As he rounded the first bend with the snow-chains rattling and clinking on the frozen surface, he saw a large black hole in the snow at the roadside. Just beyond it there was a van of some kind in the ditch. It didn’t belong to anybody he knew, and he knew everybody around here.
Stefan stopped beside the van – some kind of motor caravan that was almost an antique. It had wedged itself fairly thoroughly into the ditch. But there were no big boulders just here, so whoever had been driving was lucky. He looked at the front wheel hanging forlornly in the air. No one in their right mind would drive on these roads on those tires. They must be Stockholmers, or most likely foreigners. He brushed snow from the front. It was a UK number plate, as far as he could tell.
He heard someone scraping away the frost from the window of the cab, and made out a pale face behind the glass, wrapped in a motley assortment of what seemed to be rags. The door opened. He would have to test his English.
“Hello, my name is Stefan,” he said. That seemed to have gone well, because the person started talking a lot, very fast through chattering teeth. He didn’t get much of it. But he got “help” and he could figure out the rest.
“Come out,” said Stefan. “Go in there.” He pointed to the tractor. When the person got out, Stefan could see that it was probably a girl. But she didn’t climb into the tractor, just stood there shaking and gesticulating towards the camper. Then she climbed back in. Stefan got the point. He climbed in after her and saw her rooting around in a pile of blankets and cushions, exposing a sleeping bag with somebody in it. Together they got the person out of the camper. “His name’s William,” said Judy, as Stefan put him over his shoulder, took a step up into the tractor cab and placed him in the space behind the seat as gently as he could. How long had these people been here? This one wasn’t moving, and Stefan couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. Stefan stepped back down and looked at the girl. Incredibly, she was wearing trainers with tea towels wrapped round them, socks on her hands and jeans, together with an odd collection of scarves and jumpers. Who had been driving? She didn’t look old enough. But he would have to find out the answers to his questions later.
“We must go. It is cold for your feet tonight.”
Sheer relief had made Judy light-headed. “Really?” she said. “You don’t say?”
“But I do say this. It is not good for your toes.”
That joke fell flat, thought Judy, as she moved towards the cab.
“No,” said Stefan. “First me.”
Stefan climbed up and for a terrifying moment Judy thought that he had changed his mind and decided to leave her there. So much for witty remarks. But he leaned down towards her.
“Now you.”
“Where? There’s no room.”
“On me. Sit on me.”
This was not at all what Judy wanted, but she could see there was no choice. The cold had seeped ever deeper into hands and feet and face, and now she could hardly move. She tried to get a foot on to the step, but she couldn’t lift it. Her body was shutting down. Before she could try again, a mittened hand reached down and took hold of her arm, yanking her into the cab.
Stefan sat her in his lap. She wasn’t very big, and if she sat sideways he could get at the pedals and the steering wheel. He managed to slam the door, and immediately the roaring heater fan took hold of the air in the cab. As the warmth struck her face, Judy gave up caring that she was sitting in the lap of a total stranger, trapped between his arms. They were alive, and, blissfully, there was warmth. The bliss didn’t last very long. As the warm air penetrated her trainers, pain stabbed her feet. She gasped.
“Now your toes have hurt, I think,” said a voice in her ear.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes, good. They are still alive.”
Stefan was pretty happy with himself. He’d had a conversation in English, and that would please his grandmother, who was always worrying that he wasn’t working hard enough in his English classes at school. Which was perfectly true.
10
The tractor rattled up the track towards Stefan’s home, and in the moonlight Judy saw a single-storey timbered farmhouse with outhouses on either side. The yard was ploughed clear of drifts, but around the walls the snow reached almost to the window sills, and the roofs looked as though huge white duvets had been thrown over them. They glinted and glittered in the moonlight. It was a fairy-tale sight – warm welcoming light in the windows, a lamp lit above the covered porch where fir branches had been spread to clear boot-soles of snow before you entered the house. The outhouses were much bigger than the house itself. To the left a huge timbered barn rose on great granite posts, and to the right there was a long, low building. The tractor came to a halt right outside the front door and Stefan reached over and swung the cab door open.
“Please, in the house.”
Judy scrambled awkwardly down, followed by Stefan who helped manhandle an inert William out. They carried him between them towards the door, and Judy opened it to find another door facing her. As she reached for the handle the door swung inwards to reveal the shy face of an elderly woman who smiled at them and beckoned them in, saying something in Swedish and shaking her head a little. Stefan replied.
“Oh, you are English,” the woman said. “Then you have come a long way. Please, come in and go into the kitchen, it is warmest there.” Her voice had a Scandinavian lilt to it, but she spoke English almost perfectly. Stefan said a few words to the woman, who turned to Judy.
“Who was driving you?”
“Mr Balderson; he went back up the road to get help.”
There was more fast Swedish, and then Stefan was on his way out again.
“Farmor speaks English very good,” he said over his shoulder.
“Farmer?” said Judy after a moment of puzzled silence. She was feeling more confused by the minute. The woman laughed. “It means grandmother, not farmer. Father’s mother – far, mor. After the war – the Winter War, you know – I was in England for almost three years. But I’m afraid I have lost some words. I can read books, of course, but in conversation—”
William stirred, bringing their attention back to him. He was pale and still shivering when they pulled him out of his sleeping bag, but he managed to stand so Farmor could herd them into the kitchen.
The room they entered was big – the whole width of the house. The ceiling was low, made even lower by wooden beams, and the scrubbed pine floorboards were wide, covered here and there by long woven rugs. There was a long wooden table, with a settle on one side against the wall, and chairs on the other sides. But the big black stove with its huge hob was what they were drawn to, as though it was a big black magnet.
“That’s right,” said Farmor, drawing chairs up to the stove. She took a couple of logs out of the wood box and poked them into the firebox. Judy and William sat as close as they could, stretching out their hands in that age-old open-handed gesture that felt as natural as breathing. The heat flowed towards them. Meanwhile Farmor was bustling about. She put on a kettle, took down cups from the dresser. As she moved around the kitchen she spoke.
“Stefan will look for your friend. Was he dressed like you are dressed?”
She spoke kindly, but in spite of Judy’s exhaustion she could hear the anxiety in Farmor’s voice.
“Yes, you could say that.”
“Oh. How long has he been gone?”
Judy had to think about that.
“About an hour. Hour and a half. Maybe more. I’m not really sure.”
Farmor said no more. At the sink she filled a zinc bucket with warm water and from a cupboard she took a tin, spooning out a yellow powder that she carefully stirred into the water. She lifted the bucket, and brought it to the stove.
“Perhaps he should be first,” she said, and she pulled William’s chair back so that she could kneel down in front of him. “I’m called Sara Petterson.”
“I’m William Parkinson.”
He watched as she removed his shoes and socks and shook her head at his feet, which were a pale whitish blue and still cold to the touch.
She drew the bucket closer.
“What are you doing?” said William.
“A mustard bath for your feet. It is the best way, but the water must reach up to your calves. You must take off your trousers, they are too tight to roll up properly.”
“No.”
“But really, it is true, and you will be warm again soon.”
“No.”
Judy had been on her way to a deep sleep, on the verge of falling off her chair, but she sensed rather than saw William beginning to tense up. She roused herself and saw his head go back, and his eyes start to slip upwards.
“I don’t think he can do it, Mrs Petterson. He can’t always… New things, and people…” She broke off. You couldn’t really explain William, you just had to hope that people would understand.
“Of course,” said Farmor. “It is difficult. Perhaps Stefan?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be too sure,” said Judy.
On cue, the kitchen door opened and Stefan came in. Farmor looked up quickly, and Judy saw Stefan give a quick shake of the head. Without all his outdoor gear on Judy could see that he really was just a boy, probably a bit older than her but not that much. She hadn’t expected that, what with all that gruff ordering them about and the way he had driven the tractor and got them out of the mess. He had light brown, almost blond hair, blue eyes, a blob of a nose and freckles which were about as boyish as you could get. But his wide shoulders said something else, and his hands were a working man’s hands, with broad palms and long fingers.
Farmor started talking to Stefan in rapid Swedish. He walked over to William.
“Hello, my name is Stefan.”
“I’m William Parkinson.”
“I is living here. Is I speaking good English?”
“No. It’s ‘am I?’, not ‘is I?’”
“Oh, am it?” Stefan frowned, but he was enjoying himself. His English was bad, but it wasn’t that bad.
“No,” said William. “Is it. You must say ‘is it.’”
“I think you must help me. Is you cold?”
“Are you cold,” said William, getting a bit impatient. “Yes I AM.”
“Me too, we will go and get warm and learn English. Come.”
William stood up, but he didn’t look as if he was going anywhere on his frozen feet. Before he could protest, Stefan had hoisted him on to his broad back and walked out of the door, with William riding piggyback and either too surprised or simply too cold and exhausted to do anything about it.
The ache in Judy’s toes had given way to a sort of tingling itch. She heard the front door slam, and looking out of the window she saw the figure of Stefan stamping across the moonlit farmyard with William on his back bouncing up and down like a sack of potatoes.
“He’s taking him outside again! He’ll die!”
“No, no, please don’t worry. He must get warm properly, as soon as possible. Or he might become ill. Please trust me. We have been cold before, you understand.”
Judy felt a bit embarrassed. Of course they knew what they were doing. This was their habitat, not hers. They lived their lives here. And they had just saved her life, with no fuss at all, as though it was the sort of thing you do every day.
“I’m sorry,” said Judy, “and thank you. Thank you so much for saving us.”
“I hope you’ll be all right on the sofa in the living room?” Farmor asked kindly. “Come along and I’ll show you. Just put your things outside the door.”
She intended to let Judy’s clothes spend the night outdoors in the yard. That would kill anything that was creeping around in there. They must have been on the road for quite some time, and she couldn’t be too sure what state they had been in to start with.
Farmor led Judy down the hall to the living room. It wasn’t big, but the word cosy could have been invented for it. The timbered walls were covered with faded hand-painted wallpaper in a floral pattern. There was a proper stuffed sofa, a leather chair, with a standard lamp next to it, a shelf of books, and in one corner an old grandfather clock painted blue, with a design of flowers on the panels. In the opposite corner a big round tiled stove reached up to the ceiling, topped with a crown of white tiles and, low down, about a foot from the floor, brass doors for the firebox. It spread its delicious warmth through the room. On the sofa was a huge feather duvet, and a pillow. Judy looked at it and wondered if she had the willpower to even remove a scrap of clothing. Still, she made herself shed most of her jumpers and jeans, and put them outside the door in a heap before crawling under the duvet.
“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, this time to the stove, and the duvet, and the pillow. She wondered what had happened to William and worried about Mr Balderson, but then she was gone, tumbling down into a deep well of sleep.
The little wood-panelled room Stefan and William had entered had a low bench on one side, and hooks along the wall. Stefan sat the boy down on the bench and stuck his head into the sauna. It was still pretty warm; there was a bed of live coals in the firebox. He stuffed in as much wood as it would take, and heard the logs crackle and catch with a woof that soon settled into a low, satisfying roar. Then he went back and undressed. He bent over William, and tried to start drawing his pullover over his head. But William leaned over on the bench, curled his legs up under him, and clutched at his clothes. Stefan felt his hands. They were icy, and the more he tensed the colder he got.
Stefan spoke as he would have spoken to his little cousin Maria.
“It is time for the bath.”
“I don’t want to have a bath.”
“When did you have a bath last time?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Was it a lot of days since then?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are dirty. Take off your clothes.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Do you in England have a bath in your clothes?”
“…No.”
“Not in Sweden either. Do like me.”
William opened one eye and squinted up at the boy standing naked in front of him. Slowly he sat up and started fumbling at his pullover. Stefan helped him, and before too long he was ensconced on the lowest tier in the sauna, where the heat wouldn’t knock him out. Stefan sat higher up and looked at William’s back. No wonder he was cold, he thought, he’s so skinny I can count his vertebrae.
Slowly William came back to life. He wasn’t used to being completely naked in company – it’s not something that happens very often in England, at least not with people whom you don’t know very well. But the boy who was sitting there on the bench above him seemed to think it was perfectly normal. And it wouldn’t have been a good idea to have clothes on, because it really was very hot.
“I’m too hot. I have to go out.”
“Not yet, you are still dry.”
“But I can hardly breathe. My nose hurts.”
“Your mouth, you must use your mouth.”
William breathed through his mouth and it was a bit better, but he still felt as though he might burst into flames at any moment. It was very odd that the bits of him that were usually warmest, like under his armpits, were now the bits that were cold. Suddenly he realized that his find, which had been hanging around his neck on a piece of string, was gone. He looked around, started to get up. Had it fallen off? When?
“It is outside. I took it off. You cannot have metal on you, it will burn you. Please sit down, soon it will be time.”
William didn’t really mind just doing as he was told. He wasn’t afraid of the boy at all – he wasn’t a bit like Josh and Tyler. Josh and Tyler smiled and sniggered and that always meant trouble. This boy never smiled, but his eyes looked at William as though he was working out what was best for him, not what was worst. Still, the heat was getting to be unbearable. William felt his scalp tickle, and quite
suddenly sweat started to trickle down his forehead and behind his ears. It dropped from the end of his nose, and ran down his back in streams. He was practically soaked.
“Now we go out.”
Thankful, William got up and opened the door to the sauna, going straight to the pegs where his clothes hung. His find was hanging on its string on a peg of its own.
“Wait,” said Stefan.
He was carrying a wooden bucket and he opened the outer door, walking straight out into the night. In a few seconds he was back. The bucket was full of snow. He scooped out a handful and advanced on William.
William backed up against the wall. This boy was going to attack him, just like Josh and Tyler. Perhaps Swedish bullies were different from English ones, and that was why he had been fooled.
“Leave me alone!”
Stefan had instantly seen William turn from a tired boy into a hunted animal, and he was furious with himself for being so stupid. Someone like William, it was obvious.
So Stefan took the handful of snow and plonked it down on his own head, saying, “Oof, oy-oy-oy.” Then he took another handful and started rubbing it over the rest of him, hopping around and shouting “Aaah, what a nice bath!”
William laughed. Then Stefan took a towel and dried himself off.
“Now it is your turn. Can you do it?”
William did it. The snow was like an electric shock, but as he rubbed it all over himself he felt the warmth lock into his body.
“You close your skin, you shut the door. Inside you stay hot,” said Stefan.
It was true. William dried himself and put his clothes on, and as they walked back to the house through the frozen night that had come close to killing him, it felt as though it was a pleasant spring evening.
Farmor smiled and nodded when William came back into the house pink-cheeked. She put a finger to her lips and beckoned so that he followed her through the kitchen. On the floor of Stefan’s room was a mattress, a duvet and a pillow. William lay down, pulled the duvet up to his chin, and with his hand on his chest clutching his find, he fell asleep.
The Unexpected Find Page 9