,’ Frankie pointed out.

  ‘Good point...’ Alan acknowledged Frankie’s logic. Realising both Sarah and Inari were staring at him he added, ‘It’s a good point. I could cover for Pekka, what with me being popular and everything but it wouldn’t work, I don’t speak Laplandish.’

  ‘It’s Finnish,’ Inari replied.

  ‘There you go, I said it wouldn’t work,’ he said to Sarah. ’Come on, time we were going.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Inari asked puzzled.

  ‘You said it’s finished.’

  ‘I said they speak Finnish,’ she told him, more confused than ever.

  Alan shrugged. ‘Makes no difference. I don’t speak Finnish either.’

  ‘That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to. We will overdub you.’ Alan frowned, confused. ’All you have to do is stand slightly in the shadows and with the lights dimmed, no one will be able to see your lips moving.’

  ‘Like Harry,’ Frankie offered.

  ‘Like Harry,’ Alan repeated for everyone else’s benefit.

  Sarah smiled. ‘Yes, you’re right. Just like Harry.’

  ‘Who’s Harry?’ Inari asked.

  ‘A friend of ours,’ Alan replied. ‘He’s a ventriloquist. We stand him in the shadows so that the audience can’t see his lips move.’

  ‘So he’s not very good?’

  ‘No, he’s very good. In fact he’s very funny,’ Alan told her while considering the Lapland proposal. ‘’Actually, I think it’ll work,’ he said to Sarah.

  ‘Does that mean you’ll do it?’ Inari asked.

  ‘Ye…’ Alan was prevented saying anything further by a kick from under the table.

  ‘Provisionally we accept, but there are a few issues I’d need to sort out with my client before we can put pen to paper,’ Sarah said.

  ‘No problem,’ Inari agreed, sliding several sheets of paper across the table to Alan. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of having a contract drawn up.’ She watched as Alan turned the pages. ‘We’re prepared to pay you for two dates, accommodation and flights for both of you.’ She reached across the table, taking the contract from Alan and underlined a figure on the second page.

  Frankie looked over Alan’s shoulder at the contract. ‘Bloody hell. They must be really desperate. You’ll be able to afford a decent suit instead of those garish shirts you wear.’

  ‘OK…’ Alan mumbled hesitantly, looking at the figure that had been underlined. He passed the contract to Sarah.

  Sensing a certain amount of disappointment, Inari said, ‘Of course, we are open to negotiation with regard to the terms of the contract, if you have any issues.’

  Alan and Inari watched as Sarah scrutinised the contract for the first time. In truth Sarah had looked at very few contracts in the six months she had been Alan’s agent. She had several acts on her books who would simply perform for free drinks and the bus fare home.

  Working on the basis that nothing ventured was in fact nothing gained, Sarah took a pen and added 50% to the original figure before passing the document back to Inari. Alan glimpsed the revised figure and bit his tongue to stop himself from laughing.

  ‘That’s not going to be a problem,’ Inari said, looking at the figure Sarah had written down. ‘Right, down to business,’ she continued, ’as I said it’s for two dates. You’ll fly out on the seventeenth of December, the gigs are on the eighteenth and twentieth, and you’ll fly back on the twenty first. She looked at Alan. ‘Is that OK?’

  ‘No problem,’ Alan said, trying not to laugh out loud and punch the air. He would happily crawl to Lapland on his hands and knees over broken glass for half the original figure, not that he would ever mention this to Inari, of course.

  ‘That’s great, I’m really pleased. I’ll email you the details now,’ Inari said to Sarah. ‘I’m sure you’ll find Lapland a fantastic experience.’

  Frankie wandered over to Alan as Sarah and Inari made their way down the spiral staircase. Alan had allowed the ladies to take the stairs first, giving them sufficient space before beginning his own descent. Frankie noticed Alan’s furrowed brow.

  ‘What’s up son? You don’t look like a man who’s just got the biggest payday of his career.’

  Alan sighed. ‘I’ve just realised I’ve got to tell Rosie I’m going away with Sarah.’

  Frankie chuckled and put his hand on Alan’s shoulder as he began to climb down the stairs. ‘Perhaps I should push you down the steps. It’ll be kinder.’

  Chapter 3.

  Alan stepped through the sliding glass doors and into the airport. He hated airports. The sheer number of people who appeared not to know where they were going, what they should be doing, or how they should be doing it. As if to underline this view, a family of four decided to stop directly in front of him and start searching through their bags for their tickets. Alan glared as he skirted round them and headed for the escalator.

  He had arranged to meet Sarah in one of the airport’s many bars. “The Journey’s End” was designed to look like a traditional old English pub from a bygone era. Dumping his bags on the floor, Alan sat himself down at a table and ordered a full English breakfast, a cup of tea and a bottle of water.

  ‘Is that all for you?’

  Alan looked up from his breakfast at Frankie, who had appeared at his shoulder. He reached into his pocket and took out a set of ear phones, pushing one of the buds into his right ear and plugging the end of the lead into his phone.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Frankie asked.

  Alan sat back in his chair and smiled. ‘Hands free. Now I can talk to you without people staring at me.’

  ‘You’re pretending I’m a phone call?’

  ‘I’m surprised I hadn’t thought of it before. It’s genius. No more rubbish excuses when people think I’m talking to myself.’ Alan explained.

  Frankie sat himself down at the table. ‘You’re all packed and ready then? You’ve got your passport, toothbrush and change of pants?’

  ’Passport and toothbrush, yes. Just the one pair of pants though. I thought I’d leave them on the balcony each night to air.’

  ‘You can always borrow a pair of Sarah’s,’ Frankie suggested. ‘She looks the type of girl who’ll take several spare pairs on a trip.’ Leaving Alan to contemplate Sarah’s pants he continued, ‘What’s this place anyway? Looks like a pub.’

  ‘It’s a theme bar,’ Alan explained, while attempting to spear the remaining tomato on his plate. ‘The theme is Traditional British Pub. The irony being it’s the only traditional pub in the whole of Britain.’

  He popped the tomato in his mouth. ‘If they wanted to model it on a traditional British pub they should have designed the interior like a bank, played a generic CD of chart hits on a loop and only sold plastic designer beer in bottles with bits of fruit stuck in the top.’

  Frankie looked around the bar. Tinsel adorned every table and chair. The fake pillars and bar had so much glitter. Frankie wondered whether there had been an explosion of 1970s glam rock bands.

  ‘It looks like there’s been an explosion of glam rock bands,’ he said.

  Alan let lout a snort. ‘I’ll have that, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Fill your boots, son,’ Fr
ankie replied.

  A fake Christmas tree sat in the corner with several wrapped (and no doubt empty) boxes stacked around its base. Christmas cards decorated one wall, which Frankie assumed were from the locals. He pondered for a moment who would call an airport theme pub a “local” and decided it was probably the baggage handlers, an industry that seemed to employ borderline alcoholics as a matter of course.

  He eyed the pile of wrapped boxes. ‘What have you got me for Christmas?’ He asked.

  Alan gulped his tea. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘As a gift. What have you got me for Christmas?’

  ‘I, er…’ Alan mumbled.

  ‘If it’s a surprise, then I’ll shut up. But if you haven’t thought of anything yet, I’d quite like a bike.’

  Alan’s brow wrinkled in confusion. ‘A bike. You actually want a bike?’

  ‘Not a motor bike, a push bike. A Raleigh if you still can get them.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have you stopped using bikes since I died? I suppose that would explain why everyone’s so fat now.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you not even know what a bike is?’

  ‘Of course I know what a bike is, and I’m not fat.’ Alan snapped back and smoothed down his shirt where it had puffed up around his waist when he had sat down.

  ‘So can I have one?’

  ‘You’re a ghost, why on earth do you want a bike? You can just disappear and reappear whenever you like.’

  ‘It’ll be helpful to get about,’ Frankie explained. ‘My legs are giving me quite a bit of gip these days and I’m not getting any younger.’

  ‘You’re not getting any older either…’ Alan paused for a moment, aware that a couple a few tables away were staring at him. He held up his mobile phone and raised his eyes as if that would explain everything. The couple smiled knowingly and went back to their toast.

  ‘Anyway,’ Alan continued. ‘How do you think it’ll look, a bike moving around on its own? If anything’s certain to get the National Association of Exorcists knocking on my door it’ll be that.’

  ‘What about a tandem? You could go on the front and pedal I’d sit at the back.’

  ‘Like a chauffeur?’

  Frankie nodded. ‘If you like, yeah. It’s OK though, I won’t expect you to wear a cap.’

  Alan’s mobile phone buzzed preventing his reply. He checked the message.

  ‘That’s Sarah,’ he said, looking up from his phone. ‘She’s running late so she’ll meet us in the departure lounge.’

  ‘So you’ll give it some thought?’ Frankie asked. ‘The bike.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever,’ Alan said dismissively, pulling the ear bud out of his ear and slipping it into his pocket. He stood up, grabbed his bag and swung it onto his shoulder. In the process he managed to knock the bottle of water, cup and plate off of the table which crashed onto the floor, drawing everyone’s attention. A brief moment of silence was quickly followed by ironic cheering.

  ‘Well, pretending I’m a phone call definitely stopped people staring at you.’ Frankie laughed.

  *

  ‘How much further?’ Frankie grumbled as he followed Alan along the walkway. ‘I thought we were getting a plane, not walking to Lapland.’

  Alan paused and looked at his boarding pass. ‘Gate 17 according to this. And we’re at…’ he looked around for an indication of where they were, ‘Gate 2. We’ve got a fair way to go yet.’

  Frankie leaned against the wall. ‘Can we wait for a few minutes? My leg’s really playing up today.’

  Alan sighed and checked his watch. ‘OK, but only for a minute.’ He thought for a moment and added, ‘Are you actually getting on the plane with us?’

  ‘Of course. You’re going to need me around on this trip. Don’t worry, I’m not abandoning you.’

  Alan sighed. ‘I wasn’t worried, I was just wondering if you had a range. I mean, will you start fading out half way over the sea, like a dodgy TV signal?’

  ‘You could get one of those,’ Frankie said, ignoring Alan, instead pointing at a buggy driving slowly past with several elderly passengers sitting in it.

  ‘Why would I want one of those? Do I look like I need one?’ Alan watched the buggy crawl off into the distance at a little over walking speed, but still considerably faster than anything Frankie could manage.

  ‘You could tell them that you have an impediment and can’t walk properly.’

  ‘Absolutely not. You’re going to have to walk.’

  Frankie stepped away from the wall. ‘OK. Better get started then.’ He took a couple of tentative steps and winced. ‘Can we have another rest at Gate 6? We should be there in half an hour.’

  Alan glanced at his watch. ‘OK. OK.’ He stepped into the middle of the walkway and looked in both directions. He could see a buggy approaching, a flashing light on the front and incessant beeping warning pedestrians of its presence.

  ‘How do I get it to stop?’ Alan asked.

  ‘Wave it down like a taxi.’

  Alan put his hand out and began waving to the buggy driver, who came to a halt alongside him.

  The driver, a spotty youth wearing a baseball cap with the statement “Customer Services” splashed across the front stared at him. ‘What?’ He said sullenly.

  ‘I’d like a lift please. Gate 17.’

  ‘This isn’t a Taxi.’ He looked Alan up and down. ‘What’s wrong with you? We only take people who can’t walk. You look OK to me.’

  ‘It’s my leg,’ Alan grimaced. He pointed at his left leg while Frankie slipped into the passenger seat.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’

  Alan winced. ‘It hurts like buggery when I walk long distances. It’s really playing up right now.’

  ‘It can’t be that bad if you’ve got as far as Gate 2.’

  ‘Tell him it’s an old war wound,’ Frankie suggested.

  ‘I don’t like making a fuss,’ Alan said meekly. ‘I thought I could make it, but I didn’t realise how far it was.’

  The driver shrugged and pulled a walkie-talkie from a clip on the buggy’s dashboard.

  ‘Control this is Matty. Anyone there?’

  ‘Go ahead Matty,’ a tinny voice squawked back.

  Matty looked over at Alan. ‘I’ve got a floppy who’s jumped out on me, he needs to get to Gate 17.’

  ‘By the book please, Matty.’

  He shrugged, rolled his eyes at Alan and said. ‘I have an unscheduled pick up for a disabled passenger to Gate 17.’

  ‘Roger that, Matty,’ the voice buzzed. ‘Full disabled protocol.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Matty mumbled and put the walkie-talkie back on the dashboard. ‘In the back then, he gestured at the empty seats behind him. No sooner had Alan sat on the seat than Matty floored the accelerator and the buggy slowly rolled forward.

  ‘Not bad is it?’ Frankie said, as an elderly couple, each holding a cane ambled past them.

  *

  Sarah sat in the departure lounge, slouched in one of the most uncomfortable chairs she’d ever experienced, and checked her watch. She had been told by the ground crew that boarding would start as soon as they had helped a disabled passenger on board. Alan was still conspicuous by his absence, and at this rate he was going to miss the flight. She had received a text from him which simply said that he was on his way. He was, she thought, cutting it very fine.

  The buggy stopped outside the entrance to the departure lounge. Alan grabbed his bag and made to step off the buggy.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Matty asked.

  ‘We’re here. Gate 17.’ Alan pointed at the doors. ‘Thank you,’ he said and momentarily wondered if there was a tipping etiquette for buggy drivers.

  ‘You wait here,’ Matty said as he climbed down from the buggy and entered the departure lounge.

  Alan frowned as Matty reappeared pushing a wheelchair.

  ‘What the bloody hell’s that?’ Alan pointed.

  ‘It’s for you. Now hang on and I’ll help you
in.’

  ‘What for?’ Alan asked as Frankie stepped off the buggy, smirking.

  ‘Disabled protocol. I’m not allowed to leave you until you’re on safely on the plane.’

  Ignoring Alan’s protests, Matty stepped forward and put his hands under Alan’s arms, pulling him forward and sliding him into the wheelchair.

  ‘Good to see you’re still not drawing attention to yourself,’ Frankie said helpfully as Matty pushed Alan into the departure lounge.

  Alan kept his head down avoiding eye contact with everyone in the departure lounge. He could see Frankie walking alongside the buggy as calm as you like. Alan’s embarrassment turned into anger. Reaching the desk, he looked up at Frankie, who promptly disappeared into thin air, leaving him staring at Sarah who sat, open mouthed in surprise.

  ‘Hi Sarah,’ he mumbled, gave her a little wave and waited for the ground to open up and swallow him.

  *

  Alan and Sarah sat in adjacent seats in the plane. Not for the first time, Sarah laughed. ‘I just think that’s brilliant, telling the buggy driver you needed a lift or you’d miss your flight.’

  Alan shrugged. ‘It was the only thing I could think of at the time,’ he lied.

  Sarah patted his arm. ‘I think it’s brilliant. But what I don’t understand is why they thought you needed a wheelchair.’

  ‘No idea. Probably just a misunderstanding.’

  She laughed again. ‘Well I think its genius.’

  Alan smiled and picked up the in-flight menu card the stewardess had left when she brought them drinks.

  ‘They’ve got a full Christmas dinner option here,’ he thrust the card under Sarah’s nose. ‘You’d have thought an airline would have been immune from jumping on the Christmas band wagon. It’s a flight to Lapland in December, surely that’s Christmas enough for anyone.’

  ‘You really do have a problem with Christmas don’t you?’ Sarah said. ‘Are you psychologically scarred by the horrors of Christmas past?’

  ‘Not at all. I have lots of great Christmas memories. I just think it’s too commercial these days. Parents guilt tripped into buying their kids the latest tech they can ill afford. It upsets me a bit, that’s all.’