Chapter 18
Kurt greeted Big Kenneth, the Ptarmigan nightclub’s doorman, like they were old buddies, and led the way through the entrance and up the stairs with the authority of a man who frequented this place regularly.
Murray followed, a little unsteady on his feet but trying to pretend he was some easy-breezy first dater.
Kurt couldn’t know how long he’d spent practising his smile in the bathroom mirror earlier, miming a handshake greeting, deciding against it, telling himself he needed to ‘just breathe’ before rehearsing meeting him with a casual kiss.
This time, he’d told himself, he might try to be the one putting a peck on Kurt’s cheek while maintaining a hands in pockets, hey I’m cool about this stance and saying something along the lines of a cheery, ‘Hiya, good seeing you.’
The bathroom mirror version of Murray would be very disappointed to learn that all his planning had gone out the window when real-life Kurt bounded up to real-life Murray at the foot of the nightclub steps and went in immediately for a hug, leaving Murray with his hands trapped stupidly in his coat pockets, unable to hug back.
‘You ready for this?’ Kurt was saying now, smiling over one shoulder, standing before the double doors that would lead to the bar and dancefloor.
Murray returned what he hoped came over as an enthusiastic smile.
* * *
Only an hour before, his sister had done her best to convince him everything would turn out all right while he’d tried on every one of his favourite jumpers and hooded tops for her to rate over videocall.
‘Honestly, the first one was fine,’ she’d said dryly, as he sported look number five.
‘But this one’s new season Loewe. Kurt might appreciate good design?’
‘From what you’ve told me, he’ll like you even if you wore that Christmas jumper Mum knitted for you.’
‘Don’t remind me.’ From the wardrobe behind him, a jarringly lime green cuff of loopy, loose knitting showed itself over the open top of a snowman giftbag.
He’d pulled the black sweater off and retrieved the first one he’d modelled for his sister.
Ally might not care about luxury gear but he trusted her judgement on dating, which was another huge turn-up for the books, considering the mess her love life had been in only a year ago.
Yet only recently she’d shared a cosy Swiss chalet Christmas break with Jamie, her policeman boyfriend, and she still wore a loved-up glow of self-assurance as a souvenir.
‘Just throw something on and go. See if there’s really a spark there, and let the evening take you… wherever.’
‘It’s not the spark I’m worried about, it’s the wherever,’ Murray had said, holding up two pairs of boots and letting Ally choose.
‘The black ones,’ she’d said with a shrug.
‘These are Kurt Geiger sloanes!’ he’d told her, mock offended at her ignorance.
Ally rolled her eyes. They did this when he was nervous. It was comforting.
‘Just let him ask you some questions, OK? Be sure he’s interested in getting to know you. If he doesn’t ask you anything at all, run.’
‘Got it.’ There’d be no problems there. Kurt had made no secret of the fact he found Murray fascinating.
He was anticipating a barrage of interested questions; the dreaded, ‘so why are you single?’ coming top of the list. ‘It’ll be too loud in the Ptarmigan to talk all that much anyway,’ Murray said, glad this wasn’t going to be a chatty kind of date.
‘And text me if you’re staying out all night, OK?’
‘Well, that’s not going to happen,’ he’d said, fixing his hair for the tenth time, checking his teeth on the screen, not enjoying the feeling of lying to his sister, not sure why he was. He was fully prepped for a long night.
‘Murs. Just go, will you!’
‘Since when did you get so assertive?’ he’d said, pulling on his second-favourite winter coat, a chic darkest blue Moncler, pointedly ignoring the camel cashmere on the next hanger, which had been a ‘moving in’ gift from Andreas Favre.
The sight of it made him want to pull it over his head and curl up in the bottom of his wardrobe, hibernating until Kurt left Scotland in a few weeks, but he hadn’t confessed any of that to his sister, though she must have picked up on his mood shifting.
‘He’s not here, you know?’ she said.
‘Who?’ They both knew he was faking nonchalance. Ally let it slide for the sake of her brother’s dignity. ‘He hasn’t set foot in the building for weeks. I daren’t ask, I’m just the tech intern, but I reckon he’s relocated to the California hub.’
Murray had wanted all this time to ask if Andreas had enquired after him. Wasn’t the guy even a little bit curious about how he was doing? Was there any guilt on his part? Any regrets? But now Ally was telling him he’s not even in the country?
‘Your office is still empty,’ his sister went on. ‘They haven’t readvertised your job. I’m sure if you talk to Barbara—’
He cut her off. ‘I’m not asking for my job back. I’m happy here, honestly. And I’m still needed at the repair shop.’
Ally let that lie slide too. ‘Promise me you’ll think about it?’
‘Better go.’ He kept his voice soft, knowing his sister would love nothing more than having him there with her in Switzerland on her big year-long adventure. ‘Love you.’
She’d tutted, teasingly, but conceded she loved her brother too before leaving the call, the screen turning blank.
* * *
Murray wished himself back in his room now that Kurt was hauling open the door to the club. He braced himself for a lot of noise and dry ice clouds.
‘Oh!’ Kurt had stepped inside then jolted to a stop. ‘It is not a club night?’
Murray looked around. This was not promising at all.
The place was darkened, as usual, with its strings of colour-changing LEDs lining the ceilings, and the lasers were slowly searching the gloom, spinning on their motors up amongst the shadowy pipework of the rafters, but there was no DJ, no shots station, and no crowds of boozed-up winter sports enthusiasts letting loose after a day on the slopes. Everything was… chill.
‘We can go…?’ Murray was saying, a little relieved at the possibility this date was over before it began.
Kurt, however, was scanning the room, taking in the low sofas that lined the slope viewing point, one vast wall of glass, the floodlights illuminating the snowy pistes beyond it.
Tealight candles twinkled on every table in the place, and laid-back couples in cosy clothing curled up together, the low drone of their conversations mixing with the jangly spa music coming over the speakers.
‘Yoo hoo!’ the bar man called to them. ‘Hot glogi? Whisky toddy? Fondue?’
Murray knew this guy, of course. They’d gone to school together. He followed in Kurt’s wake, approaching the bar.
‘What’s all this, Hamish?’ Murray indicated his old friend’s Scandi jumper and folksy hat. He usually worked in rolled black shirtsleeves.
‘We’re trying something new. Chilled-out northern lights viewing parties, with a Scandi twist. For the tourists.’
‘I love it!’ declared Kurt, looking with unsuppressed glee at the special menu on the bar. ‘We should have the fondue, definitely.’
‘I guess we’re doing fondue for two,’ Murray told Hamish. ‘But I’ll just have a beer. No hot glogg or whatever you said.’
‘Two beers,’ Kurt grinned, while for Murray, the reality of a cosy evening’s conversation and aurora-gazing sank in.
* * *
‘Back home my family make gouda fondue with mustard, but I am sure the Scottish way will be just as good! So long as we’re not dipping Mars bar!’
‘Hey!’ Murray acted offended. ‘That’s a stereotype, I’ll have you know.’
They’d found vacant sofas right in front of the floor-to-ceiling slope-view window, clinked their beer bottles together and Kurt had said ‘proost!’ then Murray taught him ‘slàinte mhath’ and joked how it was probably the only Scottish Gaelic he knew.
They’d spoken about Murray picking up a smattering of German and French while working in Switzerland (that was all he’d given away about his time there), and Kurt told him he was fluent in English, could read German reasonably well, and of course spoke his native Dutch at home, and this had made Murray feel significantly less impressive than he usually felt when discussing these types of things.
Hamish had tried to be unobtrusive when he set down the fondue with its lit candle on the low table between them, but Murray made a point of asking his old schoolfriend whether he knew if there really were going to be any northern lights tonight.
‘Twenty per cent chance, according to my aurora app,’ Hamish shrugged, leaving napkins, two long-handled prongs, and all kinds of things to dip in the melted cheese. ‘Let me know if the flame dies.’
Kurt had grinned and chucked a large bit of melty sauce with bread into his mouth as if to say there was no chance of the fire dying on this date.
Murray cleared his throat nervously. ‘Can we have two more beers, please, Hamish?’
‘Wauw, this so good!’ Kurt said through a mouthful as soon as they were alone again. ‘Try the apple slices, honestly. It sounds weird, but you will like it.’
Murray had his eye on the cubes of sourdough bread instead. ‘Apple and hot cheese? Really?’
‘Of course!’ Kurt speared a thick, green-skinned slice and was submerging it under the bubbling surface before making a long, steamy cheese pull which he had to twirl on the prong until it broke. He offered it up to Murray’s lips.
There was no elegant way of eating it, so Murray decided just to wolf it. Kurt’s blue eyes lit up at the sight.
‘Actually, that is good.’ Murray wiped his lips clean. ‘And healthy, because apple,’ he joked, and of course Kurt laughed uproariously.
Something like whale song and tinkly bells came over the speakers and for a beat Murray panicked that they’d already run out of things to say.
‘So… do you ski?’ he tried.