Page 34

Mid-December 2019

Christmas will be upon them soon.

Agatha is sitting in Becki’s dining room. The table is heaving with food and drink that Henni is sending out from the kitchen and her friend keeps walking past with even more treats, touching Agatha’s shoulder every time, just to reassure her.

Alex is on the floor, his legs crossed, playing Xbox with Olavi and Onni. Emilia is sitting at the table with the American boy, watching TikToks. Agatha’s absolutely positive those two are going to kiss before this holiday is out. It will be a little vacation romance, something they’ll both treasure. Agatha is glad of it. She’s happy Emilia has something to distract her, if only momentarily.

They haven’t reacted too badly to the news about Luca. They’re still absorbing it but they’re also being children. They rarely saw Luca and when they did, it wasn’t a positive experience. Agatha is their mother and Luca was somebody who scared them. But she can tell that even they are re-evaluating Luca in the wake of how she died and, with that new perspective, the grief will hit them. Eventually.

They’re more devastated right now at Patric’s death.

Agatha hasn’t told them the truth about Patric. Not yet. That, too, will probably come out.

But she can’t say it aloud, not for a while. The betrayal she feels is excruciating.

It hurts more than her parents’ deaths.

And yet she still feels protective of Patric. She doesn’t want people to know what he did.

Jonas had put his hand on her shoulder when she’d shown him the drawing book.

‘Patric tried, with you, to make up for what he’d done,’ he’d said. And Agatha knows that’s true but she also knows it doesn’t make things right, as does Jonas. Patric’s selfishness put a lot of what happened in motion. And, in the end, he was too selfish to even face the consequences of that.

She wanted to save him. To make him live so he could redeem himself.

And she misses him. She can’t help it.

It’s all too complicated, how she feels. Agatha isn’t sure if she’ll ever come to terms with it all.

Alex laughs at something, then gets up, shaking out his stiff knees, and comes to sit with Agatha.

He takes a bottle of beer and clinks it against hers.

He’s flying home tomorrow.

Agatha doesn’t know if she’ll see him again. She kind of hopes she will but she can’t see him wanting to come back here, even though he tells her he understands Lapland madness now.

Her phone buzzes and she picks it up. It’s a text from Janic, who’s working unasked-for overtime, confirming what she already suspects.

‘Mary Rosenberg’s ex-fiancé,’ Agatha tells Alex. ‘Apparently, in the last couple of years, another ex-girlfriend filed a report against him alleging he was controlling in their relationship and that he continued to stalk her afterwards. God love the poor woman he did marry.’

‘So, you reckon Mary did plan her escape from him?’ Alex asks. ‘Once she realised she was pregnant?’

‘I hope so,’ Agatha says.

‘Then maybe she’s safe somewhere,’ Alex says.

Agatha nods. She prays it’s so.

Yesterday, Lassi was arrested. The warrant for his home turned up several of Vicky’s belongings from her cabin. The rest he must have dumped in the lake, but they’ll never know because he’s admitted nothing. Agatha is certain he thought he’d got rid of all Vicky’s belongings, if the look of shock on his face was anything to go by. She’s also pretty sure his wife had a hand in ensuring those items remained in the house, if the look on hers was to be believed.

There’s nothing like the revenge of a woman scorned– and Lassi’s wife has endured a lot of scorn.

The warrant that allowed access to his bank accounts also threw up some interesting information.

The accounts showed a large deposit from the Canadian mining company– a down payment on Lassi’s land, the rest to follow when he secured the rezoning permits.

And smaller amounts, withdrawn regularly and, Agatha -imagines, handed over to Vicky Evans to buy her silence.

Alex knows the full truth about Vicky, now. It saddened him, Agatha could tell, but he didn’t judge his sister. Vicky was about to lose her job because she wouldn’t fuck the boss. Neither Alex nor Agatha can view her too harshly for deciding to bleed the man dry. He was only getting what he deserved.

Niamh is sitting in a custody cell awaiting her first court appearance. Her family are trying to have her extradited. Agatha isn’t convinced she’s told the whole truth. There’s no doubt Lassi manipu-lated her but she’s also painting herself as too much of a victim for Agatha’s liking. She senses that beneath the tears and the outward show of remorse, Niamh really just feels sorry for herself and is still angry at Vicky for getting her into this situation.

The fact she kept the bracelet. . . Agatha is disturbed by it. Was it really in Vicky’s cabin? Or did Niamh take it from Vicky’s wrist that morning?

They may never know.

‘What time is your flight tomorrow?’ Agatha asks.

‘Midday,’ Alex says.

They watch the children.

‘Are your parents okay? Now that they know what happened?’

Alex shrugs.

‘As okay as they can be. Mum is stronger than she thinks. My dad. . . I get the feeling whatever fire he had in him has burned out. It used to drive me nuts, how belligerent he could be. I wish he had it back, now.’

‘It will get easier,’ Agatha says. ‘Not better, but easier.’

‘It’s just hard to get our heads around,’ Alex says, ‘the notion that she died in a stupid fight over something that wasn’t even her fault. If it had been Lassi or Miika or even the Bryce guy, that would have made sense. But she’d no interest in Harry. Even he knew it.’

Alex turns and looks at Agatha.

‘I didn’t sleep with Niamh, you know,’ he says. ‘That morning you came over. She made a move, I said no. We got drunk and the next thing I knew, I woke up and she was still there, wearing one of my T-shirts. When I think back, there were a few things she did that were just a bit. . . unstable. I assigned a lot of it to grief but, now I know.’

Agatha says nothing. She’s quietly pleased, but it doesn’t matter.

‘My dad told me that he loved me,’ Alex says, his voice filled with surprise.

‘Why wouldn’t he?’ Agatha says.

‘I don’t know. It just. . . it was nice. I’d like it to stay that way.’

‘Just because you’re going back to work in London, that doesn’t mean—’

‘I’m not,’ Alex says.

‘Not what?’

‘I don’t know if I’m going back to my firm. I can’t keep doing it. It’s killing me. They just can’t pay me enough, any more. I’m pretty sure if I leave, I’m going to regret it in about six months but, fuck it, if you can’t change your career after something like this, then when can you?’

Agatha smiles.

‘Well, good for you,’ she says. ‘Do you know what you might do?’

‘I don’t know. Is it too late for me to become a professional ice skater?’

‘It’s never too late for anything,’ Agatha says.

‘That’s what my pal Charlie said when I told him. But then he asked me to go in on a lap-dancing club with him in London and I’m buggered if I’m going to spend my days greasing up poles and making sure women are wearing the right thongs.’

Agatha smiles, but Alex falls quiet.

Agatha wishes she could say what’s on her mind.

Things like, I like you. I enjoy your company. I feel like nobody will ever understand what we’ve both been through. My life has its complications but I don’t think this is all there is for me. Not any more. Maybe it’s not too late for me to meet somebody. Even if these are weird circumstances and quite possibly professionally inappropriate.

Instead, she takes another sip of beer. She’s swallowing when Alex says:

‘When do you guys celebrate Christmas over here?’

Agatha puts the beer down.

‘Christmas Eve,’ she says. ‘That’s when Joulupukki comes to the houses and gives the children gifts. We sing a few carols and we have a feast before visiting the graves of loved ones. Why? Are you thinking of adopting some of our traditions when you go home? You should buy some gnomes for your parents, you know. They’ve lots in the airport but you should get them in . Much cheaper.’

‘Well,’ he says, without looking at her. ‘I sort of thought it might be nice to see Christmas here. It’s taking me a few days to sort out Vicky’s return. I’m not sure I want to bring her home this side of Christmas.’

‘But, your parents?’

Agatha’s holding her breath. She’s afraid to look at him, to break the spell.

‘Mum’s still in hospital but they’ll understand. They won’t want Vicky left alone over here and it’s a lot, to have to bury her a day or two before Christmas.’

‘I understand,’ Agatha says.

‘Would you mind me hanging around?’ Alex asks.

Agatha has to bite back the smile. It’s far too wide for somebody who’s trying to be blasé.

‘I wouldn’t mind at all,’ she says. ‘There’s an ice hotel in Levi. I could bring you down; they do the most exquisite carvings in the ice. There’s a banquet hall and then you sleep in the ice rooms on a frozen bed—’

‘That sounds like my idea of hell,’ Alex says. ‘What do you people have against being warm?’

‘Okay then. Just another snowmobile ride. Or skating. Or, have you done a cross-country ski yet? They’re easier than the slopes.’

Alex looks at her. Agatha can feel herself blushing, but that’s okay, because he’s blushing too.

They’re just two grown adults, blushing.

‘I had better cut the labels off that expensive gear my mate Charlie bought me, so,’ Alex says. ‘My thermals are starting to take on a life of their own, I’ve got so much use out of them.’

He says this deadpan and it’s not until he cracks a smile that Agatha starts to laugh. It’s not that Alex has been particularly funny; it’s that his smile is beautiful. Warm and friendly and joyful. And she just needs to laugh. And so does he, evidently, because he joins in. It’s a release, from everything they’ve been through, and also, the strange awkwardness that’s crept in between them.

Maybe it will come to nothing, all this, Agatha thinks. Maybe he’ll go home in the new year, and that will be it.

But, until then, they can enjoy it. She can let herself enjoy it.

The kids look up, wondering why the two adults are laughing.

Becki passes again, equally bemused.

Agatha and Alex don’t notice everyone is watching. They only see each other.