by Jenny Colgan
Arthur looked at her bent-over profile and thought how gorgeous she was. But he’d fucked it up so badly. He sighed.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Gwyneth.
For a moment he considered telling her how he felt … no. Being called a dick in public was always embarrassing.
‘Nothing.’
‘Oh,’ said Gwyneth. ‘Well, we’ve had a good response from the street residents,’ she said, keeping it purely professional and passing over a sheaf of papers. ‘Quite a lot of them want to get involved. Although they seem to think we’re taking over their entire electricity bills.’
‘Great, that’s great,’ said Arthur, taking the papers gingerly and making sure their hands didn’t touch. ‘What about the traders for the fair?’
‘Fine. Although I think there’s going to be a preponderance of people selling oversized jester’s hats.’
‘Well, that’s traditional. Perhaps we should have a mediaeval dressing up day for the whole town?’
‘Yes, maybe. Although the insurance is going to be terrifying as it is. I’m not sure about throwing unwieldy costumes and sharp blades into the mix.’
Arthur looked up. ‘Nobody is going to fall under the ice, are they?’
‘Just those few small children here and there I expect.’
Arthur looked at her again.
‘I’m kidding.’
Sven leaned over from where he and Sandwiches were sitting behind them. ‘No-one will fall through. I’m telling you, this stuff is more solid than rock.’
Gwyneth snapped her fingers. ‘Hey – why don’t we have it on some rock?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ But Arthur was secretly smiling that she was even bothering to be sarcastic to him.
It was a plane trip, a taxi ride to the railway station and a long, long train ride through ever-thickening forest, and an ever-darkening sky. The country looked huge, and rather as Arthur had hoped for, he thought, pleased – like somewhere Santa Claus might live, or at least come on holiday from the North Pole. Snow lay thickly on the ground, and reindeer could be made out among the trees when the train slowed. Sandwiches leaped up at the window and gave them menacing looks, his paws scratching against the glass.
‘I didn’t know Sandwiches got violent,’ said Gwyneth. ‘I thought he just sicked up on things he didn’t like.’
‘Yes, that’s his primary mode of self-defence,’ said Sven. ‘But he’s always had a thing about reindeer. One antlered him as a pup. He went flying through the air and landed in …’
‘Some sandwiches?’ said Arthur.
‘No.’ Sven gave him a look as if this was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. ‘A bouncy castle. We were at a party.’
Gwyneth couldn’t help smiling. ‘What on earth did Sandwiches look like on a bouncy castle?’
‘Oh, he loved it. Wouldn’t come off it all afternoon. When he bounced higher than the wall he could see the reindeer. Woofed menacingly at them.’
‘Woof,’ said Sandwiches.
Arthur shook his head. ‘I swear that dog understands everything we say.’
‘I know,’ said Sven mournfully. ‘He’s losing all his Danish.’
Day was turning into evening, and Arthur was starting to worry.
‘They will see us, won’t they?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Sven. ‘I’ve spoken to them about it. They’ll meet us and talk to us, then decide if they want the job or not.’
‘They decide?’ said Arthur. ‘I thought it was us who decided whether or not to give them the work.’
Sven huffed. ‘Yeah, you wish.’
‘I wonder what it was like when I controlled things in my life?’ said Arthur. ‘Oh yeah, I remember. I never did.’
Finally, the train drew into Skærgård station. It was pitch dark, and bitterly cold. Arthur absolutely had to put up the hood of his jacket, even though he knew it made him look like a dick.
‘Wow, you look like such a dick,’ said Sven, who was wearing an enormous fur hat.
‘Thank you, Buzby. Now, where’s the cab rank?’
Sven smiled at him. ‘Oh, follow me, it’s just over here.’ He led them off through the steaming station waiting room and out into the forecourt, where both Arthur and Gwyneth stopped suddenly, their mouths hanging open.
In front of them was a row of large wooden sledges, lit by oil lamps swinging at the corners. The drivers were standing around chatting and stamping their feet, or rubbing down their horses. Bells attached to the horses’ reins made a tinkling sound as they moved.
‘Oh!’ was all Gwyneth could say. She broke into a ridiculously wide smile. Arthur saw it, and wanted to kiss her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life.
‘Kontoret for Is og Sne, så gerne.’ Sven hopped up into the first sleigh and beckoned the others, slipping Sandwiches under the blanket that was handily provided.
‘Ja ja. Tyve minutter, OK?’
‘Okay,’ said Sven.
Arthur leaped onto the sleigh immediately. That’s not terribly gallant, Gwyneth found herself thinking, until she saw him turn round, crouch and offer her his hand to help her climb up. Or it is, she thought, pleased.
‘Where did you go to sledge etiquette school?’ she asked, pulling her scarf tighter round her neck and sitting down in the middle of the boys.
‘My father always said it would come in handy – and it has!’ Arthur said. ‘Not sure about the bongo lessons, though. And the synchronized swimming was a complete waste of time.’
‘Afgang!’ shouted the driver, and the two horses moved away. Gwyneth looked around her in excitement. The town was small, and other sleighs passed them up and down the white streets. People walked in snow shoes. The houses were small and brightly painted. Through the wooden shutters they looked warm and cosy. Many had open fires. She saw a mother read a bedtime story to a sleepy tow-headed toddler wrapped in an elaborate sleep suit and wondered what it would be like to live here, in the frozen north. Her romantic fantasy lasted as long as it took for them to hit a massive rut in the road and for her to get snow down the collar of her jacket, but she still watched in wonder. The houses became more and more spaced out, and the whoosh of other vehicles – there were skidoos too, and the occasional Landrover – gradually died away as they passed into the open countryside. It was so dark now that all that could be seen were the haunting shapes of the forest around her, and the icicles hanging down over the pitted road. Occasionally she thought she saw movement through the trees, and she huddled down further under the blanket.
Arthur looked over her. To be so close – under the covers for goodness’ sake – and not to be able to touch her was torture. He leaned in and rubbed his chin against her red hat in a way that could have just about looked accidental.
‘Hey,’ she said as soon as he touched her.
‘Um, sorry …’ He moved back.
Gwyneth raised her eyebrows. Then she looked at him. ‘What?’ she said.
‘Nothing. Nothing. Sorry. It was an accident,’ he said defensively.
‘Okay, okay.’ God, thought Gwyneth. This bites. Maybe I just need something uncomplicated. Maybe with someone like Rafe …
The sleigh turned into what appeared in the dark to be an open field with a rutted trail across it. The horizon opened out. Gwyneth thought she could make out some lights at the far end of the field, and pointed them out to Sven, who nodded and leaned further over.
‘What is it?’ said Arthur. He couldn’t believe Gwyneth was still ignoring him.
‘Look! Do you think that’s where we’re going?’
As they strained their eyes, however, it suddenly felt as if morning had come. There was a definite, perceptible lightening in the air.
‘Se! Se!’ shouted the driver suddenly. He pointed straight up in the air, and they followed his finger.
‘Oh, oh my goodness,’ said Gwyneth, the breath knocked out of her.
Above them, the cloud cover had moved away and shimmering delicately in the night were strange,
luminescent shades of green and pink, dotted with stars.
‘Nordlys,’ breathed Sven. ‘I’m home.’
Arthur nearly stood up. ‘I never … aurora borealis,’ he said. He looked at the others in excitement. ‘The northern lights … all my life …’ He cleared his throat as his voice caught, and sat down again suddenly. ‘Well. Um, it’s very exciting to see it, I mean.’
It was so beautiful, thought Gwyneth suddenly, staring at it and trying to swallow it with her eyes – it made her want to cry. It could almost make you believe in anything; an older world. The smell of pine in the air, the quiet crunch of the snow under the runners, the light tinkle of the bells – and apart from that, silence, and their dazzling private light show.
And there, at the far end of the field, now spread before them, was what looked like a madman’s playground.
A huge, towering castle loomed up in the murky dark – next to a statue of an elephant that was nearly the same size. Next to that was a huge Viking ship, sailing on to nowhere. The effect was extremely eerie. The sleigh proceeded towards it, as they pushed themselves forward.
‘What are we looking at?’ said Gwyneth.
‘We’re here,’ said Sven. ‘This is it.’
They passed slowly beneath the massive sculptures, looking around them in wonder, and feeling extremely small, holding the oil lanterns towards them to get a better view. The statues were at least thirty feet high, and close by, with the light of the lanterns and the stars above them, they could see they were made entirely of ice, so sharp and clean it looked like glass. Gwyneth realized that they weren’t in a field any more; there were no ruts or bumps. The horses’ hooves cracked and they slowed down measurably, and she realized they were passing over hard-packed snow on solid ice.
‘My God,’ said Arthur.
‘Beats your little skating rink man, huh?’ said Sven, but not nastily; he was as busy drinking in the view as the rest of them.
At the far end of the sculpture park – behind an enormous, impossible oak tree hewn entirely from frozen water – stood a small cottage made from logs. It looked isolated and lonely in the strange oversized landscape, but a warm glow came from its lighted windows.
‘Stands her,’ said Sven. The sleigh driver nodded. Then, gingerly, the party disembarked. Gwyneth expected to skid on the ice, but it felt surprisingly solid beneath her feet.
‘Right,’ said Arthur, and Gwyneth, looking at him, realized he was nervous. ‘Um … let’s go do the big ice thing.’
The man who answered the door looked infinitely old. He was tiny, and had a long beard, and privately Arthur wondered if he might be part dwarf. In fact, he was.
‘Welcome,’ he said, in English. ‘Welcome – come in, come in.’
The room was sparsely furnished in wood as an office. Through a curtain, they could see a second room that may have been a bedroom.
‘It is good when people make the trip,’ he said, nodding his head. Then he extended his hand. ‘I am Johann Vit.’
They shook it. Sven said something quietly to him in Danish, and Johann flapped his arms and said, no, no, he must not, he was a modest man. Then he knelt down and scratched Sandwiches behind the ear.
‘Come, come. Sit by the fire. I will make hot chocolate and then we will talk, yes?’
He disappeared into the back room and they sat down in wooden chairs which were surprisingly comfortable. Gwyneth felt her cheeks turn red in the heat from the fire.
‘So, we didn’t need you to come after all to translate, eh Sven?’ said Arthur, examining the pictures on the wall – scenes of great, vertiginous and beautifully made ski slopes, vast ice rinks and sculptures. Around the room were models and brochures.
‘Yes that’s right,’ said Sven. ‘You could easily have walked here.’
Johann re-entered the room with chocolate and small rolls. Gwyneth realized she was absolutely starving and took them gratefully.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘You wish to enter my ice kingdom, ja? No, it is my joke,’ he said when he saw Arthur’s face. Arthur was a little sensitive to talk of kingdoms. ‘Well. Tell me what you do.’
It took them much longer to explain than they’d thought. The man’s bright-eyed, intelligent face encouraged confidences, and, before they were done, Arthur found himself explaining about Ross – not the sleeping with his ex bit, more the innate rivalry bit – and the planning committee. Gwyneth helped too, talking about what the ice festival would mean to the area, and why they even wanted to do it in the first place. Sven chipped in with what a good job he was doing with all the logistical programming on his new computer. Sandwiches went to sleep.
‘Ah,’ said Johann when they had finished. He sat back and steepled his fingers together. Gwyneth and Arthur looked at one another.
Johann sighed deeply. ‘It will be difficult,’ he said.
Arthur nodded. ‘We know.’
‘You will have to divert the path of the river.’
‘We’ll build a weir.’
He nodded and, very slowly, stood up. His bones creaked as he walked towards the bookcase. ‘In your country,’ he said, shaking his finger, ‘in your country, you had the most magnificent ice festivals … ah …’
‘When?’ said Arthur.
‘Oh, for years.’ Johann squinted. ‘Until quite late. The longest one was in 1684. Ooh, a very cold year, no doubt.’
‘You speak like you were there!’ said Gwyneth.
‘Ha! Well, yes, however,’ said Johann. He smiled. ‘You know, they used to roast oxen on the ice. There were pedlars and minstrels and jugglers, and everyone used to come. You could smell it from miles away – all kinds of food and sweets,’
‘Did they have skates?’ said Sven. ‘How could they have skates?’
‘They did, actually. Wooden. But most people just walked. And the children ran and slid and fell over.’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ said Arthur.
‘Oh, it was. Except, there was too much ale, so there was always a casualty or two. But, you know – life.’
‘No licensing,’ said Gwyneth, reaching for her notepad.
‘It would be a wonderful thing to see it again in England,’ the old man said meditatively. ‘A wonderful thing.’
‘Will you do it for us?’ said Arthur.
The man looked at the floor, then back up at them.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I will.’
After more chocolate – this time laced with brandy – they sat and listened as Johann explained exactly what was going to be required.
It was a massive project. They would have to pay seed money up ahead, whether or not they got the commission. Then it would take a month of diverting and setting up and cleaning and flattening, and trying to rope off anywhere likely to be of dangerous interest to two-year-olds. They would have to sort out disputes between traditional Morris dancers and endemic Peruvian pipe players. Did they want scary carnival rides or was the concept going to be enough in itself? Did they …
Suddenly Johann stood up and sniffed the air. The others looked at him. ‘Oh, no’ he said abruptly. ‘I am afraid … it is late. You have to go now.’ He had switched from being a charming, intelligent man to someone more brusque. ‘I am sorry. The night comes on so quick …’
Arthur glanced at his watch. It was past ten o’clock.
‘… and still I lose track of the hour. Please. If you are to get back to Skærgård …’
‘We’re sorry,’ said Gwyneth, standing up. ‘We lost track of the time.’
‘No, no, it is not that.’
Johann was agitated now, pulling out their coats and hats from the pegs on the wall. ‘Sometimes, out in the woods, late … it is not so safe. And not so good for your driver and his horse, yes? We talk soon, yes. I like you. I think we can work together. But for now …’
Gwyneth and Arthur looked at each other as they shrugged themselves into their coats. Arthur raised his eyebrows.
‘Okay, then. No, wait!’
Joh
ann scuttled back into the second room in the building and returned an instant later. ‘A gift for you,’ he said to Arthur, and handed him a long piece of what looked like crystal.
‘It is bore ice,’ he added, to Arthur’s bemused expression. ‘Taken from the very bottom of the lake. This ice has been in existence before the dinosaurs. It’s encased in resin, but it was formed at the beginning of time.’ He looked straight at Arthur suddenly. ‘Many things are older than you know.’
Arthur swallowed. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.’
Johann nodded. ‘Not at all. We shall speak again. But now – hurry,’ said the little man, pulling open the door and practically thrusting them into the freezing wind outside. ‘You must hurry.’
There was a clatter of the door shutting, then the external light was switched off. Gwyneth, Sven, Arthur and Sandwiches found themselves looking out on the mysterious ice shapes looming into the midnight air.
‘Where’s the cab?’ said Arthur. But the little bells of the sleigh were nowhere to be heard.
‘Um,’ said Sven, swallowing nervously after a few moments had passed. ‘Chauffør!?’
Silence. Just the wind whistling through the ice. Somewhere beneath them in the dark, Sandwiches made a cringing noise and tried to crawl, unsuccessfully, up Sven’s trouser leg. There was a panicked scrabble and a quiet whine and he slipped back on to the ice.
‘There there,’ said Sven absent-mindedly. ‘CHAUFFØR!?’
‘Er …’ Gwyneth turned back to the little house. But all its lights were out now. If ever a house had tried to curl into a ball and pass unnoticed, it was this one.
‘Crap!’ said Arthur. ‘Where is the guy with the horse?’
But, as if in answer to his question, there was only the sound of the wind whistling through the corridors of the sculpture park. Then suddenly, in the distance, came the sound of a long, low howl.
At once, Arthur knew what it was. It was the sound he had heard late at night, hundreds of miles away. It was the sound of his nightmares. It was the sound of a wolf.
‘Wh – what was that?’ said Gwyneth, pulling her arms around her.
‘Um, an urban fox?’ said Arthur, not expecting her to believe him.