Author: Jaimie Admans
Category: Humorous
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His smile looks involuntary and like he couldn’t stop it if he tried and it makes something heat up in my chest.
‘You’re welcome.’ He mouths the words but no sound comes out.
My neck is bent to look up at him, and he lowers his head minutely, and I realise how easy it would be to kiss him. His tongue touches his lips and my fingers twitch with the urge to brush them over his stubbled jaw. His pupils are blown wide and my toes move to push myself upwards, and … he steps back and rams his hand through his hair and I snap my head back down so fast that my heartbeat throbs in my ears.
‘At least I know why you disappeared earlier.’ I say it so fast that it comes out as a singular word rather than a sentence. ‘Did my dad really need my help today or did you just want me out of the way?’
His laugh sounds as awkward as the weird tension between us after that … whatever that was. ‘I wanted it to be a surprise. Plus, I wanted you to see your dad in action. You can’t hide in the post office all day.’
He’s clocked what I’m doing then. I haven’t even admitted that to myself, but when Tav says it, it becomes true. Every day, I get lost in other people’s lives through their letters, and I don’t have to think about how the days are going by and I still haven’t confronted Dad about having to do the sensible thing and give up the North Pole Forest, nor have I succeeded in getting him to slow down and take it easy, or made any attempt to contact an estate agent.
‘I’m not hiding.’ I don’t take my eyes off the sky because the faint strip of green seems to be fading in front of us.
He doesn’t respond, and for as much as it annoyed me at first, I like that Tav doesn’t fill the air with pointless platitudes.
I can’t tell him I’ve barely stopped thinking about my dad being Santa since I left the grotto. Dad’s been running away for most of my life. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him stop somewhere. And what Tav said on that first night whispers in my ear again. For years I’ve been telling him to “come home”. What if Britain isn’t his home anymore?
The whole sky bursts into life and it feels so fragile that even a breath too strong would blow it away.
‘You never get used to it,’ he whispers. ‘No matter how long you live here, you never take it for granted. It’s always new, always different, every night. Never any less awe-inspiring. In the millions of years this has been happening, it’s never once been the same as it is tonight.’
I don’t doubt that for a second. This is the kind of thing that you can never see enough of. That thought of going home flickers at the edges of my mind again, like a flame growing stronger. I didn’t realise how much I’d always wanted to see the Northern Lights – it’s something that was such an impossible dream that I put it out of my mind, locked tightly in the box labelled “things I’ll never be brave enough to do” and now I can’t imagine never seeing them again. And when I go home, I never will, will I? The southern, built-up county of Oxfordshire isn’t exactly known for the Aurora Borealis.
Every star in the universe must be out tonight, twinkling down on us, the movement of the curtains of green gives the illusion that the stars are dancing in time with the lights. Shades of pink creep into each green splash and turn yellow before fading away completely, only to be replaced with more flowing streaks of light, and just watching them makes me emotional. When I blink and let my eyes close for a moment, tears form along my eyelashes and I have to scrub them away before they freeze to ice.
‘I grew up in a city further south. The Northern Lights were never seen there. When I first moved here, it stopped me in my tracks. I spent so many nights outside, unable to tear my eyes away in case I missed even a glimpse.’
So he’s not local. Despite spending more than a week in his company now, I still know barely anything about him. I’d assumed he was born and raised here. ‘How long have you lived here?’
‘A long time.’
And he’s back to being his usual wordy self. I glance at him and he looks awkward and red-faced. Even that one sentence seems like more than he intended to reveal.
I look away when I feel his eyes on me too, like one of those ghosts in Super Mario games that hides whenever you look directly at it. I self-consciously fiddle with my hair. It was in a loose plait when I went to bed, but all the tossing and turning has pulled it half out and there are bits hanging around my shoulders that say “unkempt scarecrow” rather than “effortlessly sexy”. I don’t think I’ve ever said “effortlessly sexy” in my life, but if I’d expected to see him tonight, I’d have at least stuck a band around my hair or pulled a hat on.
Without realising it, my gaze has drifted from the sky to Tav again.
‘What?’ he whispers without looking at me.
I think about what Freya said about him working too much. I don’t know what time it is, but it was past midnight when I last looked at the clock on the cabin wall and that was at least an hour ago. Even in the dark, I can tell there are shadows under his eyes. ‘Are you as tired as you look?’
He lets out a short burst of laughter. ‘I’m fine. But thank you, I wasn’t self-conscious before but I am now.’
I can tell he’s joking, but it’s another evasive answer that doesn’t tell me anything either way. ‘How’d the roof repair go today?’
His head snaps down from looking at the sky, and when he meets my eyes, he looks like no one’s ever asked him that before. ‘You have that to look at and you want to talk to me?’
‘Yes.’ I do the best equivalent of crossing my arms defiantly that’s possible while still holding a plastic mug. ‘There’s this phenomenon where you can use your eyes and mouth independently of each other and have actual conversations while looking at things.’
The thought of Tav and mouths makes me come over all hot – a truly impressive feat in these temperatures, but at least it gets a laugh out of him.
He doesn’t answer for a while, and I think he’s not going to, but eventually he says, ‘I got there in the end. With you helping Percy, I didn’t have anything to drag me away from it.’
Apart from clearing up the post office for me, I finish for him in my head.
‘How about you? Read any gems tonight?’ he asks, clearly wanting to change the subject.
‘Children are really nice, aren’t they?’
‘That surprises you?’
‘I … don’t know. I guess I don’t meet many children, but I didn’t expect Santa letters to be what they are. I was just reading one from a girl who says she doesn’t want a present this year because she’s worried Santa works too hard and she wants to give him one less house to go to. And there’s one girl in a right tizz because she doesn’t know if Santa would prefer cookies and milk or a mince pie and sherry, and she’s going to put out cookies and milk and a mince pie and sherry so Santa can have a choice, and she’s read somewhere that reindeer prefer red peppers to carrots, but she doesn’t have any and wonders if they’d accept a turnip instead. This is so real to children. I want to write back and tell her not to get so wound up over a fictional character and if anyone’s eating anything on Christmas Eve night, it’ll be the parents.’
‘I don’t have to tell you that you’re not allowed to do that, do I?’
I give him such a scathing look that he laughs.
‘There was one from a girl who says her mummy is in heaven and all she wants for Christmas is for Santa to get a message to his friend, God, to tell her mummy she loves her because she didn’t have a chance to tell her before she went to heaven—’ I didn’t realise how much it had affected me until my voice breaks and tears spring to my eyes again.
His huge hand splays on my back, his fingers and thumb rubbing gently at five different points, nothing more than a soft pressure through the layers I’m wearing.
His silent support is something I’ve never felt before. He knows what happened to my mum – my dad has probably talked to him about it more than he’s ever talked to me – but no one knows how alone I felt in my g
rief. Dad disappeared after Mum died, and was replaced by my nan, who moved into the cottage to look after me, but she was stoic and strong, of a generation that didn’t show emotion, and she was mourning the loss of her daughter too. We existed in our grieving solitudes while Dad was off having the time of his life on his amazing adventures.
I have to stop thinking about it. ‘I wanted to reply but I haven’t got a clue what to say.’
‘Just say you’re sure her mum knew how much she loved her – mums always know. You lost your mum at a young age – of all people, you are the one person who can answer that letter. What would’ve helped you to hear when you were young?’
I look up. ‘Go outside and whisper it to the night and trust that Mum will hear it. I had an appointment with a grief counsellor the school set up. It was pretty useless. The woman was stuffy and didn’t seem to have ever lost anyone in her life, but one thing I did take from it was to write Mum letters telling her all the things I wished I could say. I did that for a couple of years, and it helped.’
‘So tell her that. Don’t pretend to be Santa responding. Be you.’
‘Who would want a letter from me?’
‘Who wouldn’t?’ He gives me a smile when I look at him disbelievingly. ‘It’s about knowing someone cares. Knowing someone read her letter and connected with it. Hearing from an adult who went through what she’s going through and came out the other side. You can’t underestimate the value of that – kids often feel like they’re the only person who’s ever dealt with what they’re dealing with. And there are letter writing sets under the counter – you could send her one of those as a gift. It might help.’ His fingers rub minutely against my back where his hand is still splayed out. ‘This is exactly what I wanted to achieve by accepting so much post, but I ran out of time, money, and if I’m honest, motivation. Seeing you get involved in this is inspirational. You don’t realise how much of an asset you are to this place, Sash.’
‘I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything that nice to me before,’ I say carefully, trying to hide the wobble in my voice.
‘Ah, come on. You’ve single-handedly turned around the fortunes of one of Britain’s best hotels; you must be a massive asset to them.’
Oh, bollocks. That.
There’s something playful in his voice and I’m once again sure he knows the truth, and when I don’t say anything, he takes his hand away from my back. I try not to read into it, and look up at the lights instead, rivers of green, pink, and gold flashing through a purple sky.
‘The Finns call them revontulet. They believe they’re caused by the spirits of fire foxes running across the snow and sweeping the sky with their tails, sending up sparks when they brush against the mountains. The Sami people believe they’re a bad omen and think it’s dangerous to talk to them because they’ll come down and take you away, but some cultures whistle to encourage them closer, believing they can pass on messages to the dearly departed.’ He doesn’t take his eyes off the sky as he speaks, and I realise I haven’t taken my eyes off him for quite a while either. He looks down and meets my eyes and a shiver goes through him.
‘Here, have half of this.’ I’ve still got the blanket round my shoulders and I go to shrug it off, but he holds a hand up.
‘I’m fine.’
‘No, you’re not, Tav. You’re already tired and you’re using extra energy to stay warm. You don’t need to be all macho and chivalrous.’ I hold one corner around me, and try to throw the opposite corner over his shoulders, but it’s as useless as trying to give a handkerchief to an elephant might be.
It’s got to be minus-twenty out here tonight, and honestly the blanket probably isn’t doing much to improve matters, but he doesn’t need to be quite so stubborn.
After ineffectively throwing one side of the blanket at him a few times, he accepts that I’m not giving up and ducks enough to let me slip it over his shoulders. He refills our plastic mugs with still-warm hot chocolate, then his hand curls into the blanket and holds his half around himself, stooping so he doesn’t pull it away from me, his arm pressing against mine.
‘Do you want to walk out and see the igloos?’ He inclines his mug in the direction of a small path past the post office building. ‘It’s the best viewing spot for seeing the lights.’
I glance up at him. The dark smudges under his eyes suggest he should be going home to bed, but I can’t bring myself to let this night end so soon. ‘I’d love to.’
‘We’re going to have to …’ There are a few awkward steps as we try to negotiate walking with the joined blanket, our arms banging into each other, jostling the hot chocolate. Eventually he holds his arm out, inviting me to slip mine through and I do so gratefully. It’s the only way this can possibly work.
The path leads up a gentle slope through a few sparse trees, so thick with frost that they block the view of the lights and I no longer have a distraction to look at, just the charged silence between me and Tav.
‘I need to tell you something,’ I blurt out as our feet crunch over frozen snow.
‘Could it be that you’re not a fancy hotel manager?’
‘So you do know then?’
‘I was curious when Percy kept talking about you. Intrigued to see this massive turnaround in your hotel’s fortunes. He told me where you worked and I googled it. They have a staff list on their website and your name wasn’t on there.’
‘When was this?’
‘Back in the summer, when he first started saying you were the person we needed to help us with this place.’
‘Months ago?’ I say in surprise. ‘And you didn’t tell him?’
‘It’s not for me to tell.’
Warmth floods my belly. That little feeling of him being on my side. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s none of my business. What’s between you is between you. People often have reasons for telling a little white lie, and it’s not for me to bluster through the middle of that.’
‘Thanks, Tav,’ I say again. I don’t know why I’m so touched, but I’ve never felt like anyone was on my side before, and if he knew, I expected him to be running straight back to my father to tell him everything, and there’s something really nice about the fact he isn’t. ‘Wait, you’ve known for months and you’re just now telling me? I’ve been here for over a week and you’ve let me carry on lying by omission.’
‘I was intrigued by how far you’d go with it, and I wanted to understand why. Besides, you’ve slipped up enough times in front of me that I’d have guessed by now anyway.’
I go so red that steam must start rising from my cheeks.
He squeezes my arm with his inner elbow where mine is still hooked through it. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. I’m honoured that you let your guard down in front of me. Because I don’t. I can’t let my guard down in front of anyone.’
I’ve definitely gathered that much. I glance up at him but he keeps his eyes on the snowy ground we’re adding the first set of footprints to.
‘It wasn’t meant to be a lie,’ I start and his arm holds mine a little tighter. ‘I did work at the hotel as a receptionist, answering the phones, taking bookings, that sort of thing. When the job opening for a manager came up, I applied. I didn’t have any managerial experience, but I’d worked there for a couple of months, I was good with customers, and the other staff all thought I had a great chance of getting it. Dad phoned as I was rushing out the door to the interview and I quickly garbled that explanation, and he assumed the job would be mine. And then I didn’t get it. And I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. He was so pleased that I was finally going somewhere with my life, and I didn’t want to disappoint him yet again. And then he saw something online about this hotel’s change in fortunes, and he was so proud of me, and he’d never been proud of me before …’
‘Who wouldn’t be proud of you?’
It makes me blush. ‘He’s never been proud of me. I’ve never been what he wanted.’
Tav nearly stumbles over his own feet and t
he movement yanks me to a halt. His hand reaches out like he’s going to tuck my hair back, hovering in mid-air in front of me. ‘I’m sure that’s not true …’
The blanket drops off his shoulders and his arm gets tighter around my arm, and I relish in it for a moment. ‘He wanted a daughter who’d go on adventures with him, and I don’t like to leave the house unless it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t want to go river rafting down the raging Nile or go on a walking safari through the lion-infested grasslands of Zimbabwe. Every time I speak to him, he asks me to go to some far-off place and I always say no, and he can’t hide the disappointment.’
He looks at me for a long moment, and I get the feeling he wants to say something, but eventually he sighs and looks away. ‘Yeah, well, I’m with you when it comes to disappointing family.’ He gathers up the blanket again and strides off, and I have to dash to keep up.
It intrigues me, but like with everything else, I expect pushing him will cause him to clam up entirely. He’s practically running away from me already. So far tonight, I know he’s not from here originally, and he’s disappointed his family at some point, and it seems like those are two very small pieces in the jigsaw puzzle that is Tav.
I can see the silhouettes of glass igloos spread out across an open space, and as we step out of the trees, there’s a panoramic view of the whole horizon. I spin around, trying to take in the 360-degree view all at once. Tav was not kidding when he said this is the best spot.
‘This is unreal.’ It feels like I can see every inch of the Northern Lights. The mountains are low and the sky is all-consuming, and nothing encroaches on it. You see places like this on TV, but this is real, and I’m really here.
‘It’s one of our most popular areas. The idea was to diversify from just Christmas and appeal to different kinds of people, adults without children who otherwise wouldn’t want to come here, and I also wanted to tap into the privilege of living here and having such an incredible view of the Northern Lights each night. It’s something that deserves to be shared.’