Massive in Lapland

by Ian Edwards

  ‘I bet we’re sitting in their seats,’ Alan whispered to Sarah.

  ‘We’re looking for an Alan Rose,’ Hardy said.

  ‘You’ve found him.’ Alan said pointing at Sarah. Seeing the confused look on Laurel and Hardy’s faces he added, ‘he’s in transition.’ Laurel and Hardy frowned in unison. ‘You know, in transition. The bit between the slicing off of the old man and the folding of the lady flower.’

  Sarah blushed. ‘Ignore this idiot,’ she said. ‘This is Alan,’ she gestured at Alan. ‘How can he help you?’ She stressed the masculine pronoun to avoid confusing Laurel and Hardy any further.

  ‘Gentlemen, take a seat,’ Alan said gesturing at the empty armchairs in front of them.

  Laurel and Hardy looked at each other and sat down.

  ‘Mr Rose,’ Laurel said. ‘My name is Eivor Dure and I am Pekka Pekkonen’s manager.’

  ‘Pay no attention son, they’re definitely Laurel and Hardy,’ Frankie whispered in his ear.

  ‘How can I help you Mr Dure?’ Alan asked.

  Laurel looked around and lowered his voice. ’I’m sure you’re aware that my client is missing.’

  Alan nodded. ‘We heard that, yes.’

  ‘We were wondering if you’d seen him.’ Hardy asked.

  ‘Err…No,’ Alan told them. ‘Have we Sarah?’

  ‘No, No. We definitely haven’t seen him,’ Sarah confirmed.

  And you’re sure about that?’ Frankie asked.

  Laurel and Hardy stared at Alan and Sarah.

  ‘No we definitely haven’t seen him,’ Alan repeated just to make sure there was no misunderstanding.

  ‘OK. But you’ll be sure to let us know if he turns up,’ Hardy glared at him.

  ‘Oh yes definitely,’ Sarah said.

  ‘You never know, you might find him in your room,’ Laurel said somewhat cryptically.

  ‘Well, we’ll be sure to let you know…straight away,’ Alan replied.

  ‘Right then, this is my number,’ Laurel said, leaning across to hand Alan a business card. ‘I’ll be expecting your call.’

  Alan and Sarah smiled pleasantly as Laurel and Hardy stood to leave. Hardy gave them both a scowl before they left without saying goodbye.

  ‘Do you think he knows?’ Alan said under his breath.

  ‘How could he? Even we don’t know where Pekka is.’

  Frankie looked at the retreating Laurel and Hardy and turned to Alan. ‘Well that’s another fine mess you’ve got me into.’

  Alan stifled a giggle, while Sarah frowned.

  *

  ‘I’m telling you, there’s something dodgy about Laurel and Hardy,’ Frankie said, following Alan into his room.

  ‘I know what you mean. But you’ve gone on about nothing else for the last twenty minutes,’ Alan told him. ‘Give it a rest.’

  ‘I had a bad feeling about them as soon as I saw them.’

  ‘Really?’ Alan sat on the bed and removed his shoes.

  ‘Yeah. I was momentarily distracted by the whole Laurel and Hardy thing, but once I got over that they just didn’t seem right.’

  Alan sighed. ‘Maybe if you hadn’t spent the entire evening singing about the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia you’d have been able to give it some more thought.’

  Frankie laughed and dropped down onto the bed alongside Alan. ‘You really should try and watch some of their films. You could pick up a few useful tips.’

  Alan shook his head. ‘You can spend the night in the chair, pal. I’m not sharing the bed with you. You’ll get in my way.’

  ‘Oh come on, I’ll just tuck myself into the…’ Frankie paused, staring into space.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘That’s it. My Way. Frank Sinatra. That’s who those guys remind me of.’

  ‘Laurel and Hardy reminded you of Frank Sinatra?’

  ‘No, not exactly, but there were always these stories floating around that Frank Sinatra had connections. Even in my circle of friends there were rumours that one or two of the guys had help.’

  ‘Sorry, still not with you.’ Alan said.

  Frankie sighed. ‘Look, Laurel and Hardy are probably connected and Pekka is their cash cow. When he’s not working they’re not earning.’

  ‘And they’re getting annoyed?’

  ‘Son, annoyed isn’t the word for it. If they think you have something to do with his disappearance, or know where he is, they could take action.’

  ‘What do you mean action?’

  ‘Anything. Horse’s heads in the bed, swimming with the fishes, or worst case scenario they’ll put you in the foundations of the next big building project.’

  ‘Did you say horse’s heads in the bed?’

  ‘It’s a sign that they’re onto you,’ Frankie explained.

  ‘Well,’ Alan stood. ‘We’ll just make sure we avoid Pekka for the next couple of days. Laurel and Hardy will think we don’t know anything and that’s it. Job done.’

  Frankie grimaced. ‘Good luck with that.’

  ‘I’m going in there for five minutes,’ Alan gestured at the bathroom. ‘When I come out I expect you to be sitting in that chair.’

  Frankie slowly eased himself off the bed as Alan went into the bathroom. ‘That boy needs to start respecting his elders,’ he mumbled as Alan reappeared from the bathroom. ‘No need to check up on me, son, I’m moving,’ Frankie growled.

  ‘It’s Pekka,’ Alan said.

  ‘What about him?’ Frankie asked as he lowered himself down into the chair.

  ‘He’s asleep in the bath.’

  Chapter 9

  Alan prised the lid from his coffee cup and let the steam rise. The cup was painted like a Christmas pudding, the rising steam completing the image. He took a tentative sip and wondered if there would be a coin lurking at the bottom of the cup for authenticity. He clipped the lid back on the top, watching the steam plume out of the little holes. He wondered if it was possible to be broken by the enormity of modern Christmas celebrations. Perhaps Pekka had a point after all.

  He looked across the dining room to where Frankie stood, leaning against the doors. Catching sight of Alan, Frankie waved and walked over to join him.

  As Frankie slipped into the seat opposite Alan took his mobile phone from his pocket and slipped the ear buds into his ears.

  ‘Alright son?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘Not bad. OK, before you ask, yes I slept in Sarah’s room. But in a chair. She had the bed. No I don’t know where Pekka is and I haven’t been back to my room,’ he paused while Frankie took it all in. ‘Satisfied?’

  Frankie smiled. ’Yes thanks. And where’s Sarah?’

  Alan attempted to take a sip of his coffee through the little holes in the lid and winced as the liquid burnt his tongue. ‘She said she had an idea and that she’d meet me here…’ He checked his watch, ‘in about ten minutes.’

  Frankie nodded. ‘She’s a good girl that Sarah.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s alright,’ Alan agreed and went back to his coffee.

  *

  Mikkel pushed the trolley along the corridor. One of the wheels squeaked and he had worked out that by pushing the trolley at varying speeds he could almost get a tune out of it. As he sped up slightly the squeaking increased and (in his opinion) recreated part of Slade’s “Merry Christmas Everybody”.’ Gudni, his colleague from facilities turned to him and asked;

  ‘Are you doing this on purpose?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The squeaking. With the trolley.’

  Mikkel shrugged. ‘I’m just pushing it. It’s doing the squeaking on its own. Where to next?’

  ‘Room 317,’ Gudni answered after consulting his list.

  Mikkel looked at the boxes loaded onto his trolley. There were four left. At least another couple of hours work. He sighed.

  ‘I told you not to drink too much last night,’ Gudni told him. ‘It’s all self -inflicted.’

  ‘I know, but its Christmas. You have to make a special effort at Christm
as. It’s the rules.’

  ‘Well you certainly made the effort.’

  Mikkel ignored his colleague and concentrated on a tricky verse of “Merry Christmas Everybody”.’

  *

  ‘Ever seen the Godfather?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Any of the Jimmy Cagney gangster films?’

  Alan shook his head again.

  ‘Have you ever seen a gangster film?’

  ‘A couple. I saw Goodfellas once, but was disappointed. I thought it was going to be about pizzas.’ Alan grinned.

  Frankie frowned. ‘Sorry son, I don’t understand.’

  ‘Sorry, after your time. To be fair it wasn’t a bad film.’

  ‘So you see the type of people you’re dealing with? You can’t take a chance. You can’t give them reason to believe you’re involved.’

  Alan nodded, bored by Frankie’s incessant talk about gangsters. He perked up as Sarah approached the table.

  ‘Sorry…’ she mumbled, seeing the ear buds and Alan’s mobile on the table.

  ‘No worries, just finished,’ he said as he pulled the ear buds out and placed them back into his pocket.

  ‘Rosie?’

  ‘Where?’ Alan snapped, looking around him.

  Sarah laughed. ‘No, I mean on the phone.’

  ‘Oh that, ‘Alan said, relieved. ‘Yes. Just catching up,’ he lied. ‘Have you heard from Giles?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘No, but then I didn’t expect to. He’s very busy at the moment.’

  ‘Too busy to call his girlfriend when she’s away from home?’ Frankie mused.

  ‘Listen,’ Sarah reduced her voice to a whisper. ‘I was talking to Païvi on reception, who told me that Pekka is missing. It seems his disappearance is fast becoming common knowledge.’

  ‘And they haven’t seen him around the hotel?’ Alan asked.

  ‘If they have, she didn’t mention it.’

  ‘So, no one has placed him with us yet?’

  ‘Not so far,’ Sarah confirmed, ‘we just have to avoid him. Or at least avoid being seen with him.’

  ‘Easier said than done,’ Frankie contributed.

  ‘So we just have to avoid being seen with Lapland’s most famous person for the next forty eight hours?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Sarah agreed.

  ‘Who, despite his giant frame, appears to be able to adopt a multitude of disguises that appear to fool the locals?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Sarah said again.

  ‘Piece of cake,’ Alan chortled and went back to his slowly cooling coffee.

  ‘It certainly is now…’

  ‘Why?’ Alan and Frankie said simultaneously.

  ‘I was speaking to Païvi and I managed to get us booked on a twenty four hour excursion.’

  ‘Great. Where to?’ Alan asked.

  ‘To see the Northern Lights,’ she told him proudly.

  ‘Oh. OK,’ Alan sighed.

  ‘I did well to get us booked on this trip, so you could show a little more enthusiasm, Alan. They only had two spaces left. Païvi had to pull a few strings to get us on as apparently we’re not really their usual type of guest.’

  ‘Sorry, you’ve lost me,’ Alan said exchanging, confused looks with Frankie.

  Sarah sighed. ‘I’ve booked us on the trip to see the Northern Lights with Sun Setting Tours.’

  ‘Alan frowned. ‘Sun Setting Tours. Aren’t they the retirement people?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah smiled. ‘Pekka will never think of looking for us on that trip.’

  ‘OK, but a trip away with a coach load of old people. It’ll be awful…like spending a day with dozens of him,’ he pointed at Frankie.

  ‘Oi, I’m not that old. I’m dead,’ Frankie complained.

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Sarah said, staring from Alan to the empty space opposite him.

  ‘Oh bugger,’ Alan realised with a start what he had just done. ‘Sorry, I was thinking of…err…something else. But still, old people. Wasn’t there a club 18-30 trip?’

  ‘Actually yes,’ Sarah said, ‘but you’re much too old for that.’

  Frankie laughed. ‘Brilliant, she’s got you there, son.’

  Alan stood up and shook his head. ‘OK, fine. The old people it is. I’ll just pop up to my room, get my toothbrush and see if Pekka’s still there.’

  Sarah laughed and muttered, ‘He’s so sweet,’ as she watched Alan leave the room. She couldn’t see Frankie roll his eyes and vanish into thin air.

  *

  Gudni swiped the pass card and the door opened. Mikkel followed him in, holding a large cardboard box to his chest. Gudni stood in the middle of the room, took a bundle of A4 papers from his jacket pocket and flicked through them.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘This one is to go over the bed.’

  ‘Remind me why we are doing this?’ Mikkel whined, dumping the box on the bed and splitting the seal.

  ‘Another brilliant management idea. They want one in every room in case the guests had forgotten what country they’re in and what we’re famous for.’

  ‘And we’re famous for Reindeers..?’ Mikkel announced and produced a Reindeer head from the box.

  ‘Apparently so.’

  ‘Are these real?’ Mikkel asked and gave it a sniff. ‘Doesn’t smell real. Smells like plastic.’

  ‘I doubt they’re cutting the heads off real reindeers just to remind the guests where they are,’ Gudni told him. ‘In fact it would be easier if they just put the whole reindeer in the guest’s room. That way there’d be no mistaking it – a bloody great reindeer having a dump next to the trouser press.’

  Mikkel tossed the head on the bed. ‘Right, let’s get this on the wall and get out of here.’

  Having gone through the same process several times over during the previous few days, Gudni and Mikkel had a system and worked smoothly as a team. Gudni measured the wall, working out the centre and where best to mount the head, while Mikkel sat in a chair and contributed absolutely nothing.

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble, can you pass me the fixings and my drill?’ Gudni asked him.

  Mikkel groaned under the weight of the excessive workload and left the room. He retuned several seconds later.

  ‘Where are they?’ He asked.

  ‘On the trolley, where they normally are.’ Gudni replied, not taking his eyes off the wall just in case the centre mark suddenly moved.

  ‘They’re not there, I checked.’

  ‘Are you sure? I always leave them in the same place,’ Gudni insisted.

  ‘Positive. You can check if you like.’

  Gudni sighed, mumbled something about wanting a job done properly then doing it yourself and left the room to look for the fixings.

  ‘They’re not here,’ he said looking over the trolley.

  ‘I told you,’ Mikkel said.

  Gudni shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘We must have left them in the last room we did.’

  ‘That’s two floors up,’ Mikkel whined.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. We need them,’ Gudni replied and turned towards the lift.

  Mikkel started pushing the trolley after him, pausing for a second and called out after Gudni. ‘Wait a sec,’ and he went back into the room.

  The reindeer head lay on the bed. Mikkel picked it up and put it down on the pillow. ‘Just making you comfortable, Rudolph, we’ll be back in a minute,’ he said and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Gudni growled.

  ‘Just making the head comfortable while we’re gone,’ Mikkel said, grinning. He began to whistle ‘Merry Christmas Everybody’ as he pushed the trolley after Gudni.

  *

  The lift door pinged open and Alan stepped out, turning towards his room.

  ‘What do you have against old people?’ Frankie asked, appearing next to him.

  ‘Nothing,’ Alan told him without breaking stride. ‘In fact I plan on being one in the future.’

&nbs
p; ‘Then why the attitude when Sarah told you about the trip? I think it’s a really good idea.’

  ‘I know it is. I just don’t like the thought of being stuck in a coach for twenty four hours with the cast of Last of the Summer Wine. Going on about their ailments, the price of bread, telling me who’s died recently and the constant scrunching of boiled sweet wrappers.’

  ‘You’re a miserable sod sometimes, do you know that? You think old people moan, but when was it, last week? When you had that sore finger and you thought you had gangrene. Silly bugger.’

  Alan stopped and held his index finger out to Frankie. ‘Look, it’s still red. I still think it’s infected. I probably need antibiotics.’

  Frankie made a show of screwing his eyes up and squinting at the offered digit. ‘Yeah, you’re right that’s a nasty one. I’ll have a word with big fella, tell him to clear a place ready for your imminent arrival.’

  Alan held his finger up the light and studied it closely.

  ‘Just get in there,’ Frankie growled and nudged Alan towards the door.

  Alan quietly opened the door, turned to Frankie and put his index finger on his lips for quiet. Frankie frowned at him and shrugged. They crept slowly into the room, Alan gesturing at the closed bathroom door.

  ‘I left him in there,’ Alan whispered.

  ‘Better get in there and check then,’ Frankie whispered back.

  ‘I keep telling you there’s no need to whisper.’

  ‘Sorry, I was just playing along.’

  Alan shrugged his shoulders and moved towards the bathroom door. He placed a hand on the handle and pulled it down while pushing it slightly open. As he poked his head into the bathroom the lights came slowly on.

  ‘Is he there?’ Frankie asked from outside the bathroom, this time making no effort to keep his voice down.

  Alan gingerly peered into the bathtub. Empty. He exhaled, realising he had been holding his breath.

  ‘It’s OK, he’s gone,’ he called out to Frankie. He reached out and took his washbag from the shelf. ‘Did you hear me? I said he’s gone.’

  ‘Sorry son,’ Frankie called back. ‘I think you should come out here.’

  ‘For God’s sake. What’s up?’ Alan emerged from the bathroom. Frankie stood in front of him, hands raised.

  ‘Now son, I don’t want you to overreact,’ Frankie said calmly.