Christmas at Frozen Falls

by Kiley Dunbar

  ‘As long as you don’t mind me mentioning how your beer brewing experiment ended with your wardrobe doors getting exploded clean off?’ Niilo replies, with laughter raising his voice.

  It’s heart-warming to see Stellan and Niilo face each other off with good-humoured camaraderie, like brothers.

  I guess Nari’s thinking the same thing because she’s drawn her camera out from the pocket of her snowsuit and she quickly snaps a picture of our two hosts. Stellan notices and instantly clams up.

  ‘Be careful with that,’ he says, snappishly.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I usually ask first, but you two were laughing and it all looked so natural and festive, I guess I didn’t think. I instinctively snapped a quick picture for my blog. I’m sorry, I’ll delete it.’

  ‘He means be careful of letting your camera get cold. The batteries will drain away in minutes in these temperatures,’ reassures Niilo, but as I watch Stellan return to eating his meal without saying another word or meeting their eyes, I’m not so sure that is what he meant. The jollity of our shared meal seems to have been shattered and we silently drain our glasses.

  Soon after, Niilo rises to his feet and clears away our empty dishes. There’s a basin of water by the fire and I offer to help him wash up. As I dry our plates and pack them away in one of the boxes, I listen to Nari trying to get Stellan to chat about the logistics of running the tourist wilderness trails. He answers and even accepts a few squares from her slab of chocolate, but I notice she’s treading carefully, and she doesn’t write down any quotes or take any more photos, and in spite of Nari’s uncharacteristic blunder – goodness knows she’s travelled enough to observe the etiquette for taking pictures – I’m still cross that he’s making her so uncomfortable.

  * * *

  ‘You and Niilo are getting along all right then?’ I say, once me and Nari are finally alone outside petting the dogs after lunch.

  ‘He’s adorable, maybe a little bit shy though.’

  ‘Shy? You two haven’t stopped talking since we set off from the resort.’

  ‘Somebody had to fill the silence. Has Stellan used up his word ration for the year and he’s spinning out five a day until January?’

  ‘Silence is golden, apparently.’

  ‘Is it now? You didn’t say very much over lunch either. You OK?’

  I nod and concentrate on smoothing the scruff of one of the dog’s thick necks. I don’t want to tell her how much I had hoped that Stellan’s note last night had signified a break in the ice and that today I might get a glimpse of the old, charming, caring Stellan. If I’m honest, I’d been hoping for a reminder of the flirtatious, provocative Stellan I once knew too. But I daren’t say anything, not until Nari’s opinion of Stellan improves a bit, if it ever does. He’s not exactly trying to win us over. I cringe as I remember the tension that had threatened to spoil our lovely meal and I tell myself to avoid the topic of Manchester for the rest of the day, in case dredging up the past again makes things even tenser.

  I decide to stay with the dogs when Nari says she’s going to get some pictures of the exterior of the lavvu, and I watch her peep her head inside the tent first, presumably asking Stellan’s permission.

  Niilo stops by me on his way to the sleds with the blankets, and he hands me some of the leftover scraps of our lunch to share out amongst the huskies. He crouches beside me as we crumble bread, which the dogs hoover up in seconds, and he says confidingly, ‘Don’t let him worry you. He’s not being rude; he just doesn’t throw words away.’

  I smile, a little abashed that he can tell I’m wounded. ‘Nari thinks he’s rationing them.’

  ‘She might be right. Look at these leftovers from our meal. We ate, now the dogs eat, and then the birds will find the crumbs in the snow when we’re gone. Nothing is wasted here. Every little thing is precious. And Stellan has taken this lesson to his heart. But his heart is kind. Remember that.’

  I watch Niilo walking off to find Nari and accompanying her all the way back to their sled with gentlemanly attentiveness.

  I think about Niilo’s advice as I divide the rest of the scraps between the hungry mutts. No words wasted or thrown away. That’s our Stellan, all right. But why does he think talking with me is wasteful, after all this time, when it feels as though there are things that need to be said?

  Ugh! I could kick myself! All this awkwardness could have been avoided if I’d either a) ignored Nari and not let her talk me into this walk of shame down memory lane – we could be in hassle free Lanzarote right now. I haven’t, to my knowledge, got any awkward exes hanging around there, or b) not thrown away the words ‘I love you’ on Stellan that day all those years ago.

  Stellan had told me those aren’t words you bandy about – you should use them sparingly when you really need them. It makes me wince to think about it. He thought I was brainlessly squandering my feelings, faking it, and all along I was completely madly devoted to him. In fact, I’m not just wincing, I’m getting cross.

  Minä rakastan sinua, I’d said. I’d compressed my entire heart and soul into those little words and offered them up to him, and he’d done a runner. Back then, if he’d just let me, I’d have said those words to him ten times a day, every day, for the rest of our lives. I thought I had gotten over all this angst a long time ago, round about the time I met Cole, but here it is, hitting me in the feels all over again.

  Maybe teenage breakups affect you forever, even if you aren’t aware of that fact. I imagine my situation’s rather unusual in that I’m here, thrown together with my first love, and it’s increasingly clear there’s still lots of messy emotions scattered all around us, love-bomb debris from the day I said ‘I love you’ and Stellan ran.

  Right, Sylvie, New Plan. For the rest of this holiday, in fact, for the rest of my life, I’ve got to hold on to that mortifying, hideous memory, because when it comes to any old feelings I might still have for Stellan, it’s a case of waste not, want not. He thinks I’m an emotional spendthrift and that I say too much? Well, I’ll show him how bloody golden silence can be!

  ‘Time to go.’

  I jump up, startled at the sudden appearance of Stellan behind me, and I make one of the huskies jump too. Poor thing.

  ‘OK,’ I say, remembering my resolution. I’m not going to give this guy any further opportunities to make me, or Nari for that matter, feel ridiculous. When we arrive back at the sheds I’ll politely say thank you and goodbye, and I’ll steer clear of him until Boxing Day. Easy.

  I settle myself in the sled and we make our way back to the resort, neither of us uttering a single word. Even when the darkness falls completely before three o’clock and I can’t quite believe the day is over so soon, I don’t exclaim aloud. And I have to bite the insides of my cheeks when I see the pink moon on the horizon, seemingly racing up into the sky. Is that some kind of arctic illusion? I can’t ask him. I keep my thoughts to myself, and the dogs run us all the way home across the frozen lake and through the great drifts of snow as fine flakes fall like glitter upon my face.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘I’m going to my cabin to turn some of these notes into copy for the blog. You’ll be all right getting to your cabin with Stellan, won’t you?’ Nari shouts out with barely concealed amusement once she’s finished saying goodbye to the dogs back at the husky shed.

  Niilo instantly offers to walk with her and the pair of them shuffle off into the dark. I hear Nari laughing as they go.

  Stellan’s just finished expertly coaxing each dog back into the enclosure behind the shed and now, I’m left looking at him and feeling ridiculous, because he seems to be pretending he hasn’t heard Nari dumping me on him. She thinks she’s matchmaking. I could happily run after her and shove her in a snowdrift.

  Alone with Stellan. This was not part of my plan. I’m about to say, ‘Well, I’ll be off then,’ when he strides over.

  ‘Do you want to help with the dogs?’

  ‘Sure.’ Dammit! Here’s me aiming for aloof
and disinterested and he’s offering me canine nirvana. ‘Just for a bit, then I’d better get ready for dinner with Nari.’

  Once we’re inside again beneath the shed’s fluorescent lights and all the dogs are munching happily on something that looks like strips of beefy jerky, Stellan indicates that he wants me to sit down on the bales beside Kanerva’s puppies. He’s produced two steaming mugs of hot chocolate from a neat little kitchen inside a glass cubicle in the corner of the shed, and we settle on the straw bales, looking intently at the dogs as they chew.

  I don’t want to be the one to break the silence, but he really is just sitting there staring into his drink. I clear my throat and he glances up with what looks like hopeful relief in his eyes.

  ‘Stellan,’ I say. ‘I know it must be weird me turning up like this at your resort. Would you believe me if I said it was a coincidence, at first?’ You shouldn’t, I think to myself. I chose Saariselkä hoping, deep down, you’d be here, like a fool.

  ‘It’s not weird. I’m glad you’re here. Are you happy you came?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I am.’ I nod. ‘But please don’t feel obligated to show us around or anything. Me and Nari can see the sights on our own. You should probably be getting back to your tourists. It is Christmas Eve tomorrow, it must be your busiest day of the year, what with all the preparations for the big day.’

  Stellan nods, and I wonder if he looks a little wounded.

  ‘I mean, obviously, it was nice spending time with you,’ I say quickly. ‘It was good to catch up after all these years, wasn’t it, with an old friend?’

  The moment of silence that follows is so excruciating I almost ask for another of those disgusting salmiakki sweets just to break the tension. I feel a bit churlish and rude now I’ve said all that out loud. I take a drink of chocolate and think about saying something about how I’ll get out of his hair now, leave him to finish his work, when finally Stellan speaks.

  ‘Why are you here, Sylvie?’ He meets my disconcerted eyes for a second then looks down again.

  ‘Well, I’m on holiday, aren’t I?’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘I’m not alone, I’m with Nari.’

  ‘I meant, with no family, or…’

  ‘Oh! Right. No, I don’t have anyone like that. No partner or… anything.’

  Now he’s looking right at me. If I don’t ask now, I never will. Here goes nothing. ‘And what about you? Does your… partner live here too? On the resort, I mean?’

  He shrugs his broad shoulders slowly. ‘No partner. Just me. It’s kind of hard to meet someone out here – someone who’s sticking around after the end of the season, that is.’

  ‘Right,’ I nod. Thank God my cheeks are blotchy red from the cold because I’m pretty sure I can feel the heat rising up my neck and spreading across my face, which is ridiculous, and I tell myself off.

  ‘I, um…’ Stellan shifts uncomfortably on the bale. ‘I heard you were getting married. I assumed you were… still married?’

  ‘How would you know I was getting married?’ He’s Googled me! The sheepish grin on his face tells me I’m right. We both laugh at our ridiculous awkwardness.

  ‘I looked you up online, years ago,’ he says quietly, his head down, still smiling.

  This is crazy, I think. ‘Look, Stellan, I was dumped, OK? Just before the wedding and after a decade long engagement, as it happens. So, there. No husband. Just me and Nari getting away from the humiliation of a singleton’s Christmas in England. Now you know. But don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t. Not any more, I don’t.’

  As I’m saying this I realise this is the first time this has occurred to me. I’ve thrown myself a six month long pity party and revelled in the misery, and here I am at minus twenty degrees, miles inside the Arctic Circle, surrounded by gorgeous mutts, feeling… all right actually, and genuinely, definitely not sorry for myself! Hah!

  ‘Asshole,’ says Stellan.

  ‘I’m sorry, what?’

  ‘He’s an asshole.’

  ‘Cole? Certifiably, yes.’

  ‘What happened?’

  I gulp. I remember Stellan being straightforward. He doesn’t dress up his questions, and likes to get to the point, but wow, it’s disarming when you’re used to English prevarication.

  Sod it, I may as well tell him the whole story. In my new frame of mind it might do me good to say it aloud, once and for all, to someone I barely know any more, and who I’ll never see again after this afternoon.

  I prepare myself by taking a long drink from my steaming mug, thinking what a shame it is that we’re unlikely to meet again, and how I know we haven’t exactly hit it off, but it would be nice to keep in touch, when Stellan interrupts my thoughts.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me if it hurts too much.’

  ‘I’ll tell you. It’s not Cole leaving that hurts, not any more. It’s what happened afterwards. I don’t think I’ll ever recover.’

  ‘Jesus! All right, I’m listening.’

  * * *

  It started the day Cole disappeared. I was in the most beautiful wedding shop you’ve ever seen, in Chester. I was standing in front of the mirror in my dress, all seed pearls and satin, and the seamstress was crouching at my feet, cutting the hem freehand – and me and Mum and Nari were just watching her shears working, amazed at how chilled she seemed despite having only one chance to cut it correctly, and I was trying so hard to stand still, when my mobile rang. Nari answered then passed it to me.

  It was Cole. He was at the airport. He’d changed his mind. The wedding was off.

  I couldn’t take it in at first. I’d been staying at Mum and Dad’s for a few days so I could do a practice run at the hairdresser’s, sort out the champagne at the cash and carry, and do a thousand other wedding related jobs. Cole was supposed to have that whole week off work so he could collect the wedding cake and pick up his suit and see to the last minute arrangements at the reception venue, but instead he’d put his name down for some standby shifts. He’d been offered the chance of long-haul work, and he’d taken it.

  He said he wasn’t coming back for the wedding, he was sorry, he’d never forgive himself, blah, blah, blah. And that was it. The poor seamstress was still only halfway through cutting my hem and I was shaking uncontrollably and sobbing my heart out.

  When a wedding’s cancelled, it’s not like in the films where, once there’s been an appropriate amount of crying, they cut straight to the getting-on-with-her-life montage and she soon learns what a lucky escape she’s had. In real life there’s actually a bunch of admin to do. It’s a bit like when somebody passes away; you want to lie on the floor and just cry forever but there’s relentlessly grim paperwork to be done and a thousand arrangements to be made. I knew I’d have all this stuff to sort out, and fast, including deciding what to do with my lovely dress, which I’d never walk down the aisle in but I’d still have to pay for.

  In spite of all this, even when I was panicked and distraught, there was one little bit of comfort waiting for me at home: Barney.

  Cole had simply flown off that morning, leaving him alone at our house. That’s what I thought anyway. I couldn’t get that wedding dress off quickly enough. I threw my clothes on and we all rushed out to pick him up, me howling in Mum’s back seat all the way to Manchester.

  Barney was never happy being left alone for too long; he’d get lonely and bored and chew things, furniture mainly. He’d been like that since the day I found him, or rather, the day we found each other.

  I’d spotted him in a rescue centre advert in the local paper. The vet thought he might be about ten weeks old, but nobody could be certain. I knew instantly that he was my dog. I’d been so lonely after moving to the Love Shack. I’d just finished my teaching degree and was struggling to find full time work and Cole was always flying – that, I’d quickly realised, was the major downside of being engaged to a glamorous, handsome airline pilot; that and his falling in love with air hostesses. Somehow Barney’s big brown eyes behind the
kennel bars had been irresistible and I brought him home that weekend.

  When Cole got back from his run of Malaysian stop-overs there was this rolling, tumbling, sofa chewing ball of fluff piddling on his pristine white carpets. Loving Barney hadn’t come as easily to Cole as it had for me but the little guy grew on him after a while, and we gave him a lovely life; walking holidays in Cornwall and sausages for tea every now and then, and Frisbee-chasing and…

  Well, anyway, when we got to the house Barney wasn’t there. There was a ‘For Sale’ sign outside and Cole had had the locks changed. All my stuff was in boxes in the garage. So his sudden change of heart about the wedding hadn’t been so sudden after all. And for years I’d dopily handed over my wages and never questioned why Cole was so resistant to the idea of a joint mortgage. He’d orchestrated the perfect, consequence-free coward’s escape.

  I rang Cole’s mum and, of course, the old bat wouldn’t pick up. We went to her house and she wouldn’t answer the door, even though I could hear Barney barking from the kitchen extension at the sound of the doorbell.

  I was frantic, but there was nothing else to do but go back to Mum and Dad’s and wait. I rang her a zillion times a day for three days, until eventually she answered. She said that Cole had given her instructions to look after Barney and that was what she was doing, now that he was from a ‘broken home’. She said Barney was perfectly happy and I was to leave them in peace until me and Cole sorted it all out when he got back.

  I begged her to let me come and collect him but she was having none of it. I knew I couldn’t bring Barney to Mum and Dad’s anyway because of Dad’s allergies, and Nari’s flat was a no-pet rental, and I couldn’t even get into my own house, so I gave in and asked Patricia to at least let me pop round and visit him and – this is what still kills me – she said she didn’t want me ‘toing and froing’, especially knowing the state I was in, in case it confused or frightened poor Barney.