Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
I was getting good at this.
I hugged Willow tight, and I swear I could feel her leaning into me. She wasn’t like the other trees. She was warm and malleable and full of good vibes. Just how I liked my hugging partners.
It was official. I was going mad. I’d be on Sky News next, telling the world how we’d fallen in love and defending our decision to marry. My one tree-love.
There were whoops and squeals coming from the forest, and I followed my ears to find the others.
I’d planned a cheeky five minutes with Willow on the way through, knowing everyone else would be down at the bonfire.
That way I could get the benefit of tree-hugging, without the embarrassment of anyone knowing I was doing it.
The group had gathered in a clearing next to the water and everyone was dressed up for a party.
There was a queue at the buffet table, with its towers of marshmallows and a rainbow of fruits to skewer up for the fire: strawberries, banana chunks, mango and grapes.
And then there was the sauces and sprinkles section.
White and dark chocolate sauce, honey, sesame seeds and chopped nuts.
I didn’t even need a marshmallow – just give me a spoon.
Will and Ethel were sat on a log together chatting, and Kimi and Yuto were building marshmallow kebabs.
‘Sara!’ Greta skipped over, her orange dress dragging on the ground. ‘I made this for you.’ She held out a flowery headdress, in reds and pinks, that matched hers.
‘So pretty! Thank you!’ I said, putting it on. ‘What’s the occasion?’
‘It’s for the fire dancing. Our ancestors would have danced naked – so we like to make hair and body decorations,’ she said, pointing to the daisy chain around her ankle.
‘I won’t be dancing naked – if at all,’ I said, zipping my coat up tight. ‘I’ll catch my death.’
Greta laughed. ‘You must! You don’t want to risk angering the Nordic gods!’ she said dreamily, wafting around in a circle. ‘You’re way too young to be so… uptight.’
‘It’s not uptight to stay dressed,’ I said, loud enough for people to hear.
And considering how cold this country was, they were over-indexing on activities where you could (but never should) take all your clothes off.
Just… keep them on, please. There was nobody here I wanted to see dancing naked about the place.
Except, maybe… Well. It wouldn’t be awful if Henrik got his kit off again, but I wasn’t keen to see Tore’s todger or Ethel’s lady garden, thanks very much. Or to show anyone mine for that matter.
‘S’mores, m’lady.’ Jonas handed me a bag of marshmallows and a jousting stick.
‘Thank you, chef. These are a bit risky, aren’t they?’ I punctured a couple of white puffs onto the skewer and cast it into the fire. Toasted marshmallows were the best.
‘And an oat-milk hot chocolate?’ he said, offering me a mug.
‘Oooh – yes, please – delicious.’ I was being converted to veganism by stealth and would be telling everyone when I got home.
There was a cool Enya vibe playing and I spotted Celeste in the corner, strumming away on a harp.
Greta picked up her flute and Jonas got on the drums to make a transcendental trio, and the music had us all swaying as we stared into the fire on a collective sugar high.
‘Evening,’ Will nodded over as he dipped his melted marshmallows in dark chocolate sauce.
I smiled; mindful Henrik was also trying to catch my eye on the other side of the bonfire. He was wearing one of Greta’s headdresses too, in blues and blacks, and his hair was loose. I gave him a wave, feeling hot at the memory of us together.
‘Sara! Watch out!’ Will shouted, pointing at my marshmallows, which were now engulfed in flames.
I screamed, dropped my skewer and backed away from the decimated goo.
The smell of burnt sugar reminded me of the fire alarm going off when I’d attempted a banoffee pie for Mark’s birthday.
I was not a natural chef. And anyway, I didn’t need to barbecue my marshmallows; I’d just pop one on top of my hot chocolate. Or better still, straight in my mouth.
‘I’m the resident fire officer here, ma’am. What seems to be the problem?’ Henrik said in a Deep South drawl as he stamped on the gluey white fireball, getting sticky mess all over his boots.
I giggled at his heroics. ‘Why thank you, kind sir,’ I said, clutching my hands to my chest. Will looked at us both then turned away, leaving us to it.
‘Sorry I had to leave so early yesterday,’ Henrik whispered. ‘I was on morning meditation duty.’
‘That’s OK. I wasn’t expecting you to stay and make me breakfast.’
‘I’d have been happy to,’ he said, smiling. ‘That’s the least I could do to thank you for such a great night. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.’
I blushed, suddenly self-conscious.
No matter the butterflies swirling in my stomach, surely last night could only have been no-strings sex – how likely was I to ever come back to Norway?
And Henrik hated big-city life. I had to look at the pros of the situation: knowing you can be as wild as you like if you’re never going to see each other again.
That was how we’d been – reckless and free – so it was slightly embarrassing standing next to him like this.
Knowing the positions of all his tattoos, and the positions I’d been in when I’d seen them.
Knowing how he’d pulled me down on top of him with those arms as he’d kissed me.
Knowing exactly what his abs looked like under that linen shirt.
‘Oooooo, look.’ Celeste stopped playing abruptly and pointed up at the sky, but there was nothing to see apart from a couple of glittery stars and a wispy cloud.
‘Behold the aurora borealis,’ Tore announced, proudly. ‘Or as some of you call them – the Northern Lights.’ He waved his hands dramatically, like a magician revealing a rhino in a previously empty box.
I squinted up at the empty sky. ‘Where?’
‘There.’ Henrik stood behind me, his aftershave giving me butterflies as his cheek hovered next to mine. He pointed at the murky-looking mist swirling overhead.
‘The cloud?’
He nodded. I kept trying to see, in case it was like some kind of magic-eye poster. Staring into the cloud rather than at the cloud, then crossing my eyes to get a different perspective. But no. Nothing. Nada. The others were all gasping in delight and taking photos.
What was I missing?
‘Are you having me on? It’s pitch-black up there. No greens, or purples or blues?’
‘The lights aren’t always in colour, but there’s an app you can download to turn them green if you like?’
‘I have to turn them green?’ I said, confused. ‘Isn’t that how they come? The Arctic tribes didn’t have mobile phones, so how did they see them?’
‘Trust me, Sara. I’ve witnessed the aurora many times, and you’re looking at it.’
I tried again to see what was in the framed photos in my cabin. But it was no good – it was just a load of grey clouds.
‘Well, if this is what they really look like, I want my money back!’ I said, faux-outraged.
Henrik smiled. ‘Other colours are available, you’ll see.’
‘With different apps?’ I said, facetiously.
‘The lights aren’t an on-demand service I’m afraid. They turn up how they like, when they like. Sometimes like this, sometimes green or purple, and sometimes all the colours of the rainbow at once. So, I can understand how you might feel this is somewhat… underwhelming.’
‘To say the least.’
A shaft of green light shimmered in the corner of the cloud, and Kimi squealed.
I silently rolled my eyes. Oh, pur-lease.
‘So young and yet so cynical,’ Henrik said. ‘You can see the colour trying to break through, yet you still don’t believe it? Every version is different – that’s the magic of the aurora.’
Henrik’s gaze had cast some kind of spell on me, and I couldn’t stop staring at him, our eyes locked together.
Maybe it was lack of sleep, or a subconscious response to his aftershave, but something carnal inside me wanted to clonk him over the head and drag him back to my cave for round two.
I’d been convinced my love life was doomed post-Mark, yet here I was, being drawn to a new man and feeling all those feelings again.
The green flash started to glow brighter, illuminating the cloud from within for a second, before giving up and fizzling out.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I suspect that is the end of tonight’s show. An amuse-bouche if you will of all the auroras yet to come. I hope you’ll get to see a more explosive, exciting version before you go home.’
Hmm. Suspect was right. Celeste started her harp back up, plucking the strings rhythmically next to Jonas on the bongos, and Tore threw a handful of powder into the bonfire, turning the flames a deep blue.
They sparkled and flashed for a few seconds before turning back to yellow, then he did it again and the fire turned white, then green.
Everyone whooped and cheered as Greta started off the dancing.
Barefoot, she untied her hair, shaking it out and swaying to the beat of Jonas’s drums, and Tore took to the mic, singing a low, melodic tune.
‘Heiemo og Nykkjen,’ Henrik whispered in my ear.
‘An old Norwegian folk song.’ I watched as Ethel stood up and the others stepped closer to the fire one by one, moving to the music in different ways.
The flames joined in, dancing in the wind, and I shivered with pleasure, feeling an all-consuming calm.
I wasn’t sure if it was the heat, the music, or being so close to Henrik.
‘Are you dancing?’ Henrik asked, holding out his hand.
‘Yes,’ I said simply, all my reservations disappearing, and I followed him over and kicked off my shoes.
The floor was surprisingly warm and spongy, and I could see rubber mats had been laid in a ring around the fire.
They’d thought of everything. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the music, breathing deeply, feeling my feet on the floor and the air in my nostrils.
Grounding myself in the moment, like Henrik told us to do in our meditation sessions.
I felt self-conscious, awkwardly moving to Tore’s lament, even though we were all in it together.
Yuto and Kimi danced cheek to cheek and Will was either channelling a spirit or having a seizure.
Jonas must have slipped a cheeky psychedelic into his hot chocolate.
I was curious to see Henrik’s moves, but it was difficult to look without being obvious.
It would have been much easier to stare at him from the sidelines – even if the idea was to dance like nobody was watching.
Tore stopped singing and Greta went back to her flute as Celeste rejoined the group to dance.
The drums pulsated through the trees as everyone started to move in time, and we followed each other around the fire.
There was a table of musical instruments we could grab as we went past. Bells, cymbals, maracas, castanets – a random percussion selection to help with our self-expression.
I took a tambourine to shimmy along with, then did a few side-slides to see what Henrik was up to behind me.
His instrument of choice was a tiny gong, which was tricky to navigate while dancing.
Jonas let out a battle cry, which started a chain reaction of whoops and squeals.
‘Woohoo!’ I called, but my voice was lost in the noise, so I tried again, shouting as loud as I could.
‘WOOHOOOOOO!’ Nobody turned or looked at me; everyone was concentrating on their own wailing, but the hit of adrenaline released something inside me, helping me dance more freely.
I could feel myself letting go of my worry and embarrassment – my fear – and starting to move like I did in my kitchen disco after a few wines.
Mark and I had loved a dance at home, but it was a much boozier affair in the flat on my own, usually involving at least one bottle of prosecco.
The music led the pace, starting off slowly as we all got into it, then turning jaunty and getting faster as we sped up the footwork, eventually reaching a crescendo.
Jonas paused the drums while Greta played an intricate piece on her flute, then started up again, belting away like his life depended on it.
The dancing turned to running as we tried to keep up with each other, and my heart felt fit to burst when he hit his final beat and silence descended.
We stopped and clapped, ready to collapse as we bent over and gasped for breath, dizzy with dopamine.
‘Glad you did it?’ Henrik asked, lying on the floor next to me, panting.
I nodded. ‘I think so. I don’t really know how I feel; my brain has been disconnected from my body.’
He laughed. ‘Excellent. That’s the idea – shake the physical up, so your mind can’t override it. Active discombobulation.’
‘Is that what it’s called?’
‘That’s what I call it. All our activities are designed to discombobulate. It’s the Firefly way.’