‘I wasn’t sure what to throw in my holdall,’ Roxanne said, as she and Jack headed down the aisle of the aircraft looking for their seat numbers. She’d managed to book tickets for an afternoon flight to Stockholm from Stansted Airport, and a continuing transfer to Kiruna. ‘It can be well into the minuses over there this time of year.’
It was small talk, and she didn’t blame him for not responding. In fact, he’d barely said a word as they’d waited in departures for their gate to open, his head in his hands.
She spotted their seats, and shuffled in next to the window. Jack shoved his coat in the overhead compartment, and plonked down next to her with a thud, before pushing, his carry-on bag under the seat in front of him. He looked pale under his beard, his eyes bloodshot. He clipped his seatbelt on, pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt, a Heath Ledger ‘Joker’ on the front, and shut his eyes, closing himself off. It was clear his sadness had deepened to another level, and Roxanne wished she could take him in her arms and squeeze. How could her friend have done this to such a nice guy?
She didn’t attempt any further conversation. There would be time enough for that once they arrived in Sweden, when he would have to talk about the blog, and face up to the fact that there’d been another man in Isla’s life. For now, silence was probably the best option.
She pulled a book from her carry-on bag, and settled down to read, but her mind wouldn’t absorb the words. Instead it buzzed and fizzed, her body restless as the plane took off, and the UK was reduced to the size of a model village.
***
In Kiruna, they climbed down the metal steps of the plane, and onto the icy ground. Roxanne slipped on her ski jacket and bobble hat, and Jack tugged on his long, grey woollen coat. He looked as though he was about to go into the trenches in World War I. He lifted the collar as a strong gust of wind cut across them.
‘Jesus,’ he said, voice low and sad, as they dashed through the darkness towards arrivals. ‘This is a nightmare from hell.’
They took a taxi to Abisko, and the driver, Erik, tried, in upbeat fashion, to fill them in about the history of the area, but Roxanne barely took in his words, and she knew Jack was struggling, his gaze focused on the huge expanse of white, under the night sky.
At Camp Arctic, Roxanne brushed snow from her shoulders, as they stepped through the double doors into reception, and banged snow from their boots. They approached a red-headed woman sitting behind a counter.
‘Hi. Do you speak English?’ Roxanne asked, clapping her hands to try to warm them.
‘Of course. How may I help?’ The woman smiled.
‘I think it was you I spoke to on the phone earlier. I’m Roxanne Furaha. I’m looking for my friend Isla Johnson who appears to have gone missing. She was . . . is staying here.’
‘That’s right, yes. I’m afraid your friend hasn’t returned.’ She looked at the screen in front of her. ‘You’ve booked two single rooms. Is that right?’
Roxanne nodded and, as the woman searched for keys, she glanced over her shoulder. The reception had a cosy feel. There were a couple of armchairs, and three sofas heaped with mismatched cushions and draped with fur throws. There were a few people dotted about reading newspapers, or looking at their phones and iPads. A floor-to-ceiling window looked out into the darkness, and a rather dated-looking computer was on a desk in the corner for guests to use. On a table near the restaurant was a jug brimming with loganberry juice and several glasses.
The woman handed Roxanne and Jack the keys. ‘Once you’re settled in we can talk if you like.’ She eyed Jack, who was shivering, his face rosy-red from the cold. ‘We have snowsuits and boots,’ she said, nodding towards a wooden rack near the door, as the fluffy face of a dog appeared on the counter. She stroked its head.
‘I’m fine as I am,’ Jack said, his eyes darting around the room, as though searching for Isla.
‘You’re in rooms twelve and seventeen. Easy to find, they’re just though there.’ She pointed towards a side door in the corner. ‘Dinner is from seven to nine, and breakfast is served from eight.’
The corridor was narrow – doors on the left-hand side heading into the near distance, windows on the right. Jack led the way past a cleaning trolley.
‘God kväll,’ a housekeeper called from inside room nine.
They continued along the corridor in silence until they reached room twelve. ‘I’ll see you in five minutes in reception, shall I?’ Roxanne said, as she opened the door. ‘We can talk to the woman, and decide where to go from there.’ But in truth, she had no idea where ‘there’ was. What the hell did she think she could do here, snowed in and far from anywhere?
‘OK,’ Jack said, carrying his holdall further along the corridor, shoulders slumped as he entered his room.
Roxanne’s room was like a cupboard. She propped her bag in the corner and pulled out her phone. It had reset an hour forward, and her Internet roaming had attached to a Swedish network. She had hoped there would be a message from Sally with news from the police. How hard could it be to find out about a suicide attempt in this quiet, out-of-the-way place?
She took off her jacket, pulled free her scarf and woolly hat, and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Isla,’ she whispered, legs sprawled almost touching the wall. ‘Where the hell are you?’
She left her room, and walked towards reception, where the dogs bounded to greet her.
‘Hi, there,’ she said, ruffling their heads, as she made her way towards the sofa.
It was some time before Jack appeared. He was still wearing the same sweatshirt, but his hair was damp, and his face had drained to the colour magnolia. He joined her on the sofa, and Roxanne picked up on a slight smell of cigarettes. The red-headed woman came from behind the counter and made her way over, heavy boots clonking the hardwood floor.
‘I’m Alma,’ she said, sitting down in one of the armchairs. ‘So what do you need to know?’
Roxanne bit her lip as a jumble of incoherent words gathered in her head. Nothing sounded right. She didn’t know where to start.
‘So you’ve checked Isla’s room,’ Jack said, and Roxanne threw him a wide-eyed look. Of course they’d checked her room. They’d said that on the phone. It was clear he had no idea what to ask either. This was ridiculous. They were like two school kids playing detective.
Alma nodded. ‘Your friend’s belongings are there. Although I must tell you it was cleaned this morning before we got your call. Do you need to take a look?’
‘That would be great. If that’s OK,’ Roxanne said, looking at Jack, who nodded.
‘Did you see Isla talk to anyone while she was here?’ Jack asked. ‘A man with red hair, maybe?’
Roxanne wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but stopped herself.
Alma’s brow furrowed. She shrugged. ‘Not that I recall. Your friend spent most of her time alone, writing on her laptop, or taking photographs.’
‘Typical Isla,’ Jack said, a crack in his voice.
‘She went to the sky station at Abisko National Park last night, I believe. A couple who are staying here, Alex and Maddie Grimes, mentioned they’d been there too. They may have seen her, spoken to her, perhaps. Is that helpful?’
‘Could be,’ Roxanne said. ‘They may have seen her with someone.’ She didn’t catch Jack’s eye, but imagined his thought process. Isla had said on her blog she met Andy at the foot of the chairlift.
Alma looked around her. ‘I don’t think Mr and Mrs Grimes are here at the moment. They said something about going to the Ice Hotel in Jukkasjärvi, but they should be back later. Perhaps speak to them then.’
‘Yes, yes we will.’
‘So when was the last time you saw Isla?’ Jack asked.
‘Well . . . as I say . . . she went to the sky station, but I didn’t notice her return. All our guests have passes for the rear door, for when they arrive back after ten o’clock. We close the front entrance around that time, so she may have come back after that.’ She paused, looking straight at Roxanne. ‘Maybe you need to give it a bit more time before you panic too much. It’s normal for a grown woman to take off.’
‘Yes, but I told you on the phone, she sent us an email saying she was going to commit suicide.’ Roxanne’s voice had risen in volume and smacked of anger. She hooked Alma into a stare. ‘Hardly normal.’
‘Can we see her room now?’ Jack said, getting up and shoving his hands into his jean pockets, as though he wanted to defuse the moment.
‘Of course.’ Alma rose, and threw Roxanne a concerned glance. ‘I’ll get the key.’
She led the way, and stood in the doorway of Isla’s room, as Roxanne and Jack stepped in. But they were no sooner through the door, when the dogs started barking in reception.
‘Tindra! Max!’ Alma yelled down the corridor. She screwed up her face. ‘I shouldn’t really leave you,’ she said, tapping the door key on her palm three times. ‘But I guess you look honest enough.’ And with that she dashed away yelling, ‘Stoppa buller!’
They wandered aimlessly around the tiny room for a few moments, before Jack dragged Isla’s case from the corner. He threw it onto the bed and unzipped it.
‘I should have known there was someone else,’ he said, his voice a whisper. ‘She wouldn’t talk about the wedding, or set a date. I must have pushed her into the engagement. I’m such an idiot.’
‘Not an idiot, Jack.’
He stood for some moments, staring into space. ‘She would flinch sometimes when I went to hold her.’
‘She was like that after Carl Jeffery, Jack. I reckon that was as much to do with her worrying herself silly about him and the appeal, as anything else.’
He shrugged, and shook his head, as though he didn’t believe her words, and began rummaging in Isla’s case. He tugged out a jewellery box, opened it, and pulled out a St Christopher medal. ‘She’s not wearing it,’ he said. ‘Maybe she hasn’t travelled far.’
Roxanne couldn’t help thinking Isla might not have wanted the luck of the saints where she’d said she was going. She swallowed down her sadness.
‘Did you buy it for her?’ Jack asked.
‘What?’
‘The necklace, did you buy it?’
‘Aha.’ She nodded. ‘Just before she went to Canada.’
His lips fleetingly turned up at the corners. ‘Well, at least she didn’t lie about that,’ he said, putting it back in the box, and closing the lid.
‘Oh, no,’ Roxanne muttered, spotting a photo propped on the shelf. She cleared her throat. ‘It’s the picture of Isla and Andy,’ she went on, picking it up and turning it over. There was nothing written on the back. ‘It’s the one on her blog.’
Jack closed his eyes for a second, as though mustering strength, before stepping towards her and taking it from her hands. He dropped down hard on the bed. ‘Shit,’ he said, his eyes filling with tears. ‘How did I get it so fucking wrong? She even said I was trying to fix her. I wasn’t trying to fix her. I just loved her.’
‘Jack. I’m so sorry.’
‘You know what, I’ve just remembered, there was this guy called Andy on her Facebook – you don’t suppose . . . ’
‘Facebook.’
‘Yeah.’ He paused, scratching his head. ‘Andy . . . I can’t even remember his surname, that’s how little notice I took. But he’s on her Facebook. His profile picture was a maple leaf. It’s got to be him – the bloke from her blog – talking to her on social media, right in front of me.’
‘We have to contact him, Jack,’ she said, pulling out her phone, but she had no signal.
‘No. You contact him, Roxanne. There’s no way I want to talk to the slimy shit.’ He got up and straightened his shoulders. ‘I don’t even know why I’m here, if I’m honest,’ he said, waving the photo in the air. ‘This!’ His voice had grown in volume, and smacked of anger. ‘This isn’t who I thought Isla was.’
Roxanne took the picture from him and put it in her pocket. ‘None of us did, Jack,’ she said.
The sudden silence that fell between them was painful.
‘We must find her,’ she said, eventually, pulling Isla’s teddy bear from the bedside cabinet and hugging it to her chest. ‘She had this at uni. Never goes anywhere without it.’
‘Until now.’ Jack covered his face with his hands.
She put the battered bear back on the bedside cabinet, kissed her fingertips, and pressed them against it, before looking around the room once more. ‘There’s no gin bottle,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Isla said on her blog she was drinking gin last night, didn’t she? So where’s the empty bottle?’
He shrugged. ‘Alma said the cleaner’s been in. She would have emptied the bin.’ He was on his feet again, pacing. ‘I didn’t even know she liked bloody gin. Or that she was writing a blog. I didn’t know her at all.’ A tear rolled down his face, and Roxanne pulled him into a hug, and patted his back as if she was comforting a child.
‘But, we still have to find her,’ she said, releasing him and gripping his upper arms, snagging him into a stare. ‘We need to know what’s happened, even if it’s the worst possible news.’
‘You’re right,’ he said, pulling away and rubbing the back of his hand across his face. He turned and opened Isla’s case. ‘We need to find her.’
He tugged out a couple of jumpers, and her laptop.
‘Do you think she wrote her final blog post on that?’ Roxanne asked. ‘Her email to her mum?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No, this is just for writing. Isla hated the Internet distracting her when she was working. She must have used the guest computer in reception.’ He threw the jumper and laptop back in the case, a look of defeat on his face. ‘Roxanne, what are we doing here? We’re not Sherlock and Doctor Watson. What the hell do we think we’ll find?’ He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and pulled one free.
‘You can’t smoke in here, Jack,’ she said.
‘No, no, God, I’m really not thinking straight.’ He shoved the cigarette back into the pack.
‘Try to keep calm, please. We need to be strong, for Isla.’
‘How, Roxanne?’ He shook his head. ‘I would have done anything for her, and she cheated on me.’ He lowered himself back onto the edge of the bed. ‘I thought we were good, you know. I thought she loved me.’
‘She did, Jack.’
‘No!’ He shook his head again. ‘No, you don’t do this to someone you love. And now she’s gone, and I’ve lost her in the worst possible way.’ He paused. ‘I just don’t know what to do.’
Roxanne’s eyes stung. Jack was one of the best, always making everyone laugh – brilliant to be around. How could you do this, Isla? This is beyond cruel. Why had Isla led him on, when she was crazily in love with someone else? She sat down beside him and took hold of his hand. ‘Oh, Jack,’ she said, ‘this is about what Carl Jeffery did to her. The damage he did.’
He looked up, silent now, his face damp, eyes intense green. ‘I need to go back to the UK,’ he whispered. ‘This is killing me. I don’t know what I was thinking saying I’d come.’ He tugged his hand away, got up, and left the room.
Roxanne hurried after him. ‘Jack, please,’ she called, racing down the corridor. ‘I can’t do this alone.’
‘I can’t do this at all, Roxanne. I’m sorry,’ he said, not looking back.
‘Please, Jack.’
He put the key in his door, and turned to face her. He was shaking. ‘I thought I could, but I can’t,’ he said, stepping into his room. ‘I’m sorry.’ He closed the door with a gentle snap.
Roxanne rested her forehead on the wood, biting down hard on her bottom lip to stop her tears.
Ten minutes later he’d gone.
Roxanne was alone.