Christmas Under the Stars

by Karen Swan

  Meg had struggled with the decision for weeks afterwards, longing for justice for Mitch on the one hand, knowing on the other that even if Lucy’s guilt could be proved – and it was highly unlikely because Lucy hadn’t directly told Mitch to go out in the storm; she had just stayed silent, a deliberate omission that had had fatal consequences – that child was Mitch’s and he needed one of his parents in his life.

  It had been a bitter truth to accept on so many levels – that there was a piece of Mitch in the world and he didn’t belong to her; that Mitch had not only betrayed her but done so with her best friend – and some nights, as she lay alone, she had felt as though she couldn’t breathe. Every pillar in her world had toppled, bringing the sky crashing down onto her head – Mitch’s death was Lucy’s fault; Lucy’s child was Mitch’s son; Lucy had been beating Tuck; her fiancé and best friend had been together – and it felt so unfair, so unjust that he wasn’t here to answer to her, that he wasn’t here to see the consequences of what he had done, nor of what it had done to them. He had shown her in concrete terms that he wasn’t the perfect man she’d insisted on remembering after all. Ronnie had been right that day when she’d tried to tell her he’d been flawed and reckless, rash and immature at times; he’d made mistakes like any other person, most of which didn’t matter, but that one really did.

  She and Tuck had pieced together what must have happened. Tuck had told her how Mitch had seen his scratches and questioned him about them. At the time, Mitch had appeared to accept Tuck’s explanation (‘They were big fuckin’ logs, man’) but he must have confronted Lucy, and Lucy . . . ? Well, they knew how skilled a liar she really was; how she could turn a story around and paint herself as the victim, so that Mitch found his anger turn to regret; pity to desire. Even if he had gone to Lucy with the best of intentions, Mitch had hurt Meg more than he would ever know and though she had loved him, she could leave him now.

  There was no hatred in her heart; she was leaving here with a light step. Everything was in order, even the financial arrangements for baby Titch (as he was now commonly known); she had allocated half of Mitch’s share of the sale into a trust for him which could only be accessed by Barbara, with both Meg and Dolores’s approval. Lucy would never be able to get her hands on it.

  ‘They’ve diagnosed PTSD,’ Dolores said.

  Meg looked back at her sharply. ‘You mean they’re giving her an excuse for her behaviour?’

  Dolores tried to look neutral. ‘Apparently children who witness domestic abuse display the same changes to brain activity as front-line soldiers.’

  Meg looked away again. ‘Please don’t ask me to feel sorry for her, Dolores.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  But the memories came anyway, from when she was sixteen and fresh from Kent, Lucy’s smile in the chemistry class that day as Meg had almost set fire to her hair and the school on her very first day. Lucy had invited her back to the bungalow afterwards and introduced parents who had seemed perfect and completely unlike her own – settled and glamorous and prosperous with a fancy hotel. Meg had been smitten by them, loving their accents, their carpets, their car. Yet behind closed doors, what had Lucy been subjected to? What had she seen? Learned?

  ‘It’s Barbara I feel sorry for,’ Dolores tutted. ‘She said she used to watch over Tuck like a hawk, checking when he was coming in late, coming in drunk . . . So to find out he was the one who was standing in her shoes . . . She just can’t forgive herself.’

  ‘I can’t believe I never even suspected . . .’

  ‘Don’t give yourself a hard time about it. Jed and I were friends with Roger and Barbara since we moved here in the seventies – we would have barbecues together, go to the movies – and she never let on to me, not once. Not back then, and not even after he’s been gone all these years.’ She tutted pitifully. ‘I thought we knew all each other’s secrets. I thought we could blackmail each other to the day we died. Now I wonder if I ever really knew that family at all.’

  Meg was quiet for a long time. Was life just a mirage, she wondered, when dearest friends were revealed as strangers? Not just her and Lucy, but Barbara and Dolores; over thirty years of secrets and lies . . . ? She slid her head to the side and looked across at Dolores. ‘How did he see what we missed?’

  Dolores arched an eyebrow. ‘Jonas?’

  Meg nodded, swallowing at the mention of his name. He had left the day after the festival without saying goodbye.

  Dolores considered. ‘Perspective. Distance can give you a clarity that’s impossible when you’re personally involved.’

  Meg swallowed. That was exactly what he’d said, the night he’d defended Tuck, the night of their first argument.

  ‘And let’s face it, the man spent six months looking back down on Earth. If anyone’s going to see the bigger picture, it’s him.’

  They both sank into another silence, watching as the green lights tripped up to yellow, the whole sky seeming to vibrate with electrical intensity.

  ‘Have you heard from him?’

  Meg swallowed, knowing Dolores was looking at her, but not wanting to meet her gaze. ‘No.’

  ‘He hasn’t called? Emailed?’

  ‘Well, would you? He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.’ She shook her head, staring at her tucked-up knees. ‘He must have wondered what the hell he’d walked into.’ Meg sighed, resting her cheek on the chair and giving Dolores a weary look. ‘No, it’s better this way. It’s been a month. If he’d wanted to be in touch, he would have been by now.’

  ‘Well, you said he was touring. Have you tried contacting him?’

  Meg shot her a look. ‘No.’

  ‘Then maybe you should. A lot happened that night. What if he’s giving you space? Perhaps he’s waiting for you to make the first move.’

  The sound of a throttle being choked on the steep pitch, just out of sight, heralded Martin’s arrival and they both looked up.

  ‘Bother, that’ll be my ride,’ Dolores said, briskly tossing aside the blanket and getting up as Badger gave an excited bark from his perch at the top of the steps. She disappeared into the cabin to get her coat, just as the single beam from the snowmobile poled up the snowy lawn towards the cabin.

  ‘Well, now, doesn’t this look pretty?’ Martin called, turning off the engine and stomping up the deep snow with a smile which was only visible beneath his balaclava because of his raised cheeks. ‘It’s a regular gingerbread house. I’ve never seen it look like this before.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it,’ Meg replied, proud of how beautifully her little cabin twinkled in the trees. Gingerbread house was exactly right – every gable end, every window had been picked out in the pin lights which were left up all year round, but she hadn’t felt like switching on till now.

  ‘Are those your bags?’ Martin asked, pointing to the two small suitcases at the top of the steps.

  Meg nodded. ‘That’s them.’

  He glanced up at her as he lifted them and carried them towards the trailer attached to the back of the snowmobile. ‘For someone about to relocate her entire life, you sure pack light.’

  ‘I’ve got everything I need,’ she said simply.

  Dolores stepped back out on the porch, buttoning her coat. ‘Chilly tonight, Martin.’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ he replied, holding out a hand to steady her as she came to the top of the steps. ‘Especially with the wind chill. Have you got a scarf for your face?’

  ‘Does this face look like it’s scared of the cold?’ Dolores scoffed, before turning to face Meg. ‘Now you get down to us nice and early, you hear?’

  ‘I will. I’m going to ski down before breakfast.’

  Dolores smiled. ‘Well, I imagine Badger will enjoy running through the snow with you.’

  Meg hesitated, remembering Tuck’s beautiful film of a man and his dog; a man and his dog and a mountain. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll have the coffee ready,’ Dolores said, reaching over and hugging her hard. She pulled back,
looking stern. ‘But I want you to consider this overnight. It’s something a wise woman once said: “Perhaps things fall apart so that better things can fall together.”’

  Huh?

  Meg repeated it in her mind as Dolores winked at her. She took hold of Martin’s hand as she descended the steps.

  ‘Which wise woman?’ Meg called after her.

  Dolores, who was at the snowmobile now, looked back. ‘Marilyn Monroe!’

  ‘Marilyn Monroe?’ Meg cried. She’d been expecting Sylvia Plath or Germaine Greer or at the very least, Angelina Jolie. ‘Since when has she been considered wise?’

  Martin turned on the ignition and the beam fell perfectly onto Meg on the porch, picking her out like a player on the stage. A moment later she was in darkness again as Martin turned the snowmobile and headed back down towards the trees, but Meg caught Dolores’s cry before she was swept out of sight.

  ‘Well, she jolly well ought to be!’ Dolores called back with a laugh. ‘I think she had a point, don’t you?’

  Meg stared up at the sky. The real one. Hers, in her bedroom, didn’t flicker and shimmy and leap like this; she couldn’t harness such vivid tones. This was more beautiful than anything inanimate could ever convey. She felt her spirit stir, her senses bloom as though it was showing her exactly how magical and unpredictable life can be and as she watched it play, she sensed this dance was a grand finale just for her. For better and worse, this sky had been her constant companion. It had taken Mitch away from her with its whirling blizzards and full-cheeked winds, but it had given to her too, bringing her Jonas as he circled high above her in looping ellipses, keeping watch over her little life in these big mountains.

  Was Dolores right? Was he giving her space?

  She was sure there was a joke in there somewhere, but if so, it was bad, even by their standards.

  Their. The possessive pronoun. As though there was a ‘them’. As though they already had a past.

  Her fingers played with the diamond on her ring, as they always did, an unconscious, reassuring habit, like worrying with prayer beads. But the action jarred her mind to a halt today and she looked at her hand and that single white diamond – like a fallen star – which had been given with the promise of forever.

  In the event, they’d had two years and eight months from the time he’d given her the ring – a long way short of forever. But how could she have another future when she was still wedded to the idea of this one?

  She was still for a moment, then she got up, her blanket falling to her feet, and walked through the cabin into the bedroom. Pulling out the desk chair and taking it over to the wardrobe, she stood on it; her arms reached overheard as she went by feel rather than sight for a tiny hook she’d noticed when painting the room. She had painted over it without thought and its position in the far corner where the wardrobe stood meant it wasn’t visible from the floor. It was several minutes before her fingers found it.

  She pulled the engagement ring from her finger – with the past months’ weight loss, it wasn’t just her jeans that were too big – and it slid off without resistance. She stared at it one last time, letting the memories and all that could have been, wash over her. Then, with a single kiss, she stood on tiptoes and hung it on the little hook, the diamond hanging downwards like a newborn star in the night sky.

  None of the strangers who stayed here from now on would ever see it, but perhaps one day, maybe thirty or so years from now, she could take it down and give it to the man who was named after his father.

  She stepped down and put the chair back, clapped the dust off her hands and took a deep breath. For the man she’d once adored, it was her final act of love.

  Jonas. She could almost believe he’d been a dream – something to sustain her when the nights had been their darkest, a voice from the sky like whispers on a pillow. But then he’d stepped into her world and become real. She closed her eyes at the thought of him again; she could see him so easily it was as though his image had been scorched onto her retinas, his kiss like a tattoo on her lips. He’d only been here for a week and yet he had seen them all more clearly than they had ever seen each other; he’d seen her with his quick, quiet looks, drawn her close with his private smiles, made her laugh with his goofy jokes.

  After all the heartache, could something better really fall together?

  He would be in Norway by now and she tried to imagine Stavanger as he’d described it – crooked white, weatherboarded houses with red ridged roofs and cobbled streets; tried to imagine him with his family, home at last.

  Sleep wouldn’t come but she didn’t much care. She lay in bed, looking out at the cascading stars that had come out once the light display had ended, the fire still aglow in the stove opposite the foot of the bed. Badger was snoring . . . Her last night in the cabin was as comfortable as a sock, warm and snug around her. She could hardly believe this was it. The ending. Tomorrow she would ski to Dolores’s for breakfast, before the two of them headed over to the Homestead for Christmas Day lunch with Barbara and baby Titch; after thirds of everything and too much sherry, no doubt, she would head to the airport on Boxing Day morning to fly to where Ronnie and Jack were waiting for her and her new life would begin.

  She knew she could do it now; she could let go. The impossible was becoming real because she understood something she hadn’t known before: her home wasn’t these log walls or that puffing stove or even that amazing view. Yes, she’d lost Mitch and her parents here, but Banff would always be her home so long as she had Dolores; Toronto would be her new home because she had Ronnie there. Home wasn’t tied to a place, but to a person, to the feelings she got whenever she was with them . . . with him . . .

  Her eye fell to the red dot just a few metres away. She still hadn’t dismantled the radio rig yet, intending to make it the last thing she did before leaving tomorrow. She had told herself it was a security precaution – in the event of a freak storm tonight, she would need some way to communicate. But in her heart she knew she was unable to bring herself to close down once and for all the channel to another world, another life, another love.

  She got up and went to sit at the desk by the window, Badger raising a dozy head at her alert, erect figure in the moonlight, before falling back into slumber again. Quickly, competently now, she switched the red light to green, watched the needles flicker and twitch, listened to the buzz of static fly into the room like a swarm of mosquitoes.

  Heart pounding, she listened in, turning the dial by fractions whenever she picked up another transmission, looking for a clear channel. Finding one, she waited thirty seconds, forty . . . her heart beating fast, wanting to get on with it before she chickened out. There was only a minuscule chance that he would be on here; it was ridiculous to think he might be looking for her, as she was looking for him. But then again, hadn’t the chances of their first contact been infinitesimally small? They’d gone against the laws of the universe to be together. He’d come back from space to find her.

  Heady with excitement, she picked up the transmitter and pressed the ‘speak’ button.

  ‘This is Victor X-ray Four Delta Delta Echo calling—’

  She stopped short suddenly and dropped her head – feeling stupid, feeling despair. The last time they’d communicated via this, he’d been on the ISS. Now he was in Norway, he’d be on a new call sign, if he was on at all.

  She felt the crashing disappointment bite. ‘Shit!’

  ‘This is Lima Charlie Six Alpha Foxtrot, calling Volcano X-ray Four Dog Dog Ellie. That’s no way to communicate on an open channel, do you copy, over?’

  There was a pause. And then –

  ‘Jonas?’ Meg’s voice careened down the transceiver. ‘Oh, my God, is it you?’ Her laugh sounded far away, further away than when he’d been in space – ironically, because it was.

  He grinned. ‘Hey, who else knows your special call sign? Or do you tell it to all the passing astronauts, over?’

  She laughed again, sounding shyer now, an
d he could imagine her expression – could envisage that she probably had her hand over her mouth the way she did whenever she was surprised or embarrassed. ‘Oh, my God. I can’t believe you’re on here.’

  ‘I’ve been on here every night for the past month, over.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Copy that . . . Partly to check in with the guys still drawing circles in the sky . . . Mainly to see if you checked in, over.’

  She sounded amazed. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, I wondered if you might come on for a chat.’

  ‘You did?’ Even more amazed.

  ‘Sure . . . over.’

  ‘But I . . . I didn’t even have your new call sign. What made you think I would check in?’

  ‘I was banking on you not remembering that in time.’ He laughed softly, teasing her that he’d been proved right. ‘Over.’

  ‘Well, if you’d wanted to chat, you could have just emailed me!’ she half laughed, half wailed.

  ‘Yeah, for all the good that did me last time!’ There was a pause and he felt his chest tighten. ‘Besides, I thought I had better wait . . . When I left, things were—’

  ‘I know,’ she said quickly. ‘But everything’s better now. Over.’

  He hesitated. ‘Do you mean, “It’s over” over – or “over”?’’ he asked, before adding, ‘Over.’

  Her laugh was infectious. ‘I don’t know! . . . All of them?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah! I’m moving to Toronto in two days . . . got a new job.’

  ‘No way! You mean Dolores hasn’t relented and taken you back?’

  ‘She’s been as hard as nails,’ Meg giggled. ‘I’ve been forced into this! . . . Spade contract. I thought I’d lost . . . back again . . .’ He made a minute adjustment of the dial. ‘Step in the right direction. Hello? Jonas? Are you there? . . . Can you hear me? . . . Over.’

  He was looking out beyond his window into the dark sky, the arctic light a deep indigo. Though he was a long way south of the Polar Nights in the north of the country, where the sun never rose at all for two months of the year, the day here would still be short – maybe six hours or so of sunlight. He was eight hours ahead of her but he knew her sky would still be looking like this right now. Forget the time difference, they had the same sky. They always had.