Page 10 of Meet Me Under the Northern Lights
REYKJAVIK HARBOUR
If Chloe thought it was cold standing on the little balcony at the apartment, it was nothing compared to the freezing temperatures that had suddenly descended close to the water here at Reykjavik harbour.
After getting her ticket from inside the main building Chloe was now waiting beside a large blue and white boat, shivering even in the many layers she’d wrapped herself up in.
But the pretty setting was worth the chill.
Fairy lights were strung over the roof apexes of the buildings nearest the water, making them look like cosy festive cabins, the lights reflecting off the water.
She had taken photos already and she was also making notes on her phone.
But would ‘cosy Christmas’ be the right vibe for a Sinclairz Chairs event?
From what information Chloe had gleaned from the internet about Lincoln Sinclair, he liked the finer things in life.
This boat, from what Chloe could gather, was about to be full to its capacity with tourists who were being dropped off in a variety of different vehicles – large buses, smaller minibuses, taxis.
She made a note to see if there were smaller boat trips they could rent privately for the sole use of Sinclairz Chairs.
And then she put her phone away and sought solace for her sore fingers in her gloves, just as a member of staff called everyone forward, presumably to embark.
Getting on board was via a slightly shaky bridge/ramp affair that seemed to have actual ice on it and, as the staff encouraged passengers to get on with care and hold the handrails, Chloe felt a buzzing on her side.
Her phone. Tearing a glove off with her teeth, she slipped her hand into her pocket and took her phone out. Michelle.
‘Hi, Michelle.’
‘Please tell me you’re on the Northern Lights boat trip.’
‘Yes. Of course. I’m just getting on board now. And I emailed you about it.’
‘I know you emailed me about it, but that was hours ago. And I’ve had to deal with heated blankets and Milo insisting I take some other baby-bearing necessity supplement some childrearing guru at his office has insisted is going to turn our baby into a cross between Gandhi and Isaac Newton.
And it tastes like sheep urine. And do not ask how I know that but just know that I had a very traumatic childhood. ’
‘Breathe, Michelle, remember?’
Michelle usually thrived living on the edge of controlled chaos, but the pregnancy seemed to be bringing out a different kind of energy. And apparently concern that Chloe wasn’t going to be able to manage this task without constant phone support.
‘Is it beautifully cold there?’ Michelle asked, finally sounding like she wasn’t one inhale away from hyperventilation.
‘It’s definitely cold,’ Chloe agreed, stepping forward and trying to catch up with the other passengers mounting the upper ramp.
‘I miss the cold,’ Michelle said like ‘the cold’ was a family member.
‘I mean it’s still cold here in the UK but if I set foot outside without an outfit that doesn’t meet a fifteen TOG rating, Milo reacts like I’m about to do a bungee jump.
Which is on a restricted list he keeps pinned to the fridge by the way. ’
‘Has he still banned cheese?’
‘Yes! And not just the soft cheese! The same “guru” at work told him that all cheese is going to basically make our baby crave saturated fat from the moment he or she appears!’
Chloe stepped towards the door of the boat. ‘You know that your pregnancy should be your experience, right? Not anyone else’s.’
Chloe swallowed. Had she read that somewhere?
One of the posters in the waiting room of the gynae department where there was no segregation.
Waiting for test results with all that hope in her heart but reality nibbling away, sandwiched between happily pregnant women waiting for their next pre-booked scan, hands cupped around their bumps.
There was silence from the other end of the phone until:
‘Do you know,’ Michelle said suddenly. ‘Not one person has said that to me yet. And they’ve said absolutely millions of other things.’
Chloe took a breath and paused by the entrance, looking to the clear dark sky. ‘Michelle, what you’re doing is a lot. Pregnancy is a lot. Running your own super successful business is a lot. Don’t ever underestimate what you’re doing and what it’s taking out of you.’
‘Sometimes I wish Milo had taken it out of me,’ Michelle answered. ‘But here we are.’
Chloe tightened her core. She knew Michelle didn’t mean it.
Chloe also knew Michelle had no idea how much her pregnancy arc impacted her because she had never told her own story.
It changed things when people knew. Michelle would overthink every thought, comment or conversation, tiptoeing around like Chloe’s heart was made of glass.
Yes, she had been fragile. Yes, sometimes the realisation crept over her firm enough to need time to pause and acknowledge it all over again.
But, for the most part, she was resilient, toughened now.
And the very last thing she wanted was her experience to ruin anyone else’s. She was recovered. Right?
‘Anyway,’ Michelle said. ‘I should not be micro-managing you. You are my right-hand woman, unflappable, dependable, indestructible?—’
‘And culpable if I don’t get the pitch for this event perfect.’
‘But what could go wrong, right?’ Michelle asked. ‘You speak the Icelandic lingo.’
‘I need to get on the boat now,’ Chloe said quickly. ‘I will let you know how it all goes.’
‘The same with my sheep piss shake. Bye.’
Chloe ended the call, pocketed her phone and was just about to put her glove back on when there was a queue surge and she found herself being barrelled through the door of the boat and arriving on board at pace.
And then, suddenly, she was covered in coffee.