Page 6

Winter 1998

Kaya is cold as she mushes the dogs across the frozen lake. She left her reindeer boots at home.

In her rush to get out of the house as quickly and quietly as possible, she’d thrown on the nearest shoes, the ones she only wears inside.

If she’d taken the horse, it wouldn’t have mattered. Galloping on the horse would have kept her warm. But she has to keep taking her foot off the back of the sled to help the dogs on inclines and her feet are starting to freeze. At this rate, she’ll be lucky if she doesn’t lose a toe.

Goddamn huskies, anyway. Just recently she’d had to tell a gang of tourists that the dogs aren’t even indigenous to Lapland; they’re just a fantasy construct the ever-growing numbers of holidaymakers expect to see. The trails the tourists are sent on at the husky farms are all freshly carved out each morning for the dog-led sleighs because the animals’ little legs would just sink into the snow otherwise.

Horses, that’s what real Laplanders use, when they’re not in their cars or on snowmobiles or skis.

But if she’d taken the horse, her husband might have noticed when he went to close the stable. And if she’d taken the car or snowmobile, he would have heard. Exercising the dogs is Kaya’s job, and they’re always barking, so it didn’t matter that they had yapped and whined when she’d hitched them to the sleigh and set off down the mountain. He’ll be asleep when she gets back. He’ll never know how long she was gone.

There’s not a cloud in the sky and the fox fires are bright overhead, shades of vivid green against a background of a million twinkling stars.

Kaya can’t spend any time appreciating them. They still hold magic for her, despite being a feature her whole life, but tonight she’s too cold. Her breath forms short cloudbursts as she yells at the dogs.

And now Kaya can see the glow of the town.

At the edge of the lake, she follows the path that has been made throughout the day by the tourists tramping back and forth for activities on the frozen ice. It’s not too dark. Lamps have been positioned to guide visitors for night activities. This part of the forest always reminds Kaya of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and the well-lit path through the Narnia snow on the other side of the wardrobe door.

Once she’s near the town, she ties the dogs to a tree. She doesn’t want them drawing attention to her when she’s on the streets of Koppe. On foot, she can move about unseen.

She’s shivering all over now and knows she needs to get her feet beside a fire.

She keeps to the shadows, avoiding the revellers spilling out from the bars serving après-ski beers and burgers.

Koppe is bursting with fake chocolate-box chalets these days, all designed to make visitors to Lapland think it’s some sort of year-round Christmas-card idyll. They’ve no idea how brutal the winter is for those who aren’t just here for a two-week holiday: the struggle to get through the long, dark months; the effort required to make a living from seasonal work to see you through a whole year, or to keep a farm from completely dying out over one particularly cruel season, as this one looks set to be.

When Kaya’s working in the bar, sometimes tourists tell her they’ve been infected with Lapland madness and they plan to return in the summer. Autumn, she always suggests. In the summer, you’ll meet the mosquitoes. Laplanders are used to them; tourists get eaten alive.

She skirts around some Germans in expensive ski gear and then cuts down a lane until she arrives at his house. Locals still live in town, even though there are three times as many tourists now as before and that number is growing. People seem to have found a happy medium. The tourists are shepherded unwittingly into the commercial bars and restaurants that provide the townspeople with jobs; the locals know the shops and social spots that don’t charge through the nose.

Kaya thinks she would adjust, too, but she can’t; she’s stuck half the time up the side of a bloody mountain on a reindeer farm.

She knocks on his back door, three short raps.

He opens the door, curiosity on his face quickly turning to a frown.

‘What are you doing here?’ he hisses.

Kaya is taken aback. Last night, they were naked and entwined in each other’s arms. Now he’s glaring at her like she’s something unpleasant he’s just found on his boot.

‘I need to speak to you,’ she says.

‘It’s Wednesday night,’ he snaps. ‘You know she’s here on Wednesdays.’

‘But I. . .’

He looks over his shoulder, a noise alerting him.

‘You have to go,’ he says and he pushes her shoulder.

Kaya reacts with shock. He’s never laid a hand on her that has been anything but inviting. He’s never spoken to her in a tone that was anything but loving.

‘I forgot it was Wednesday,’ she says, weakly. She hadn’t forgotten. She just needed to see him. ‘I’m cold– can’t you make an excuse for why I’m here? Can’t I come in and warm up?’

He seems to be deliberating and Kaya knows it will be okay. He’s just surprised to see her. She caught him off guard. She would be the same, if he arrived at her house when her husband was there. She doesn’t even need to tell him her news tonight. She can tell him another time. Right now, she just needs some coffee and the heat of his fire.

‘No,’ he says. ‘Go to the bar. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

He closes the door.

Kaya stands there, stunned. From outside, she can still hear him. His wife is with him and he’s telling her the person at the door was just a drunk tourist.

Momentarily, Kaya considers hammering on the door and drawing out his wife, telling her the truth– I’m not a drunk tourist, I’m the woman who’s been fucking your husband for the last six months.

But if she does that, the vengeful satisfaction will be fleeting.

So, instead, she turns and slinks back into town, her tail between her legs and a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that this is not going to go how she’d planned.

Her lover is not going to rescue her from her current predicament.

The way he’d looked at her when she had the audacity to call to his door on the wrong night.

It’s entirely possible he’ll kill her when he finds out what she’s done.