by Julie Caplin
Olafur shrugged. ‘The film crew is expecting to go out tonight. The conditions are good.’
Sod’s law, they would be.
‘How come both are flat?’
Olafur shook his head. ‘It’s a mystery. Maybe there was broken glass.’
‘No,’ said Alex. ‘The chances of a piece of glass piercing the outer tube of the tyre is unlikely. For it to happen to two, that’s not an accident.’
‘Thanks, Sherlock,’ said Lucy, having already come to the same conclusion.
‘Which means it’s the …’ Olafur paused.
Lucy narrowed her eyes and glared at him. If he so much as uttered the word huldufólk, she would strangle him with her bare hands.
‘Deliberate,’ said Alex.
‘Hmph!’ said Lucy, she had her suspicions. She looked at the time quickly. Four fifteen. The blue sky was deepening and a scattering of pink edged clouds glowed from the low sun which dipped towards the horizon and would drop below in the next fifteen minutes. It promised to be a clear night, tonight. Perfect conditions.
‘What time were you supposed to be headed out?’
‘Nine o’clock. After dinner.’
‘Does the film crew know yet? The guests?’
Olafur shook his head. ‘I haven’t spoken to anyone, except Hekla.’
‘Good, don’t say a word, yet. Come with me.’ She stalked into the lodge. Clive would bloody love a crisis. That would play out well on television.
As soon as she walked through the lodge doors, a camera swivelled round from where it had been focused on a couple checking in at reception with Brynja and panned to her.
Balls, just what she did not need.
Behind the camera, Clive waved and motioned for her to stop and pointed with frantic hand gestures towards the man and woman at the front desk.
There was no way she could ignore him. Instead she shook her head and waved her hands in a scissor movement, as if that would ward him off. Besides surely he wouldn’t want to film her looking like this, her off duty look had more in common with a bag lady than professional manager. Her hair was flattened on top from the beanie hat and the blonde hair below the hat line was a halo of frizz from the damp afternoon air. It was a very small comfort that, devoid of party-girl make-up, marabou trimmed lingerie and drunken lash fluttering, no one would ever recognise her.
Clive took no notice and the camera panned her way. She froze. Every muscle tensing. Oh God, she was going to throw up. Her jaw had locked with that horrible, I will-be-sick-at-any-moment sensation. Clive’s pointing and head nodding became more enthusiastic. All she could think of was the cold malevolent gaze of the camera focused on her like a waiting monster, ready to swallow her up.
Forcing herself, she took a couple of steps forward, every line of her body stiff and unyielding. Surely the cameraman could see her jerky movements and frozen face. Clive beamed still miming and dancing around the cameraman. Cold sweat gripped her. Memories of her stupid smiley face in the camera lens, licking her horribly over-glossed red lips in a ridiculously over the top suggestive manner, filled her head and along with them, the cold-water douse of shame.
Close to tears, she forced herself to keep her face impassive as she took a step forward.
‘G-goo … ev … hello. I’m Lu … the General Manager. At The Northern Lights Lodge.’
The black-clad cameraman circled her and she felt like prey being herded into a corner.
She swallowed and tried to ignore the hand-held camera which had taken up residence in her peripheral vision. There was no escaping it.
‘I-I’d like to … erm welcome you.’ The woman looked a little nervous and Lucy realised she was the cause. Pasting on a brittle plastic smile, she dredged up the right words. ‘Is this your first visit to Iceland?’
Relief brightened the woman’s face, ‘Yes,’ she gushed, her dark brown eyes bird-bright with sudden eagerness. ‘It’s been on my bucket list forever. Peter,’ she nudged her husband, ‘prefers the heat. But he booked it as a surprise for my fiftieth.’ She beamed up at him with such a happy twinkle, that Lucy felt something shift inside her, especially when Peter rolled his eyes and kissed the tip of her nose.
‘That’s lovely. I hope you enjoy your stay and if you need anything, please let me or any of the staff know.’ She shot a quick look at Alex, who to her surprise looked horrified and had circled around the back of Clive, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head almost as if he were hiding. ‘Be sure to ask any of us for any suggestions of places to visit. I would recommend the Gullfoss waterfall and Thingvellir National Park.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Peter with a long-suffering grin. ‘Jane’s been researching this trip ever since I gave her the plane tickets. How many guide books have you bought, hon?’
‘Oh you,’ she nudged him. ‘We don’t want to miss anything.’
‘Well, I’ll leave Brynja, here, to get you all checked in and I hope you have a very pleasant stay.’
‘Cut!’ cried Clive. ‘Great. Thanks Peter and Jane. You were awesome. Good job Lucy. We’ll get you to do that again so we can do some cutaways. Iron out those stutters, ums and ers. You guys were naturals. Lucy, I think nerves got the better of you. Stand right there and say what you said earlier.’
Olafur and Alex waited, heightening her self-consciousness, as she had to film the excruciating segment again and again. Her stomach wound tighter and tighter, wishing they weren’t watching.
‘You’ll get used to the camera,’ said Clive. ‘Lots of people are uptight to start with.’
‘I’m not uptight,’ Lucy bit out with a glare, her words rasping with grim fury hearing Chris’s words again. And even if she were uptight, what did it have to do with anyone else, but even so, how dare he make assumptions? He didn’t know her.
‘Right, Bob. I think we’ve got that in the can. It would be good to get some general day to day working shots before we go grab some dinner and then head out on the hunt for the aurora borealis.’ He said the Latin words with great relish. ‘That’s going to be epic. But for now, Lucy, if you Alex and Olafur go into the office, and talk about whatever you were talking about when you came in, that would be great.’
Jane’s head whipped around and she nudged Peter, who was busy helping Dagur gather up their luggage and looked as if she were about to say something but Dagur was already leading her husband away to their room.
‘I’d rather not,’ said Lucy, trying to be brisk and business-like, when inside she wanted to scream at them to leave her alone. ‘We’re a bit busy at the minute. I’ve got things I need to do.’ Alex, damn him, had already darted into the office as if his heels were on fire. She could have done with his support in pushing back at the enthusiastic director.
‘Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. Don’t worry, you’re going to look great on camera.’
Her eyes narrowed. She couldn’t give two farts what she looked like on camera, she already knew what she looked like on camera and she didn’t want to be on camera, full bloody stop.
‘Don’t mind us. And even better if you’ve got things to do, it will look more natural. Just carry on as normal.’ He gave his watch a quick glance. ‘Remind me, what time are we headed out tonight Olafur?’
Olafur shot Lucy a panicked look and opened his mouth and closed it with cartoon fish-like terror.
‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,’ Lucy whispered to herself as she led the way into the office. How the hell was she going to solve this while that sodding camera was breathing down her neck?
In the nice warm office, she sat down at her desk and peeled off her fleece, relieved to give her shaking legs a rest and Olafur leaned against the wall looking as stiff as a scarecrow. Alex had already started making coffee and had a worried frown on his face, as if something else was bothering him. She was confused by his behaviour, a minute ago he’d looked as if he wanted to avoid being seen and the next he was diving into the office at Clive’s request.
Clive spent five minutes arranging them to look
‘natural’ which was difficult with seven people in a space meant for four at the most.
‘So,’ said Lucy doing her best to sound bright and normal, desperately trying not to look at the big light reflector the grip held just to her left. ‘If we need to get the jeeps serviced, where’s the nearest garage?’ Her eyes bored into Olafur hoping he’d get the message.
Bob zoomed in on her, the camera right in her face and she flexed her fist under the desk finding it hard to resist the urge to push it away.
‘There’s one in Hvolsvöllur … but it will be closed now.’
Lucy closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. If the film crew found out that their trip, when the weather conditions were perfect, was cancelled, it would not look good.
‘And what other vehicles are available to the lodge, that might need servicing? Do staff have cars that…’ Oh God she was drowning here and sounded as wooden as a wardrobe. Please don’t let them make her do it again.
Olafur shook his head, his expression confused.
‘And other hotels in the area. They use the same garage. For their vehicles that go on the tours.’
Olafur frowned.
Lucy tried again. ‘You know I’m sure other places need suitable vehicles to take guests out on tours. Perhaps we could double up with them, if our jeeps were being serviced.’
‘Yes,’ piped up Alex. ‘There must be other local hotels we could work with. Do you know any, Olafur?’
Olafur blinked slowly signalling that he understood and then rubbed at his beard, not looking the least bit impressed by the idea. ‘The nearest is the Skelland Guest house.’
‘OK, do we have a number for them, maybe we could sound them out. You know for the next time we have a service.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s no good.’
Clive held up his hand, rolling his eyes. ‘Cut. You people. It’s been a long day. I need something a bit more … I don’t know … an issue. Servicing cars is … fucking dull, if you get my drift.’
Good, hopefully they would bugger off and leave her in peace to sort the cars out.
‘It is what it is,’ said Lucy. ‘Some jobs are like that. The day to day minutiae is a bit dull because we have to pay attention to detail.’
‘Right,’ Clive sighed heavily as if they were a terrible disappointment to them, ‘well we’ll just get a couple of general shots before we’ll call it a wrap for now. Let’s hope the lights give us a good show.’
‘Bob, give us some office, worky shots.’
Bob put down his camera and looked around the office and then back at Lucy.
‘Push yourself away from the desk but stay in the chair. John, bring the reflector this way.’ Bob grinned like a fox about to eat a chicken. ‘So we get a nice silhouette.’ Something laced his words that made Lucy’s skin crawl.
‘Now, give us a smile Lucy,’ he called from behind the camera and he peered out. ‘And sit up a bit straighter.’ Lucy frowned and then realised the camera was panning from her legs up her body.
She flushed, nausea poking at her stomach.
‘You’re a nice-looking girl, come on smile.’
He shot a deliberate look at her chest, where the swell of her breasts strained against the tight polo neck she’d worn under her fleece. Horrified, she folded her arms over her chest and pulled her chair into the desk where she leaned forward to look at her computer screen.
They spent another excruciating twenty minutes filming Lucy working at her desk, making a ‘phone call’ and having a pretend conversation with Alex.
At last Clive, the grip and Bob the cameraman headed for the door. Just as they were about to leave, Bob swung round and narrowed his gaze on Lucy’s face, a sly thoughtful look in his eyes.
‘I know you from somewhere.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Yeah, you look familiar. Have you been in an ad or something?’
She stared back at him, her back straight and her chin lifted with a pretended bravery that belied the recoil in her stomach.
Scrunching up her mouth in nonchalant denial, she shook her head. ‘Not me.’
When he’d gone, she got up and closed the door behind them, leaning against it heavily, wanting nothing more but to go and have a hot shower and lock herself away for the rest of the night. Sadly, it wasn’t an option. She still had this mess to sort out, but as soon as she had … she was done.
‘Olafur, can you call the guest house?’
‘They won’t help.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I should say, Jan Leifsen can’t help.’
‘Why not?’
‘His wife is pregnant and went into labour this afternoon. All their guests have been taken to other guest houses.’
‘Oh shit.’ Lucy dropped her head in her hands and rubbed her eyes. ‘Does everyone round here know each other?’ she asked, her teeth straying to her lip. Alex shot her a gentle concerned look. She narrowed her eyes at him but left her lip alone.
The unhelpful tick, tick, tick of the clock reminded her that there were a few hours for her to find a solution before she had to break the news to Clive.
Olafur nodded, slow to respond. ‘Pretty much, or we know someone who knows someone.’
Lucy closed her eyes momentarily and then snapped them open. ‘Where’s Hekla?’
Confusion clouded the Icelander’s eyes, while Alex’s looked shrewd.
‘She’s finished for the day.’
Of course, she had, she’d been covering Lucy this afternoon. She wrinkled her nose, she really didn’t want to disturb her, but … it was sort of an emergency.
‘Do you think you could find her for me? And do you know what sort of tyres we need?’
He nodded, wrote the information down on a piece of paper and hurried out as if relieved to get away.
‘Here you go.’ Alex slid a cup of coffee towards her. ‘What are you thinking?’ Warm and conspiratorial, his voice made Lucy pause, her misbehaving pulse hitching at the deep timbre in his words as she remembered the soft touch of his lips last night.
She narrowed her eyes. Keep your distance, Lucy. Keep your distance.
‘I’m just wondering if the huldufólk might oblige and take a large hammer to that camera in the middle of the night. I’m sure they must hate modern technology,’ she said briskly, avoiding looking at him and picking up a piece of paper on her desk and giving it serious attention.
Alex gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Clive is pretty single minded. I’m not sure he does empathy. You really didn’t like being on camera, did you?’
‘No.’ Lucy bit the word out, still not looking at him. She wasn’t about to elaborate. Suddenly all the memories of Chris’s betrayal came flooding back. Alex seemed so kind and helpful but she’d been burnt before. She remembered catching him in the laundry room. She should keep up her guard.
‘When are you going to break the news to him that they’ll be no tour tonight?’
She snapped her head up and said with a determined glint and deliberate coolness, ‘When I’ve exhausted every other avenue.’
Alex’s eyebrows rose and she could see him take a metaphorical step back. Good. This afternoon, all that twinkly, smiley stuff had made her forget that trusting someone was dangerous. Being on camera had brought all the agony and bitterness back.
No matter how well you thought you knew someone, they could still let you down.
Hekla came tumbling through the door. ‘Did you get the paintings? How was Hvolsvöllur?’ She flashed a wide smile at Alex.
‘Good,’ said Lucy, brusquely. ‘Have you heard about the flat tyres and missing spares?’
‘Ja,’ She frowned. ‘Who would do this?’
Lucy frowned. ‘I don’t know but it must be someone with a bit of grudge towards the hotel. I’m at a loss. But we need to sort it out before the camera crew get wind. This is the sort of angle they’d love.’
Alex frowned in agreement.
‘Really?’
asked Hekla. ‘But why?’
‘Hekla, you know lots of people in Hvolsvöllur,’ said Lucy, avoiding looking at Alex, not even prepared to try to explain the vagaries of the English tabloid media.
She nodded. ‘Ja.’
‘Do you know anyone who runs the garage?’
Hekla screwed up her eyes. ‘Elin’s brother went to school with Viktor whose younger brother works there, or maybe it was his older brother. Or they both might–’
‘Do you think you could get a number for him, and find out if there’s any way he would open the garage up for us to collect some spare tyres? These are the ones Olafur says we need. We can drive over to collect them.’ With her head held high, Lucy gave a hopeful look at Alex, even though minutes ago she’d been trying to put a barrier between them.
Surprisingly he looked amused, a half-smile playing around his lips as he nodded in agreement.
‘OK,’ said Hekla, pulling out her phone and immediately dialling. In seconds she was clearly relaying the tale to someone in her pretty singsong voice. She grabbed a pen, scribbled down a number and made a second call.
Lucy kept her eyes focused on her computer screen ignoring Alex, even though she was dying to sneak looks at him, as Hekla made her way through five phone calls before finally hanging up with a beam. ‘Aron, who owns the garage, says he doesn’t have these in stock but he has some that will work. And he will go there now.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind driving back to Hvolsvöllur again?’ Lucy asked Alex after Hekla had given them instructions for finding the garage. With a heavy sigh she shook her head. ‘I feel like I’m imposing on you.’ And it felt like she was relying on him too much.
A flash of something filled his eyes, almost as if he understood. She swallowed. He was a touch too perceptive sometimes as borne out by the look he gave her full of quiet sympathy and that signature gentle kindness. ‘Mind?’ he asked, his voice teasing, ‘I feel like I’m some kind of superhero dashing to the rescue. This is the most excitement I’ve had in ages.’
Immediately he made her feel better and that she wasn’t putting him out at all.