by Karen Swan
‘Why?’
Tuck caught Jonas’s gaze briefly, before he looked away again. ‘I’m just persona non grata, that’s all.’
‘So she’s upset with you and Lucy?’
Tuck nodded. ‘And the way I see it, she’s right to be. I don’t blame her for feeling that way about any of it.’ He set down the unwanted pizza slice and picked up his beer. ‘Funny, isn’t it, how you think some things are gonna be for ever but then they’re . . . pulled apart and dismantled in the blink of an eye?’ He looked around the restaurant, at the familiar faces at almost every table. ‘I thought I’d got my life all set up. I thought we’d made the template for how things were gonna be for the next sixty years. Work was going great, me and Mitch best buddies since third grade. And then—’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Everything changed, we changed, and nothing’s what I thought it would be – not my friends, not my marri—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Shit. Listen to me. You got me rambling on like you’re a shrink and I’m a wacko!’
Jonas smiled. ‘I’m genuinely interested.’
But Tuck shook his head and frowned at his beer with a funny expression. ‘They put some sort of truth serum in here?’ he asked, back to being the clown.
Jonas laughed and they moved on to the ice-hockey league, Tuck pleased to find Jonas was well informed on the sport, having avidly followed the Norwegian league all his life, even when in space.
By the time they parted an hour later, Tuck felt unburdened. He had been joking about the whole ‘shrink’ thing but there was no doubt Jonas was easy to talk to. He was a good listener – so good, in fact, that it was only when Tuck stopped at the bungalow front door, hearing the baby’s cries coming from the other side, that he realized his question – what exactly were his intentions with Meg? – had gone unanswered.
Chapter Thirty
Wednesday 15 November 2017
‘Oh, my goodness, old-school!’ Meg laughed, seeing how far the ski tips extended past the front of her boots – boots that were so soft she could wiggle her toes in them. They reminded her of old-fashioned leather ice-skating boots, only with the blade removed.
‘Now raise up,’ Jonas instructed, bending over and looking closely at the bindings as she lifted onto her tiptoes, her heel coming completely free of the back of the ski. ‘Good.’ He straightened up and smiled. ‘You ready?’
Meg inhaled deeply and nodded. ‘How hard can it be, right? We’re just going to glide.’
She looked ahead of them, the ski tracks already pre-set, four deep grooves running in tandem away from them on the flat, towards the trees. It had snowed heavily – almost continuously, in fact – for the past few days, forcing them to abandon this plan yesterday, and they had spent the day at screenings and drinking coffee instead, sharing popcorn in the dark and talking non-stop in the bright; after their initially hesitant start, they had fallen into a gallop, their face-to-face conversations as animated as their faceless emails had been. So when this morning they had woken to a sky that was rinsed clear, the trees listing slightly beneath the fresh weight, sporadic showers of snowflakes sprinkling to the ground every time a squirrel scampered along a bough, they had been packed and ready by nine. Badger was already a dark dot in the distance, nose to the ground, tail flapping like a pennant as he tried to track a snowshoe hare that had a good 100-metre head start on him.
They set off, Jonas looking sleek in his all-black skins – insulated leggings with special muscular compression pads, a soft-shell jacket, gloves and a beanie. Perhaps it was because his outfit was so stark against the all-white landscape, but it somehow served to define him more sharply, making his light eyes glitter, his pale skin flushed in the biting temperatures, the soft brush of stubble glinting in the sunlight like iron shavings – and Meg remembered again why she had cut off contact. That face was distracting; she’d known it when she’d seen him for the first time on TV in Toronto.
He moved rhythmically and powerfully, the extra-long poles (which came almost to chest height when stuck straight in the ground) stabbing the snow in clean, alternate movements as his skis glided along. Meg caught the rhythm quickly. As an accomplished Alpine skier and snowboarder herself, she understood how to move on snow, although it was an odd sensation having such freedom of movement in the foot.
They poled and glided at a good speed, the car park receding behind them quickly as they moved towards the trees. Occasionally, Jonas told her to delay transferring her weight or to bend more into the push-off, but mostly they enjoyed the silence. It was an easy peace, both of them used – she supposed – to solitude and quietness; her at the cabin, him on his rocket. (She knew the ISS wasn’t actually a rocket, but it amused her to think of it in those terms.)
The mountains looked down on them from all sides, only the steepest cliffs still a stubborn, grey granite. Animal tracks decorated the virgin snow, most of which she recognized as she poled past, faithfully following the tracks like a train and keeping her intrusion into this beautiful natural playground at a minimum.
‘Do you like it here?’ she asked him, glancing over and seeing how his eyes roamed the space as though trying to absorb the view into his body.
‘It’s exactly what I hoped it would be.’
‘How’s it different to your mountains and valleys?’
He looked around him as he skied. ‘The mountains here are higher, with more forests. Ours are a lot more barren but we have more grazing pastures.’
‘That’s specific,’ she smiled, hearing how the birdsong changed as they moved into the trees, shadows stippling the ground so that sunlight fell on them in staccato bursts now. The gradient began to climb a little and she felt the first twinges of burn in her thighs. Jonas had studied the route after she’d emailed it over and had advised her to ‘carb-load’ at dinner the night before – Ronnie had said afterwards who couldn’t love a man who insisted you eat pasta? – because if they wanted to enjoy the fun of going down the slopes, they were going to have to pay on the way up first. Personally, this was why Meg was such a big fan of chairlifts.
The snowfall had been dispersed and irregular in the forest, the higher trees distorting where the snow fell so that some of the smaller, younger saplings were almost bare, others overloaded with bulbous snow growths that deformed and bent their shapes.
‘You know, this is pretty easy,’ Meg quipped, keeping pace easily as they moved in deeper and the silence loudened.
He looked over at her, a bemused smile on his lips. ‘I’m glad you think so. Tell me if you still think that when we get past the bridge.’
‘OK,’ she replied with a nonchalant toss of her head, but these skis were a good thirty centimetres longer than any she had ever used before for downhill skiing and she wasn’t sure she’d fare quite so well out of the tracks.
‘Do you ski a lot?’ he asked, his breathing a little laboured, his cheeks really pinking up.
‘Usually. Not this year, though.’
‘Because of Mitch?’
Meg looked over at him but his gaze was dead ahead. ‘Yes, probably.’
‘Are you scared of being caught up in an avalanche?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It’s just . . . the memories, more than anything. Pretty much everywhere here has a story or adventure attached to it.’
‘Tuck was telling me how you all used to go on expeditions together and stay in the mountain huts . . .’
What else had Tuck said, she wondered? ‘Well, it wasn’t like we did that all the time. He was probably exaggerating. Tuck’s prone to that.’
Jonas glanced at her, raised an eyebrow. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So does here have memories for you?’ he asked, meaning this valley, these woods.
‘No. Because it’s on the flat, we never came this way.’
‘Well, good, then. So today we can make a new story.’
She looked over at him. He was smiling at her – easy-going, languid. ‘Do you do this in
Norway?’ she asked.
‘All the time. Sometimes it’s the only way to get about. If there’s a heavy fall and they don’t clear the road . . . I often used to ski to school when I was younger.’
‘What you need is a snowmobile. I’ve got one for getting to the cabin. It’s so steep where I live, it’s the only way up in the winter. If you go by day you can get the chairlift up to the top and ski back down, which is pretty fun, but not that great if I’ve got shopping to carry or whatever. And after dark when the lift’s shut . . .’ She shrugged.
‘I would love to see this cabin of yours.’
‘It isn’t anything fancy,’ she said quickly.
‘I’d be disappointed if it was. Fancy isn’t really the point of a mountain cabin, is it?’
‘No, I guess not,’ she smiled, feeling relieved. Then feeling shy. ‘Well, then you should come for dinner while you’re here. If you want. I mean, it’s a bit crowded with Ronnie and Jack staying—’
‘You say crowded, I say cosy. I lived on a space station, remember.’
She smiled. ‘So what do you like to eat?’
‘Well, I’m really into Samoan flavours at the moment . . .’ He looked over at her aghast expression and laughed. ‘Relax. I’m messing with you. I spent six months eating freeze-dried food from packets. I love everything. There is literally nothing I will not try.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Try me.’
‘Scotch bonnet stir-fry?’
He laughed but gave a lackadaisical shrug. ‘It wasn’t quite what I had in mind, but absolutely.’
She narrowed her eyes, wickedly, trying to think of another. ‘Puffer fish sashimi?’
‘Why not?’
It was her turn to laugh. ‘You’re mad.’
‘Quite possibly.’
‘So what did you pack for our picnic then? Because I’m starving.’
‘We’ve only been going for forty-five minutes!’
‘I know. I’m a nightmare. Always hungry at the wrong times.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said, glancing over at her. ‘Well, I went traditional. I thought if we were skiing in the Nordic style, we should eat and drink that way too. So we have pickled herrings, lefsa—’
‘Lefsa?’
‘They’re like potato pancakes. Agurksalat – cucumber salad, basically – and snarøl.’ He saw her blank expression. ‘It’s a drink made from lemon, sugar, yeast and an alcohol-free malt called vørterøl.’
‘OK,’ Meg said slowly. ‘I haven’t heard of a single one of those. Except for the fish.’
‘Not scared, are you?’
‘Never . . .’ she grinned, sensing a challenge. ‘Oh, look at that!’
They had emerged from the trees onto an open pasture, the snow spreading away from them like a carved woodcut. ‘It’s so beautiful.’
‘Sastrugi,’ Jonas said, following her eye line.
‘What?’
‘That’s what it’s called – the ripples and ridges that are formed by the wind. It’s called sastrugi.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Just picked it up somewhere,’ he shrugged.
She shook her head. ‘Is there anything you don’t know?’ In the course of the journey, she’d already ascertained that he had flown for the Norwegian air force, was a black belt in karate, spoke five languages (Norwegian, English, Spanish, German – and Russian, which was compulsory for astronauts) and was considering – on account of his crack-shot shooting skills and love for cross-country – taking up biathlons now that he had more spare time. ‘Oh! See the eagle?’ she asked, pointing it out, wheeling high above them.
He looked up. ‘I love eagles.’
‘Don’t tell me, you can speak eagle too.’
He tapped her on the legs with his ski pole. ‘Hey.’
‘What?’ she laughed. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. You’re like Superman.’
‘Hardly.’
‘No? Give me one flaw then.’
‘Hmmmm . . . I guess my colleagues would tell you it’s that I always think I’m right.’ He looked bemused by the exercise. ‘That or I’m too frank. I tend to just speak my mind.’
‘And your mother? What would she say?’
‘My mother?’ he chuckled.
‘Oh, yes. You can tell a lot about a man by his relationship with his mother.’
He considered that. ‘Well, then I think she’d say that I’m too driven.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I’m single-minded to the point of obsession. When I want something, I go after it and don’t stop till I get it.’
Meg swallowed. ‘But isn’t that a good thing?’
‘It depends what I’m going after. Up till now it’s been my career, which has meant having to give up, or go without other things.’
‘You mean, like friends?’
‘And relationships. It’s hard to ask someone to wait for you whilst you leave the planet for six months.’
She looked dead ahead. ‘I’m sure the right girl would,’ she murmured, trying to keep her tone light.
They fell silent for a moment, gliding through the crystal quiet. ‘OK,’ she said then, ‘so you’ve got your flaws. You’re gobby and opinionated and ruthless—’
‘Hey!’
She chuckled. ‘Now give me one vulnerability that makes you merely human.’
He considered for a moment. ‘Well, there’s one big one.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I’m scared of heights.’
Meg was delighted. ‘You’re kidding me.’
‘I’m not. Terrified of them, in fact.’
‘You’re scared of heights so you became an astronaut?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that was why I became one. I became an astronaut in spite of it.’
‘But that’s like . . . being a doctor who’s scared of blood.’
‘Or a vet who’s allergic to cats,’ he agreed.
‘Or . . . Or a vegetarian pig farmer!’ she cried.
Jonas grinned. ‘Or a teacher who hates kids.’
‘A claustrophobic lift engineer!’
Jonas arched an eyebrow at her slightly random simile and she giggled.
‘I just don’t get it. You’re scared of heights and yet you chose a job that would mean you had to go to the highest heights of all.’
‘Yeah, I’m sick like that.’
She laughed. ‘But how can you do that? I mean, how do you make yourself do it?’
He looked across at her, his eyes dancing at her amusement. ‘Because I fully believe that we have to push past our fears. It is highly unlikely that height itself is ever going to harm me – but my fear of it could seriously damage my life. We have to live before we die.’
‘That sounds like a title for a Bond film.’
‘I do consult for them.’
‘Stop it!’ Meg laughed.
He chuckled. ‘OK. So now you tell me your flaw.’
‘Ha! Where to begin?’ she groaned. ‘There isn’t just one, you know. There’s a huge list,’ she said, drawing out the word.
‘No, there’s just one. There’s always just one.’ He looked straight at her. ‘What’s the one thing that’s stopping you from living before you die, Meg Saunders?’
She stared at him, all her amusement and levity deserting her in a flash. Did she even need to say it?
They shushed through the snow, their skis flattening the ice crystals, their breath rhythmic and paired without any conscious twinning on their parts.
She glanced across and saw he was looking up into the sky. More than looking – searching.
‘Do you watch for them, every time you look at the sky?’ she asked, panting lightly.
He smiled, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘Yes. I can’t help it. Do you?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled back. ‘Are you going to go back up there?’
‘I don’t know. It’s not guaranteed.’
‘Do you want to?�
��
He was quiet for a moment. ‘If you’d asked me six months ago I’d have said yes, no question. I beat over ten thousand applicants and spent years in specialist training to get up there, and I’d have stayed for as long as they’d have let me.’
‘But now?’
He looked straight ahead. ‘Things are different. I’m different.’
‘You mean because you’ve already been up there now? Been there, done that?’
He glanced across at her. ‘Something like that.’
They skied in silence for a hundred metres. ‘How about you?’ he asked. ‘What’s next for you? Are you going to carry on designing for Titch?’
‘How did you know about that?’ she asked in surprise. She knew she’d never brought it up with him.
‘Tuck told me. He said you’re really good. That some of your designs have become collector’s pieces.’
She was silent for a moment, wishing Tuck would keep quiet. ‘No. That feels . . . done. I did it for Mitch. It wouldn’t be the same any more.’
‘I understand. But couldn’t you take your skills and apply them to different products?’
‘Well, I did think about it, but . . .’ She wrinkled her nose, tossing the idea – and conversation – away.
‘What? Why not?’
‘Let’s just say things didn’t work out . . .’
‘Why not?’ he pressed.
‘You don’t get tact, do you?’ she smiled. ‘OK, fine. A job opportunity came up in New York.’
‘Doing what?’
‘It was a redesign for a big designer. I don’t know – my name got put forward, they knew about me through the boards and so somehow, I got invited for interview.’
‘So far, so brilliant. So what happened?’
‘Lucy had the baby early.’
‘Oh, Tuck told me about that.’
Meg felt another rush of irritation at Tuck’s blabbermouth nature. Was there anything he hadn’t told Jonas about her?
‘You actually delivered the baby yourself?’
‘Had to. But it meant I missed the flight helping her.’
He frowned. ‘But why didn’t you just call them and go out on the next flight?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, no. I took it as a pretty big sign from the universe that I wasn’t supposed to go to New York.’