Chapter 2

Dear Santa,

What would you wish for? I bet no one ever asks you that.

From,

Olivia

After a long, long, long day of travelling, I’m exhausted by the time I get off a rickety plane at a tiny airport inside the Arctic Circle.

There is snow everywhere, and although I’ve not seen a lot of runways in real life before, I’m pretty sure none of them are meant to be this small.

It’s only 7 p.m. but it’s pitch-dark and freezing. Even though I’ve got a big coat on, the cold bites at my arms and hits my chest like a sheet of ice. My feet plunge into ankle-deep snow, and the two pairs of socks I’ve got on inside my trainers do nothing to keep it out. The air is so cold it’s like breathing razor blades and it feels like shards of ice are hitting the back of my throat every time I inhale.

But it doesn’t take away how grateful I am to be back on solid ground. I’m kind of impressed with myself for … I don’t know … getting here, I guess. I’ve never done anything more complicated than take a train before, and somehow I’ve made it to Norway and this is the third airport I’ll have had to negotiate today. I didn’t even have a panic attack mid-journey, which really is impressive considering the plane felt like it was going to fall apart in mid-air.

The wing gives an ominous creak as the pilot directs me and the two other passengers into a derelict-looking airport building that not only looks like it’s about to fall apart at any moment, but also looks like it has fallen apart several times and been patched up with stray bits of wood haphazardly nailed on. My suitcase wheels give up at the sight of snow, and we clomp towards the ramshackle building down a snow-covered path. It looks like someone cleared it this morning, but more snow has fallen since and they’ve given up trying to keep up with it.

I’m shivering as I go through security, which is a woman behind a desk who peers at our passports and nods us through, and inside the building is an information desk, a vending machine, and a row of seats. I walk into the reception area looking around for my dad. I’ve spent the whole journey thinking about how good it will be to see him, and I can’t help thinking he’ll be a little bit proud of me for being brave and actually making it here, and that’s without knowing how many times I nearly told the taxi driver to turn around and take me home on the way to the airport this morning. I don’t know how people do this on a regular basis. Travel is daunting.

The feeling of being brave lasts until my eyes fall on a man standing in the reception area, facing the gate we’re entering through, and holding up a sign reading ‘Sasha Hansley’.

My heart is instantly pounding and I can’t hear anything above the sound of blood rushing in my head. My suitcase clatters into the row of chairs and makes such a noise that it shakes the whole building as I rush across to him. My dad said he’d meet me at the airport. What if something’s happened? What if I haven’t made it in time?

The run across the tiny room leaves me breathless and I’m not sure if it’s the exertion or the panic. I point at the man’s sign. ‘Is he okay? Where is he?’

He turns the cardboard sign over in his hand, looks at it, looks at me, and holds it out questioningly.

‘I’m Sasha,’ I say hurriedly. ‘He was supposed to meet me. Has something happened?’

‘He’s fine. He delegated,’ the man says. His voice is deep and has a slight accent.

I put a gloved hand on my chest and will my heart to slow down. Despite the freezing temperatures, warm relief floods me. ‘I thought I was going to be too late.’

The man doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his eyes on me.

‘Are you a friend? Neighbour? Boyfriend?’ I’m not sure the last one is likely, but with my dad, nothing is beyond the realm of possibility.

He raises a dark eyebrow. ‘Employee.’

‘You work for him?’ I don’t hide the double take. ‘I thought he was on his own out here.’

‘We are on our own out here.’

‘Oh.’ I take a step back and realise I have to strain my neck to look up at his truly colossal height. ‘He left that key nugget of information out when I spoke to him yesterday.’

He once again doesn’t respond, and I stand there staring at him in surprised silence. He is an absolute mountain of a man, taller and wider than some actual mountains. He must be six-foot-six at least, if not taller. He’s wearing a red and white Fair Isle knitted hat with clear ski goggles pushed up onto it, and enough layers of padded clothes that he looks like a sexier version of the Michelin Man. Why didn’t Dad mention him? Did he think I wouldn’t have come if I’d known he’s got an employee who looks like he could bench-press the entire building and the plane we came in?

‘Taavi.’ He gives me a nod that’s probably meant to be a greeting.

‘Is that a name or a location?’ I say as a joke.

He’s got a knitted scarf pulled up far enough to cover the lower half of his face, but he doesn’t laugh, smile, or react in any way. Instead, he turns around and deposits the cardboard sign into a nearby bin.

Maybe he doesn’t speak much English and he’s out of his depth trying to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t speak a word of Norwegian. So far we seem limited to single-word answers and the odd stilted sentence.

Instead of asking if I’m ready to go, he leans across and removes my suitcase from my hand. I go to protest that I can carry my own suitcase, but his huge hand, made even huger by the padded gloves he’s wearing, simply closes around the handle and lifts it away from me like I’m completely inconsequential, leaving me grasping at thin air as he lifts it up and across the row of seats as if it weighs nothing. I’ve been hauling the thing around all day with both hands and a few choice swearwords in its direction.

When he reaches the door, he opens it and steps back to let me go through first, and I nod a thank you to him, hopefully translatable in all languages.

Outside, it’s dark, and the air is sharp and cold, momentarily shocking me again as I inhale and look around. There are modern square-angled LED streetlamps shining down on snow that looks even deeper out here than it did from the runway, and the airport is in a small clearing in what seems to be the middle of a forest. Across the road, tall snow-capped evergreens rise up on spindly trunks.

There’s a small car park with only four cars in it to my left, and to the right, there’s a row of husky dogs tethered to a sled, all barking and howling, eager to get going.

‘Oh wow.’ I look at them in surprise. ‘How charmingly Arctic. People don’t really get picked up from the airport by dog sled, do they?’

Taavi doesn’t respond so I start walking towards the cars, and it takes a few steps to realise he’s not following.

When I turn around, he’s loading my suitcase into the dog sled. ‘Oh, come on. Those are your dogs?’

‘No, they are not my dogs.’

‘What are you doing with them then?’

‘They’re not my dogs, but they are my mode of transportation.’

‘Are you serious? That’s how we’re getting to the reindeer sanctuary?’

‘Unless you would prefer to walk, in which case, it’s only two hours in that direction.’ He gestures towards the trees. ‘I’ll send the coroner back to find your body in the morning. If there’s anything left to find, that is. You’ll probably have been completely devoured by starving wild animals by then.’

My eyes go wide. ‘Are you serious?’ I repeat, going for a world record on how many times you can ask someone if they’re serious in a sixty-second period.

He doesn’t speak or smile or do anything to suggest he isn’t serious. Walking in this weather didn’t sound appealing anyway, but even less so when you bring wild animals into the equation.

‘Who travels by dog sled though?’ I say apprehensively. ‘Is it safe?’

He pulls his goggles down from his hat and fits them over his eyes with a pop. ‘You’ll find out.’

I look between him and the dogs. Getting pulled along in a sleigh that looks like it’s made from strips of wood and held together with garden twine, by nine huge, excitable dogs was not on my to-do list ever. I know people come to this part of the world for experiences like this, but … not me. The most exhilarating experience I’ve ever wanted is the feeling when Netflix adds a new boxset and you’ve got a whole weekend free. And for not the first time today, I wonder what I was thinking of in agreeing to come here. This is not a place for someone like me.

Taavi is standing beside the sleigh and gesturing for me to get in. I can’t see much of his face between the scarf and goggles, but I know there’s an impatient look on it. I glance back at the airport. I suppose it’s too late to turn back now.

The dogs start wagging their tails and barking louder as I step closer. I like dogs; I’m not out of my depth with them. I let the nearest one sniff my hand, but they’re so eager to start running that the grey and white husky isn’t interested in me and quickly goes back to yowling with the others.

Taavi holds an open hand towards the sleigh again, and when I hesitate, he leans across it and holds his arm out, offering me something to hold on to as I step over the side. Taking hold of his arm is like holding on to a tree trunk, solid and strong, and padded by however many layers he’s got on under the thick coat. I lower myself down onto the red canvas lining so I’m sitting back. There’s a pile of blankets next to me and I pull one over and spread it out across my body gratefully. I thought I was well wrapped up until I got here, but this cold is so bitter that it’s no match for any of my clothes. As he steps onto the back of the sled, I look behind us to the road that leads out from the car park in the opposite direction. It doesn’t seem like we’re going to be able to turn around in this space.

He shouts something to the dogs to ready them, and then they take off, pulling us towards the forest.

‘Where are we going? There’s a road right there …’ I shout up at him, struggling to be heard over the excited woofing.

‘I don’t do roads.’

Brilliant. Heading into the woods with a gigantic stranger of a man and nine dogs. I’m pretty sure horror movies have started with more promising opening scenes than this.

I squeal as we pick up speed and the sled veers from left to right as Taavi shouts commands to the dogs, snow spraying up behind us as we come dangerously close to trees when we round corners of the snowy forest. We shave past a tree with such force that the branches shake and deposit snow from the boughs unceremoniously on my lap.

I screw my eyes closed. If certain death is coming my way, I don’t want to see it arriving. This is horrible. That plane felt safer than this.

I’d say I can feel the wind whooshing past my ears, but my ears are so cold that they’ve gone numb. I can hear the speed and the splatter of snow as we slosh through it. My entire face has started to tingle with the cold. I really hope Dad doesn’t travel like this – it’s no wonder he had a heart attack if he does.

I don’t know how much time passes before there’s a big hand on my shoulder. ‘Look up.’

I open my eyes at Taavi’s touch, and as soon as I do, a streak of green splashes across the sky above.

‘The Northern Lights!’ I squeak in surprise. The green ribbon dances across the inky darkness and disappears, only to be followed by a wave of yellowy-gold, which quickly disappears too.

I can’t believe I’m seeing the Northern Lights. I’ve always wanted to see them, but never enough to be worth travelling to somewhere they’d be visible, and they’re just … here. ‘This is incredible!’

Even with most of his face covered, his blueish eyes are visible behind the ski goggles and I can tell he’s smiling. ‘This is a polar region – they put on a show most nights here.’

Most nights? That’s insane. People have lifetime ambitions of seeing the Northern Lights, and my dad lives somewhere that they’re a regular occurrence.

The sky has taken on a green glow and streaks of pink hover above, and I lean my head back as the sled continues moving.

And I realise something. It’s not actually that bad.

There’s another blanket folded up beside me and I pull that one across my chest and up to my chin, and I watch the sky change colour through the snow-covered branches of trees as we pass underneath them.

The dogs know exactly where they’re going, following a well-worn path through the forest, and there’s something about Taavi on the back of the sled behind me that’s reassuring. He calls commands to the dogs constantly and uses his body weight to direct the sleigh, seeming well familiar with the route.

It’s so still out here. There isn’t a sound apart from the noise of the sled gliding through the snow and the excited noises from the dashing dogs. The lights in the sky skim a multitude of colours, and everything else feels distant and faraway. It’s just us out here in the trees. It’s like being inside a picture-perfect postcard. I’m living a dream that so many people would love to experience.

This is by far the scariest thing I’ve ever done, and it’s also kind of … exhilarating. And fun. And incredible. I don’t want to take my eyes off the sky because I don’t want to miss a moment of the aurora that’s come out to greet me, but I look down at the dogs and how much they’re enjoying it, nine wagging tails in front of me as they tear along, and I glance back at Taavi again, who commendably doesn’t take his eyes from the way ahead.

The lights above are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I have an overwhelming feeling of emotion. This is something I never, ever imagined I’d get to see in my lifetime, something I hadn’t even thought about when I was nervously waiting to get on my first plane this morning, and maybe … it was worth it. Netflix cannot compete with this.

And if it wasn’t for the underlying fear about my dad’s health and what exactly he’s doing out here in the Norwegian wilderness, then this could be the most perfect moment I’ve ever experienced.

The two-hour journey evaporates in a blur of snow and Northern Lights until we pass a road sign. It’s white with red lettering and a red border, and it looks like any average British street sign, but it says “North Pole”.

Crikey, I know we’re up north, but we’re not that far north, are we?

I think I must’ve imagined it until we pass another one. I look back at Taavi questioningly, but the dogs drag us into a particularly thick area of forest where the trees are closer together and the track is so narrow that there’s not a centimetre for error on either side, and he doesn’t look down.

When we emerge, there’s another “North Pole” road sign standing between two tree trunks, and the Northern Lights have dimmed to nothing but a vague golden glow in the sky.

After a little while longer, the trees start to thin out, and Taavi calls a command to slow the dogs. There’s a flash of different lights in the distance – twinkling Christmas lights. The trees disappear completely and we’re going uphill, towards an open area of the woods.

‘Welcome to the North Pole Forest,’ Taavi shouts as we approach what can only be described as Santa’s village. The clearing intersects with a tarmac road coming from the other direction, and there’s a low red-brick wall surrounding a tall gate with “North Pole Forest” etched in fancy metalwork through the arch above it. There’s another huge “North Pole” sign and an oversized red post box with “North Pole Mail” written on it, and a big metal stamp featuring a side profile of Santa, instead of the Queen’s head we’re used to seeing on British stamps. All along the wall and wrapped in a spiral around the gate arch are multicoloured Christmas lights, which are twinkling and flashing in patterns.

What the heck is this place? This can’t be the reindeer sanctuary, can it?

The arched double gate is open and the dogs pull us uphill through it. There are trees everywhere, row after row of thick evergreens that must be twenty to thirty feet tall, their boughs heavy with snow. The road edges are piled high with snowdrifts, so close that I could reach out and run my fingers through them if I wanted to.

Around a bend in the road, Taavi shouts something that halts the dogs and they stop alongside two steps leading up to wooden decking outside a mansion-like house. It’s painted white with red window frames and a red door, guarded on either side by two life-size red nutcrackers wearing Santa hats. There are lush green garlands wrapped around every wooden fencing post that surrounds the porch area, glimmering with warm white fairy lights, and a twinkling wreath on the door that looks nothing like the threadbare artificial ones you get at home. Icicles hang from the eaves, and above the door is a red and white sign that reads “Julenissen – Santa’s House”. Parked at the side of the house is a shiny red pick-up truck that I’m pretty sure you only see in Christmas movies. It’s also decked out with garlands and twinkling white lights and has a wreath on the front.

The upper floor of the white house has got a clock-tower at the front with a big red clock-face looking down on us and a balcony running from front to back. The wooden railings are wound with the same twinkling garlands, hung in perfectly even scallop shapes and finished off with red ribbon bows.

Taavi’s arm appears beside me, offering me a way to lever myself out of the sled. My legs are shaky, and as I step over the side, my feet plunge into calf-deep soft snow. I’d say it makes my feet go numb, but there’s not a part of me that isn’t numb already. Even my internal organs have frozen. My lungs are tingling with pins and needles, something I hadn’t thought it was possible to feel inside your body until now.

‘Where are we?’ I ask as Taavi carries my suitcase up the two steps and strides across the decking to put it outside the door.

‘North Pole Forest,’ he says again, his tone suggesting he’s already told me once.

‘Yeah, but … where’s my—’

At the thought of Dad, there’s a noise of clattering hooves and a yell of ‘Rudolph! Come back here!’

We both look up at the sound of jingling bells, and there’s a swoosh as a reindeer canters past, followed in close pursuit by my father.

‘Dad!’ I shout. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Oh, Sasha, you made it!’ Dad stumbles to a halt when he sees me and blows two air kisses. ‘Mwah, mwah. Can’t stop, Rudolph Number Three has escaped!’

‘Again?’ Taavi responds with a groan, making me look round at him. He pulls the ski goggles off and drops them on the doorstep too.

‘Dad! You can’t be chasing reindeer around …’ I trail off.

Dad’s taken off after the reindeer before I have a chance to ask what he’s playing at. Almost-eighty-year-old men who have just had heart attacks shouldn’t be chasing runaway reindeer in the snow. And then there’s his appearance, which is quite different from the last time I saw him. He had a hat on, but the rest of his hair was long, white, and curly, with a bushy white beard touching his chest. He looks like Father Christmas. When I last saw him, he was clean-shaven and had short cropped hair, dyed dark to hide the greys.

Taavi steps beside me and I look up at his imposing height. I’ve never realised I was particularly short before, but I come up to barely above his elbow. ‘The heart attack scared me more than it scared him. Since that first moment, I’ve been terrified for him, but he acts like nothing happened.’ He looks down at me, eyes that are somewhere between blue and brown meeting mine. ‘It’s good you’re here. I think.’

‘He sounded so frail on the phone. I didn’t think I was going to make it in time to say goodbye, and now he’s chasing reindeer around the woods?’

‘I’ll go after them.’ He gestures towards the line of trees and steps from the top step and across one of the huskies who are now having a sit-down and he runs after my dad yelling, ‘Percy! Rudolph Number Three!’

I stand there looking around and feeling utterly bewildered. Dog sleds, Northern Lights, Santa’s House, runaway reindeer apparently named Rudolph Number Three, and a man with quite possibly the most unusual eyes I’ve ever seen. What a night.

The dogs look at me in sympathy.

‘This is madness,’ I say to the nearest husky. ‘I feel like Alice after she drank the potion and followed the white rabbit.’

I look out at the treeline which they’ve all now disappeared through and then back at the house behind me. The lights are on inside, and there’s smoke pouring out of the chimney. It looks inviting, but not with my dad out in the cold.

I step gingerly over the reins lying on the snow and give the nearest dogs a quick head rub as I pass, and then I walk towards the trees too. ‘Dad!’ I yell. ‘You shouldn’t be out here!’

No response.

I wrap my gloved hand around a tree trunk, leaving a handprint in the frost that’s covered the bark. There are two trails of footprints and one of hoofprints and I follow them further into the wooded area.

This is quite possibly the most surreal night of my life, but with my dad, nothing surprises me anymore.