Dancing With Mortality

by Mark McKay

  ‘Here already?’ She yawned and sat up.

  ‘Yes. It only takes 45 minutes to get across. Want to go up on deck?’

  As the ferry pulled away they made their way to the stern. Puttgarden was part of the German island of Fehmarn, and the receding landscape behind the port was completely flat and covered with a dusting of snow over what looked like nothing but farmland as far as the eye could see. Day was giving way to dusk in an overcast sky, and a crisp breeze grazed their faces as they stared into the fading light.

  ‘Snow at last,’ said Harry. Until he’d driven across the bridge connecting Fehmarn to the mainland, it had been snowless. ‘Wonder how long it’s been here.’

  ‘Let’s go back down,’ said Sabine, ‘it’s freezing. There will be plenty of snow for you to look at later.’

  They spent the remainder of the crossing in the car, as did most other people. An announcement 15 minutes away from Denmark ordered all drivers to their vehicles, then the next significant sound was the powerful reverse thrust of the engines as they manoeuvered into port.

  It was dark as they exited the hold and followed the other cars out of the harbour area. Copenhagen was clearly signposted and the traffic on the E47 flowed smoothly. Harry was about to resume Autobahn speed when he realised he was in the wrong country. He eased off the accelerator, looking for signs.

  ‘It’s 80kph,’ said Sabine, reading his mind.

  Two hours later they were approaching Copenhagen.

  ‘Now all we need is a hotel,’ he said.

  They found one in the Vesterbro district, ‘the coolest part of town’ according to the receptionist, who looked surprised when Harry asked for two single rooms. He recovered sufficiently to suggest two with an adjoining door, which Sabine pronounced as perfect, and having settled that they took the lift to the third floor, trailing one suitcase each plus a saxophone.

  His room was large and furnished in solid Scandinavian wood, with a big free-standing wardrobe he thought he might get lost in, a comfortable armchair, a writing desk and a king-size double bed. Tall french doors led on to a small balcony overlooking a side street. He took a shower under an enormous showerhead set directly overhead, which completely enveloped him in a luxurious steaming downpour. He liked Denmark already.

  Emerging refreshed, he dressed and sat at the desk, contemplating his mobile. He wondered if he was being paranoid in wanting it switched off. Would Jack Hudson be interested in his movements now that attention had moved away from Sabine? And if Sophie tried to call she would worry if he didn’t answer or return her messages. He turned it on, and received an immediate text message welcoming him to Denmark, followed by two missed call notifications, both from Sophie.

  ‘As I thought,’ he muttered, hitting the call back option.

  ‘Sorry I missed your calls,’ he began when she picked up. ‘You ok?’

  ‘Is there anything I should know?’ Her tone was icy.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘What you’re doing in Lanzarote would be a good start.’

  He felt a stab of apprehension. ‘What makes you think I’m in Lanzarote?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about coming over to Frankfurt on Friday night, I thought we could go to the Christmas market there. When I couldn’t get you I rang your London office to get the Frankfurt number. And guess what? They told me you were on holiday. I felt like a first class idiot when I heard that.’

  Much the same as I feel now, he thought. ‘I’m in Copenhagen, actually.’ It seemed pointless to maintain the fiction any further. ‘I didn’t want the office to know what I was up to, that’s all.’

  Now she was hurt. ‘Or me. What are you up to?’

  He sighed. ‘It’s about Ireland. I got some information and I’m checking it out. I didn’t want to worry you with it either. In fact I’ll be back in Frankfurt this weekend, we can still...’

  ‘Not Ireland, Harry,’ she interjected. ‘Can’t you just let that go? What is there possibly left to find out about 20 years later? And in Denmark?’

  Her exasperation was completely understandable, he had no ready answer. Before he could think of one he was interrupted.

  ‘Harry?’ Sabine had come into the room. If she’d knocked on the connecting door he hadn’t heard her. Sophie heard her clearly enough.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she demanded, and in the short pause that followed she reached her own conclusion. ‘You bastard.’ She hung up.

  Harry sat, head in hands. ‘Oh shit,’ he murmured. Then he rounded on Sabine. ‘Can’t you knock first?’ he said, in a steadily rising voice.

  ‘I did.’ She was clearly upset. ‘I thought we weren’t using our phones.’

  ‘What? Well it was definitely a bloody stupid idea for me to use mine. That was my wife. Do you know what she thinks now?’

  Sabine didn’t reply, and he glared at her from his seat at the desk. She stood just a few steps into the room, and he saw the hurt on her face. His anger evaporated.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘I’m going back to my room now. When you calm down I would like to go out to dinner with you. If you don’t come and get me in 20 minutes I’ll go without you.’ With her poise and some semblance of dignity restored, she gave him a last cool look of dismissal and left the room.

  He slumped back in the chair feeling somewhat chastened. He spent the next ten minutes wondering how on earth he could explain all this to Sophie, but came up short. There was too much he hadn’t told her already, and she wouldn’t be in the mood to discuss it rationally right now anyway. He decided to put it on hold for 24 hours. In the meantime there was someone next door he needed to pacify.

  He knocked gently on the connecting door and waited for an answer. When she responded he went in, apologised once more and suggested to her that he was feeling a little stressed, and if she would forgive him and let him take her out to dinner he would behave like a grown up for the rest of the evening. She smiled a little at the last part, and to his relief allowed herself to be persuaded.

  There was no shortage of restaurants nearby. The district was obviously popular with students and artistic types, and a few ladies in thigh high boots and tight short skirts graced the odd street corner. Over dinner he told Sabine of Sophie’s ignorance about this trip and its purpose, hence her less than gracious reaction to Sabine’s presence. She agreed that he had a lot of fences to mend, and was sorry Sophie had misunderstood.

  ‘Whatever Michael wants to show me better be worth all this grief,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll know soon enough. This time tomorrow we will be on the train to Kiruna. Not long to wait.’

  Back at the hotel he lay in bed wondering what he would do once he knew the identity of Nat’s killer. Shoot him? He’d already had occasion to point a gun at the man he thought responsible 20 years ago, and he’d not pulled the trigger. He put it out of his mind and sent Sophie a text, saying they needed to talk. An hour later there was no answer forthcoming, and he fell into a restless sleep.

  Denmark to Sweden proved a welcome diversion. From the Danish side they entered a four kilometer tunnel and emerged on to the Öresund Bridge, which extended across the Öresund Strait for a further eight kilometers into Malmö in Sweden. It was a spectacular feat of engineering, and a pleasure to drive across once Harry had paid the expensive toll charge. The sun played across the strait below them, and he found the glittering water a calming antidote to the angst of the previous evening.

  They arrived in Stockholm six hours later, and made straight for the Central Station, where Harry bought two sleeper tickets for the 6pm train, while Sabine parked the car. They had a couple of hours to kill and Sabine consulted the travel guide, looking for a jazz club she thought was nearby.

  ‘Yes, about ten minutes walk from here,’ she said, pinpointing the address on the city map. ‘It’s called “Fasching”. I think they have jam sessions quite regularly, so when we get back I want to visit it.’

  ‘I thought “Fasching” was a
carnival.’

  ‘Now it’s a jazz club too.’

  With the help of the guide they found the place, which was closed, and then retired to a nearby bistro for an hour before doing some quick shopping for thermal underwear, snow boots, and a thick Winter jacket for Harry. Sabine had come pre-equipped. With a detour to the car park to retrieve their cases, they made it back to Stockholm Central with 15 minutes to spare and boarded the train.

  Harry checked the tickets. ‘We’re sharing one compartment, hope you don’t mind. It was cheaper that way.’

  She was unruffled. ‘No, does it have two beds?’

  He laughed. ‘Of course. And a shower and toilet.’

  ‘That could be a little tricky.’

  ‘We’ll work something out. Follow me.’

  It had been dark for three hours already when the train pulled out.

  ‘Is Michael expecting us?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Yes, I texted him while you were buying the tickets. He will meet us. I’d like to take a shower now.’

  ‘Ok, I’ll get out of your way for a while. Meet me in the bar, if you like, when you’re ready.’

  ‘Don’t drink too much, Harry. It won’t mix with your drugs.’

  He walked down the corridor to the bar, the lights of the city flashing past the windows like shooting stars. He pulled out his phone looking for a response from Sophie, but there were no incoming messages. Not a good sign, he thought. When he found the bar he ordered a large lemonade although a Scotch was his preferred choice. He’d hoped that one or two drinks would help anaesthetize the culpability he felt, deserved or otherwise. Anaesthetised or not, there was nothing he could do about the situation until later. Right now he had a reunion to look forward to.

  Chapter 16

  It was still dark when they arrived. The train pulled in at 8am, and when they stepped onto the platform the world had turned white. Thick snow covered the station roof, and the platform itself was one long white carpet. Beyond the confines of the station lights it was still too dark to see anything else. The wheels of Harry’s case jammed with clinging snow as he dragged it determinedly towards the station entrance. He left it just outside then went back to help Sabine, whose case was somewhat larger and was resisting her best efforts to shift it.

  They stood in the ticket office while the other passengers swept by, and ten minutes later they were in sole possession of the place.

  ‘Has he forgotten us?’ said Harry.

  Sabine didn’t answer. She must feel nervous he thought, meeting him again after all this time. He stamped his feet, now firmly encased in snow boots and thermal socks, and walked back out to the platform. The train had gone and it was eerily quiet. He went back inside, wondering what the temperature was, and when the sun would rise.

  Sabine had company. They were sitting together on a bench close to the exit. He had his arm around her and Harry thought she might have been crying. He felt loth to intrude, but then Michael looked up and saw him. They locked eyes, and for a moment Harry was transported back to a Belfast church, and the rage of that day touched him fleetingly then flickered out. He crossed the floor and extended his gloved hand. ‘Hello, Michael.’

  Michael stood up. The pale blue eyes hadn’t changed, the black hair was flecked with gray, and he was still a well built man, his bulk perhaps exaggerated by the thick jacket and trousers. His face had acquired a few lines, but it was unmistakeably the face of the man Harry had met so many years ago.

  They shook. ‘Welcome to Sweden, Harry.’

  Then they were all lost for words for a while. Sabine wiped her eyes and Michael took her case and led them out to the car, a Volvo Estate. Sabine took the front seat and Harry settled himself in back behind her. They drove down a snow laden road, the headlights sweeping past fir trees on either side, their branches frosty and white. There was no breeze, and the stillness of the quiet, frozen landscape was spellbinding. Harry broke the spell.

  ‘How on earth did you end up here?’

  Michael laughed. ‘It’s a long story. I came to Stockholm in the mid-eighties, and met Ingrid. We got married a year later, and we stayed in Stockholm for a while. But she has family here in Kiruna, and we decided to move up here in 1990. I got a job as a shift supervisor at the mine. It has the advantage of being remote, and I thought I could live here undisturbed.’

  ‘And so you have,’ said Harry.

  ‘Until now. I think that may be changing.’

  ‘What’s she like?’ asked Sabine.

  ‘Ingrid? Blonde, Swedish, happy. I’m lucky.’

  ‘No children?’

  ‘No, she didn’t want kids. I didn’t mind too much.’

  They drove on for another 15 minutes then Michael turned down a side road and five minutes later they arrived at a two-storey wooden house painted a deep red, and fronted with a white verandah. It was surrounded by trees, and if there were neighbours they weren’t close by. Michael turned into a small driveway, and cut the engine.

  ‘Before we go in, there are a few things you should know. First, I’m Michael Sullivan now, just for the record. Second, Ingrid knows everything – the IRA, Siobhan, the lot. She married me in spite of all that. And she knows you’re here because of my past, but that’s all. Just be discreet about what you say in front of her, I don’t want her upset.’

  ‘Right, will do,’ replied Harry.

  ‘I forgot something.’ Michael looked at Sabine. ‘She knows about you too.’ He smiled at Sabine’s obvious concern. ‘It’s ok, she isn’t the jealous type.’

  ‘Really,’ replied Sabine with a quick smile of her own. ‘How do you know?’

  Ingrid was certainly blonde and happy, and probably in her mid to late thirties, thought Harry. She was well built like her husband, tall and broad-shouldered, and she moved with an athlete’s confident grace. Her blue eyes fixed the new arrivals with a quiet curiosity, and she seemed genuinely pleased to see them. She’d even made them breakfast.

  ‘Please,’ she said, gesturing to the dining table. ‘It’s typical Swedish food, hope you don’t mind that.’

  There was cereal and dark bread, to be topped with pickles, tomatoes, cucumber, cheese, cuts of ham, and slices of fish, and a large glass of Lingonberry juice. And plenty of coffee. Harry was ravenous, he attacked the meal with gusto. Ingrid excused herself as she’d already eaten, and the three of them were left alone.

  ‘When does it get light around here?’ asked Sabine.

  ‘At this time of year we get light between 10am and 1pm. It’s a strange kind of light, the sun doesn’t get above the horizon, and the light comes from reflections in the air and from the snow. You’ll see for yourself soon.’

  ‘Not sure I could live in perpetual darkness,’ said Harry.

  ‘You get used to it. It’s completely dark in January. But then in June and July the sun doesn’t set and you get the other extreme. How long are you here for?’

  ‘Two days at most.’

  Michael thought for a bit. ‘Better make the most of it then. I have a plan of sorts. Today I’d like some time to talk to you privately, Harry.’

  ‘Fine with me. What about Sabine?’

  ‘Ingrid wants to take Sabine to the Ice Hotel, it’s not far from here.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ said Sabine. ‘I hope you two won’t lock yourselves away all day though.’

  ‘We just need a few hours, we’ll be done by the time you get back. Then we can have an evening eating and drinking like normal people.’

  Breakfast was done. Michael began clearing away, and Ingrid reappeared to show her guests where they’d be sleeping. She took them upstairs.

  ‘We only have two bedrooms,’ she said. ‘Can you share?’

  ‘We seem to manage,’ replied Sabine. Harry made no comment.

  Ingrid left them to unpack. The room was ensuite, but contained only one double bed.

  ‘Perhaps he’s got a camp bed I can use,’ said Harry.

  ‘You can always ask. I don’t mind
sharing with you, Harry. I’ll wear something if that helps.’

  He laughed. ‘Ok, it’s only for two nights at most I guess.’

  Ingrid came back with a fur-lined hat and a thick pair of gloves for Sabine to try on.

  ‘You need to make sure your ears are covered,’ she said. ‘You need a warmer jacket?’

  Sabine thought the jacket she already had would suffice. The hat fitted perfectly, and the two women disappeared downstairs. Shortly afterwards he heard the Volvo start up, and they were gone.

  He went back to the dining room, where Michael sat waiting.

  ‘Fancy a drive?’

  ‘In what exactly?’ asked Harry. ‘You have another car hidden away?’

  ‘Follow me.’

  Harry grabbed his jacket and boots and they headed towards the back door. Michael produced another ear-covering hat for him and then took a coat from its hook by the door.

  ‘Try this, Harry. It’s reindeer.’

  Harry dropped his jacket and put on the reindeer replacement. The fur-lined exterior was further insulated on the inside by a thick woollen lining. It was a good fit.

  ‘They’re perfect for this climate,’ said Michael. ‘We get them from the Sami people up here. They herd reindeer all over the Arctic Circle.’

  Now identically attired, they stepped outside. There was a thermometer tacked to the wall, and Michael stopped to take a look.

  ‘Minus 12 today. Not too cold.’

  Harry followed in his footsteps through the fir trees into a cleared area with what looked like a small garage. Michael opened the door to reveal two snowmobiles inside.

  ‘Ever driven one of these?’ he enquired.

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Throttle on the right, brake on the left. It’s a bit like riding a motorbike. I’ll get them out.’