Christmas at Frozen Falls

by Kiley Dunbar

  Leaving the lounge with its towering chimney and bushy – but bare, I notice –Christmas tree behind me, I push open a wide door at the far end of the lounge, revealing a smaller room like a glass house with a white bed and a towering pyramid roof and a view of the sky above. My shoulders collapse as the mood of relaxation hits me.

  The taxi took about an hour to get us here through terrifyingly snowy, slippery roads and I was gripping the seat with my fingernails the entire time. Our cabby was, actually, amazing. Nobody would go out in conditions like this at home. I can’t imagine a Cheshire Uber driver even venturing down Castlewych High Street in a snowstorm, let alone setting off on a cross-country trek in a blizzard that’s entirely obscured not only the road markings but all sign of the road itself. I still don’t know how he did it without us ending up in a ditch. It had felt as though we were climbing up to the top of the world, which I suppose, we were, and all the time my neck was getting shorter and stiffer as my shoulders lifted in tense knots.

  But here I am in a silent, cosy haven. The bed, covered in a pristine cable-knit throw and plump white quilts, looks unbelievably tempting.

  ‘Dive in!’ I yell to Nari, who’s standing at the door behind me wrestling a cork from a bottle of red wine.

  Soon we’re snuggled up, bare foot, in my enormous bed, sipping the really yummy wine and scoffing iced ginger biscuits in the shape of tiny stars and looking out of the wide pane before us at the grey afternoon. Big fluffy flakes are beginning to fall and I’m trying to resist the urge to sleep that’s stealing over me.

  ‘Won’t people be able to see in?’ I worry.

  ‘What people? There are only eight cabins out here and their occupants will be doing exactly what we’re doing, gazing out at the world.’

  ‘I know but didn’t your mother ever read you fairy tales about dark Scandinavian forests and the granny-eating wolves and axe-wielding woodsmen who live in them? Anybody could pop up at that window.’

  ‘What? And get an eyeful of us in fleecy pyjamas and facemasks? God forbid!’ Nari laughs and rolls her eyes, and we both settle into silence for a while.

  I’ve never heard quietness like this before. No traffic, no planes overhead, not a bird singing. Nothing.

  ‘This is the closest to heaven I’ve even been,’ I tell Nari. ‘Pass us another biccie.’

  ‘Will you be OK?’ she asks as she hands me the bag, unable to take her eyes off the view of the dense snow-covered forest just beyond the glass.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Sleeping here on your own.’

  This is when I remember that the cabin is all mine. Nari scored us two of these beauties and hers is next door. ‘I think I’ll manage,’ I say, stretching out my achy muscles against the soft mattress. ‘What did you do to Stephen to wangle this?’

  Nari simply smiles and sets to work untying the strings on a complimentary bag of marshmallows.

  ‘You must really like each other… freebies like this, meeting up at New Year?’

  She shrugs and pops a marshmallow in her mouth. I wait expectantly as she chews.

  ‘He’s a lot of fun. We enjoy each other’s company. Neither of us asks for too much. It suits me.’

  ‘And you don’t mind that?’ I say. Not that I’m being judgy, it’s just that I’ve long had a sneaking suspicion that Nari, in spite of her Samantha Jones bravado, would secretly quite like a more permanent set-up with someone a little more available. ‘You really are happy drifting in and out of each other’s lives? A quickie in Singapore here, a dirty weekend in Chelsea there?’

  ‘Sounds pretty good to me.’ Nari holds her glass up to mine with a wink. ‘Cheers, Sylve. Here’s to our Northern adventure.’

  We clink glasses and I know she’s already forgotten about Stephen, for now.

  Nari’s eyes look heavy, we’re both stifling yawns and it’s not even dinner time. I watch her close her eyes and smile to herself with her trademark inner calm and poise. Not many people have seen Nari crack or caught a glimpse of the vulnerability she keeps well hidden. Trying to get her to open up about Stephen is nearly impossible now, but there was a time, years ago, when I could hardly stop her talking about him. She was smitten, though she wouldn’t admit it now.

  I remember the shock of her turning up at the Love Shack and seeing her in tears for the first (and only) time as she told me the story of how she came to discover Stephen was very much keeping things strictly fun and informal.

  They’d been at a party in London all evening, a travel industry thing with lots of work talk and exchanging of business cards. As it was coming to an end, a group of Stephen’s friends had suggested they go on to a club where they had a VIP lounge waiting for them. One of the men had casually remarked, ‘Does your girlfriend want to come?’ As quick as a flash, Stephen had smiled politely and replied, ‘Nari’s not my girlfriend.’

  At the time Nari had smiled too, as she let it sink in that what she had hoped was a growing connection between them was in fact exactly what they had promised each other from the beginning: a zero strings, maximum fun hook-up if ever they happened to be in the same time zone. In fact, the whole thing had been her idea, as she wasn’t interested in a long-distance relationship, or so she’d thought.

  She was always on the move and she was still, at that point, writing her popular dating blog – the one she’d set up as a new graduate from uni trying to break into writing – and had yet to find her feet in the travel industry. For years she’d tried every dating service available and written her tongue-in-cheek dating diary with exaggeratedly comic examples of her own dating disasters, persevering only in the half-hope of meeting any real potential boyfriend who might signal an end to her increasingly lucrative single-girl blogger persona.

  But, three months after meeting Stephen in a designer clothes store in the Gangnam district, she’d stopped blogging about her dating escapades and fully devoted herself to cultivating her travel blog.

  She never told Stephen she’d started to have feelings for him, so, according to Nari, it was easier to stifle her affections, until there was nothing left. And she often tells me she’s glad to be part of their informal, glamorous, jet-setting arrangement.

  Of course, she’d left that industry bash without joining Stephen and his VIP friends at the club – Nari’s nothing if not dignified under pressure – and she hadn’t called him, waiting for the inevitable message after an interval of a month or two letting her know there was a jet at her disposal ready to whisk her off to meet him in Malibu or Miami, or wherever she wanted to go.

  And so now I only hear about the fun they have on the few occasions each year when they meet up, and I have to admit that Stephen genuinely does sound charming, considerate and romantic – sweetly shy even, which rather goes against my image of billionaire travel execs, but there you go, people are surprising, aren’t they?

  Still, I often find myself hoping Nari will meet someone else who might like her enough to call her his girlfriend, and she’d let him. One fact fills me with hope on this front: Nari is just as devoted to romantic novels as she’s always been. She gets through hundreds in a year and knows of every new release on the market. If she ever gives up on those, then I’ll give up my hopes of her finding love.

  I take the wine glass from her fingers which are crossed over its stem and resting on her chest, and she opens one eye.

  ‘I’m not sleeping,’ she says. ‘Just recharging.’

  ‘So what should we do first then, once you hit full power?’ I ask. ‘You are, after all, the travel guru.’

  ‘How about a sauna followed by a plunge into an ice hole in the frozen lake?’

  I can’t tell if she’s joking or not. ‘Not for me, thank you very much. I’m thinking of a snooze, followed by a steak in the resort restaurant. You don’t really want to do the cold plunge do you?’

  ‘Nope! The most energetic I’m going to get on this break is drinking cloudberry liqueurs and making drunken snow angels with you.’<
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  She’s reaching for the overly complicated remote control by the bedside. After some random button pressing and some very un-festive language she manages to send the flames roaring in the minimalist gas fire built into the corner of the bedroom (which I’ll admit, I thought was a telly) and the lights by the bedside slowly fade out.

  ‘Snooze it is,’ she says, as we rub our shoulders into the plump pillows.

  As I’m drifting off, I hear her say, ‘I’m glad we’re doing this, Sylve. Thank you.’

  I’m too tired and wine-warmed to reply, but I reach my pinkie out to hook around hers under the covers, and I can tell she’s already contentedly fast asleep.

  * * *

  When I wake up I think for a moment that I’m at home in my flat, except this bed is so much softer than mine and there are no traffic sounds from the road outside my front door. In fact everything is eerily silent, except for Nari’s gentle breathing beside me. As I open an eye I’m met with a strange sapphire darkness. I make out the thick snow on the glass over our heads, obscuring the sky. It must have fallen heavily while we slept and the silence feels somehow damped down by its weight.

  I’m thirsty with a red wine headache and a rumbling stomach. I can’t read the time on my watch. The trouble with these long dark days above the Arctic Circle, I’m beginning to realise, is that you have no idea what time it is just from looking out a window. We might have slept for half an hour and it’s nearly dinner time or it could be midnight now. I have no idea.

  The fire is still flickering away in the corner and kicking out the most incredible heat. It’s stifling actually. If I could find that remote control thingy, I’d turn it down.

  As I’m rummaging under the covers around Nari’s snoozing body, a bright flash of light momentarily blinds me. It’s coming from beyond the glass somewhere among the trees. Another bright flash hits me and a second beam of light joins the first.

  ‘Nari. Nari. Wake up. There’s something outside the window.’

  Nari groans and slaps my frantic hands away.

  ‘God’s sake woman, wake up! I knew this arctic wilderness thing was a mistake. It’s probably robbers after our euros and passports or a yeti looking for its next meal. Do they have yetis here?’

  Nari sits up, rubbing her eyes. ‘Maybe it’s your elf mates from the airport checking to see if you’re being naughty or nice,’ she says dryly, refusing to panic.

  Whatever it is, the lights are getting closer and they seem to be scanning across the windows of the surrounding chalets. The beams settle on us once more, lighting up the room.

  ‘This isn’t funny. If it is elves, they’re getting their candy canes snapped,’ I quip, but my voice is beginning to waver.

  We hear the sound of men arguing outside, deep and loud, and Nari whips her head round to face me. Her eyes are perfectly round with fear. If she’s panicking, now I really am afraid. Nari’s reached for the remote control and is brandishing it as though she’s ready to throw it through the triple-glazed windows and I’m cowering under the covers hoping they kill me first.

  The first tap at the glass makes us scream. The second, accompanied by two faces pressed close to the pane, turns us bloodless with fear. That’s when I realise there’s no phone in here to ring reception in the resort hub a few hundred yards away down the snowy road, and I remember we haven’t yet worked out how to get a signal on our mobiles, and they’re in the kitchen anyway. This is how I’m going to die; killed in my bed by two of Santa’s little helpers.

  Another tap. One of the figures is waving a huge gloved hand. Their faces are covered with scarves which are layered over with snow; only their eyes show through the gaps between hats, scarves and hoods. The tallest of the pair is shouting something but the sound is muffled. He’s pointing to the side of the chalet, indicating that he’s coming round to the door, and with that, the light from their torches fades. Nari and I share incredulous glances.

  ‘He wants us to open the door,’ says Nari.

  ‘He can get knotted then!’

  Nari, who always did have more of a sense of adventure than me, is making her way through the lounge already, her bare feet padding on the polished wooden boards. I follow a few paces behind. The heavy bang on the cabin door makes me flinch.

  ‘They could be lost in the snow. I have to let them in,’ Nari shrugs, a daring little gleam in her eyes.

  I join her by the door, concealing the empty wine bottle behind my back. I’ve never smashed a bottle over an assailant’s head before but it looks like fun in films and there’s a first time for everything.

  A sub-zero gust hits us as Nari throws the chalet door open. Nobody speaks and we peer expectantly out into the dark.

  There stand the two men. One is tall and broad, the other smaller but solid-looking. Both are dressed in elaborate, layered clothing with colourful embroidered belts and cuffs. I’ve seen this traditional type of clothing in the Lapland holiday brochure. The taller man is wearing an incongruously modern snow jacket over his costume and has loops of thin rope slung across his body. The smaller guy looks resplendent in a long, thick reindeer hide coat and grey fur boots which curve into points above the toes.

  Nari breaks the silence, and uses her fiercest voice, though I suspect she’s enjoying this now. ‘What do you think you’re doing, scaring the life out of two defenceless women?’

  Neither of the men reply. Instead of barging into the cabin and garrotting us with our own bootlaces, they take a step back further into the darkness. They’re right to be afraid of Nari. Very wise.

  At last I hear a voice, slow and deep, coming to me through the thick wool of the taller man’s scarf. ‘It is you.’

  It takes a moment or two to register. Then I hear him say my name and even though it’s muffled by the layers over his face, I know that voice, as smooth and tempting as spiced hot chocolate. Its owner reaches thick mittens to his face and tugs the scarf away and I recognise those full lips and that jawline, broader now and more bristled than when I last saw them.

  ‘Stellan?’

  I’m aware of Nari’s wide eyes burning into the side of my face and I just know she’s smirking. I step forward, trying to get a better look at the man I haven’t seen since I was a teenager, not easy in the polar darkness and with snowflakes flurrying between us.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, in a not entirely friendly voice.

  ‘I’m on holiday with my friend, Nari.’

  Nari offers Stellan her widest grin. She’s put a steadying hand on the small of my back.

  ‘I was on a reindeer trail with some tourists. I just got back and found your message on Facebook,’ he says.

  I’m nodding and trying to gauge the look on his face, something between caution and annoyance. It suddenly strikes me that I shouldn’t have come here. There’s a reason we haven’t spoken for years. What was it again? Oh yeah, he ran off and abandoned me. Story of my life. I look down at my feet, embarrassed, and also a tiny bit pissed-off that he’s being so hostile.

  Nari’s the only one smiling and she’s looking back and forth between me and Stellan like this is a highly entertaining Grand Slam match point. She’s nudging me and I realise it’s my turn to say something. Stellan stares at me, his eyes screwed up against the snow.

  ‘Do you want to come in for a coffee?’ I say.

  ‘No,’ he replies, and it’s so abrupt I stiffen my neck in shocked response. I remember him being a cool customer but was he always rude like this?

  The second man hurriedly steps forward at this point, pulling his own scarf down, revealing an apologetic smile. ‘Welcome to Lapland. I am Niilo Oskal. I work with Stellan on the wilderness trails. I am at your service.’ He makes a charming bow and I just know Nari’s as struck by his beautiful features and soft, kind voice as I am. She reaches for his hand and pumps it enthusiastically, introducing us both with a broad smile.

  Niilo nods shyly, not quite making eye contact with her and occasionally directing his smilin
g dark eyes somewhere down towards her feet.

  ‘How long are you staying?’ Stellan asks, his voice softer now, cowed by the polite example set by his friend’s warm welcome.

  ‘Until Boxing Day.’

  He receives the information without a sound, so I add, ‘That’s the twenty-sixth.’ He still doesn’t speak, though his eyes are set disconcertingly on mine. His golden-brown irises are still the lightest I’ve ever seen and they’re framed by white, frost-covered lashes.

  ‘OK,’ he nods sharply, and then turns to leave. ‘Enjoy your vacation.’

  Niilo shoots another sorry smile towards us as he makes after Stellan, before turning back suddenly and speaking directly to Nari, who’s still grinning in amazed disbelief.

  ‘Hyvää joulua,’ he says.

  And with that Niilo follows after Stellan, who has already stalked off and been swallowed up by the dark treeline. Nari and I watch the light from Niilo’s torch as it dances and jerks before finally fading out.

  Closing the door with a heavy shove, Nari laughs. ‘What the hell was all that about?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ I reply, realising I’m still gripping the wine bottle, my would-be weapon, and feeling utterly ridiculous.

  ‘Rude, much?’ Nari remarks, as she reaches for her suitcase handle.

  ‘I’m sure he used to be nicer than that. Much nicer. Sweet even,’ I say, wondering why I’m defending the clot.

  ‘His friend was nice though, wasn’t he?’ Her eyes glisten and her lips hitch up at the side a little. I’ve seen this look a lot, but she’s all smart talk, smirking, and no action when it comes to blokes these days, so I let it go.

  I watch Nari struggling to drag her case over the lip of the door frame. Before she heads next door to her chalet she throws a glance towards the deep footprints in the snow made by our strange welcoming committee. ‘Get ready for dinner. Maybe they’ll be back at the resort restaurant waiting for us.’ She waggles her perfect eyebrows up and down.