The Christmas Hypothesis

by Anna Blix

  “Yes.” Niklas studied Dr Svantesson. He was a tall and slim man. A bead of sweat trickled down his right temple.

  Dr Svantesson nodded enthusiastically as he gave Niklas a run-through of his recent findings.

  “Now, tell Dr Svantesson about your work, Niklas,” prompted Juha.

  Dr Svantesson nodded even more enthusiastically at Niklas.

  Niklas pointed to his poster. “Here,” he said.

  Dr Svantesson looked at the poster.

  “I have measured the thermal expansion,” Niklas said, and pointed to one of the tables.

  “Hmm,” Dr Svantesson looked at the table.

  “And thermal conduction.” Niklas pointed to another table.

  Dr Svantesson looked at the table, then he looked at Niklas again. After a while, he said, “Interesting. It was nice to meet you. Good luck with your research.” Then he left.

  “I need a coffee,” Juha said.

  Last night back at the hotel, there had been a chocolate on Niklas’s pillow. He hoped there would be another one when he returned in the evening. He glanced at his Casio.

  27

  Through the racket of screams, shouts and Christmas music, Niklas could hear the faint but distinct jingle of bells. At first, barely perceptible, but gradually growing stronger. He climbed onto a bench for a better view of the situation. Panic-stricken shoppers hurtled past him and out the doors, fleeing something deep inside the complex. The two security guards had managed to set the revolving doors wide open and were now putting all of their efforts into controlling the crowd. A man sprinted past, face contorted by terror, and feet frantically pounding the floor.

  Niklas peered into the heart of the building. What was causing the alarm? Then it emerged. Out of the crowd of people appeared a large animal. Wildly galloping, bounding and kicking. What was it? A half-grown calf? A small cow? It didn’t have any horns. And those were not a cow’s hoofs. The fur was longer and thicker than a cow’s. It had no antlers, but still, it had to be... He could hardly believe it. The bolting animal was a reindeer. Foaming at the mouth, and with its front legs splaying out to the left and right, it skidded over the polished floor. Its harness was abundantly decorated with brass bells that jingled and swayed as it bucked and kicked its way down the centre aisle. Niklas stepped down from the bench and pressed himself against the wall.

  People threw themselves to the sides and out of the animal’s path as it careered through the crowd. Niklas stayed still where he was by the wall, captivated by the sheer absurdity of the scene unfolding in front of him.

  There was a rope dangling loose from the reindeer’s halter, swinging from side to side as it threw its head. In an instance, the rope flew in between its front legs. The animal put one hoof on it and tripped. It took a few stumbling steps before it toppled and skidded on its knees across the floor towards Niklas. All around, people were screaming.

  “Catch the reindeer!” Niklas heard somebody shout. The call came from behind the animal. It was a woman’s voice, and he could see a short figure running up behind the skidding reindeer. With no time to consider the consequences, Niklas reached out his free hand and grabbed a tight hold of the rope as the animal slid past him.

  The reindeer struggled frantically to find its footing on the polished tiles, but its front hoofs slipped as it scrambled to get up. Niklas gave the rope a tug backwards and upwards in an effort to help it on its feet. Finally, the animal seemed to find traction. It staggered up on shaking legs and stood still for a few shivering seconds, then it took off again, bounding and throwing its head from side to side, trying to free itself of the rope. Niklas held on tight and was pulled along when the reindeer hurtled for the doors.

  He ran alongside the animal through the doors, and out into the open. Over his shoulder, he saw the short woman follow close behind. “Keep running!” she shouted. “Don’t let go of the rope.”

  Outside, a large crowd of people had gathered. The two security guards were there, stopping anyone who tried to enter the shopping centre. One of the two guards caught sight of Niklas and the reindeer. “Stop! Stay right there!”

  Niklas kept running. With the toyshop bag in one hand and the rope in his other, he sprinted into the car park, which was filling up with people who had escaped the inferno inside. Some of them were returning to their cars, while others seemed to be hanging around in hope of being let back inside. Others still had just arrived and had to be wondering what was going on. And cars were endlessly circling the lanes in search of a free parking space.

  The open air and the firm, high-friction tarmac seemed to have a calming effect on the reindeer. It had slowed its mouth-foaming frenzied flight and was now trotting along obediently next to Niklas. Side by side, they made their way down the pedestrian walkway in between two rows of parked cars, with the woman following. People stood in groups, looking and pointing as they passed, but few seemed to realise this animal was the cause of the panic that had taken place just a few minutes ago.

  As they made it to the pavement at the opposite end of the car park, Niklas turned back. The two guards had been joined by a third one, but none of them were taking chase. The woman’s boots clacked on the tarmac when she ran up, and her breathing was laboured. Embarrassed at his own lack of fitness, Niklas noted that she was wheezing as much as him. She staggered up next to him and pointed at an underpass ahead. “Come on, let’s go in there,” she gasped. She took a few short breaths before she continued. “We can get away on the other side.”

  What was that accent? Scottish? Niklas was too out of breath to reply. He panted as he half-jogged alongside the reindeer into the underpass. He handed the rope over to the woman, then he stooped over, wheezing for air.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Niklas listened to the sound of their breathing echoing against the concrete walls. The underpass offered a safe passage for pedestrians and cyclists underneath a busy dual carriageway. It was a raw, cold place with flickering fluorescent lights in the arched roof above them, but the space itself was dark and the air was thick with humidity. Water had collected in a large puddle on the ground, taking up most of the cycle path’s width, and a little stream ran along the kerbstones and down a drain.

  “You’re welcome.” Niklas leaned against the grimy wall, his breathing slowing. “And in return, can you please tell me what is going on?”

  “We need to get this reindeer to safety,” the woman said. “Come on, let’s go. My car is parked this way.” She nodded towards the opposite exit.

  Wait a minute. Get the reindeer to safety? Niklas was far from convinced that getting the reindeer to safety was something he needed to do. He had already come dangerously close to being arrested once today, and this sounded like a risky venture. “And who are you?”

  “I’m Clare,” she answered. “And who are you?”

  “Niklas.”

  “Okay Niklas, will you please help me out? Be a saint. I’ll explain on the way.”

  “But, is this really your reindeer? What were you doing in the shopping centre?”

  “I’ve rescued him. I’m taking him back to Scotland.” She stomped her foot impatiently. “Come on! We haven’t got time for this.”

  Scottish, Niklas knew it! But wait. She had rescued him? Was she some kind of militant animal rights activist? “Did you steal it?”

  “No, I didn’t steal him. The ‘owner’ gave him to me as soon as he realised the shit was about to hit the fan.” The woman, Clare — or whatever her real name was — made air-quotes with her fingers when she said the word “owner”. So she was a militant animal rights activist. Wonderful. The woman continued, “I need your help with this. We’re going to walk the reindeer to my car, and we’re going to have to walk where there are people.”

  “No. That’s a terrible idea. Did you see the chaos back at the shopping centre? They’re going to call the police. You’ll get caught.” And when the police came, they were going to think he was involved in the reindeer theft. Then
he wouldn’t just get sent back to Finland. He’d end up in prison.

  “Don’t be daft. If anyone’s in trouble, it’s that shopping centre’s management for letting a wild animal run loose like that. Besides, if anyone spots us, they’re just going to think we’re another Christmas installation.”

  “What?”

  “You are Santa Claus. This is your reindeer, Einar — which, by the way, is his real name. I’ll be…an elf, I guess, or Mrs Claus. Take your pick. We’re going to walk down the street, and people will think we’re just part of the general Christmas madness. Look at you in your red coat! You’re perfect.”

  Niklas considered his coat. This woman, whom he had just met, had called him Santa Claus. And the reindeer, appearing out of the blue in the middle of London on a Saturday afternoon! What were the odds of all this? What if Mrs Dollimore was really on to something with her hypothesis? But he snorted, “It’s still a terrible idea.” What was the name of that activist group again? He couldn’t remember. But they weren’t people he wanted to get involved with, that was for sure. “And what do you need me for? Just go on your own!” He stared at Clare. She didn’t look like she was about to leave without him. They couldn’t stay in the underpass forever. The longer they stayed, the higher the risk of getting caught. He took a couple of steps towards the exit.

  “Please?” Clare said.

  Niklas kicked the wall with his snow-boot. Santa Claus, out with his reindeer, and his elf. Imagine that. It was almost too good to pass on. Mrs Dollimore would be happy when she heard. He sighed. “All right. But it is a terrible idea. For the record.”

  “Thank you!” Clare smiled.

  The unlikely trio emerged from the underpass and found themselves in a residential area with newly built low-rise apartment blocks. Dusk had fallen, and because it was Saturday, the pavements were occupied by people in their twenties, heading out for a night on the town. Walking in groups, laughing — young professionals, glammed up and sprayed with perfumes. For many, the party had already started back in their flats, judging by their high spirits. None of them took much notice of the bearded man in the red coat or the short woman he was with. Neither did they appear to notice the strange-looking animal trotting along behind them.

  Every now and then the woman, Clare, threw out a cheerful, “Merry Christmas.” This was occasionally returned with a “Merry Christmas to you too,” and a laugh, but mostly they were simply ignored.

  Niklas grew more and more assured that nobody would be able to recall any descriptive details if later questioned about their encounter, which in itself was highly unlikely. He began to relax, optimistic that he once again had escaped the long arm of the law. He glanced across the reindeer’s back at Clare. Apart from being short, she was probably in her thirties, with an inoffensive face that wasn’t particularly noteworthy or memorable. A useful trait, if she wanted to avoid getting caught when she was out stealing reindeer or liberating minks, or whatever it was those activists did nowadays.

  Clare glanced back at him. “This is working,” she said.

  A group of partygoers, two young men with two even younger women clinging to them, passed without acknowledging them. With the sun down, the temperature must have dropped below freezing. Niklas had half-lost his feeling in the hand carrying the toyshop bag and he wished he had some gloves. He swapped the bag over to his other hand and whispered, “I can’t believe people dress that way in the winter.”

  Clare laughed. “Well, you’ve got to keep up with fashion. Make a few sacrifices to stay on-trend. Don’t you agree?” She nodded towards his mud-encrusted parka.

  Niklas ran his hand down it. “Oh, this? I guess I should wash it,” he said. “Those two security guards at the shopping centre thought I was homeless. They were about to call the police. Said I was going to get deported back to Finland. It was about then you came along with your rioting reindeer, so I guess they never got around to it.” He patted Einar’s neck.

  Clare smiled. “Finland? So that’s where you’re from.” She nodded towards the reindeer. “He likes you. Normally, reindeer are much more wary of new people.”

  Niklas grinned. Of course the reindeer liked him. They walked on, side by side, Einar’s bells jingling softly as his head swayed. After a while, Niklas said, “Where’s your car parked? You said it was close.” Did this activist woman really know where she was going? They had been walking for a good twenty minutes.

  “Not long now, just a couple of blocks.”

  They kept walking. The pavements were less busy now, and the buildings changed from newly built apartment blocks to Victorian terraces.

  “So, what exactly are you planning to do with this reindeer?” Niklas was almost afraid to ask.

  “I’m taking him back to Scotland. My dad runs a reindeer farm up in the Highlands.”

  “A reindeer farm?”

  “Yeah, and I help him. We’ve had the herd since the sixties. And we take on rescues too. You won’t believe how many people buy a reindeer on impulse, only to change their mind and want it re-homed. Somebody phoned and asked me to come and take Einar off their hands. They had bought him from a dubious importer, thinking they would have a nice Christmas attraction at their farm.” Clare stroked Einar’s neck. “But soon enough they found out that reindeer don’t make very good farmyard animals. So they phoned me. And I drove all the way to London to help them. But when I arrived, there were complications.”

  “Hm.” Could she really not find a parking spot closer to the shopping centre than this? Had she not noticed the gigantic car park outside? It was busy, but other drivers hadn’t just given up and driven all the way to Timbuktu to park. Besides, they had passed plenty of free spaces along the way. What was wrong with this one, for example?

  “You see, before I got there, they had already sold him to somebody else, who had been banned for life from keeping animals. He was the idiot who thought it was a good idea to bring an untrained reindeer into a shopping centre full of people. Anyway, he agreed to let me take Einar when things were heating up. Now I’ve just got to bring him back home.”

  Niklas thought of something. “Clare?” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m helping you, right?”

  “Of course you are. Did I seem ungrateful?”

  Niklas shook his head. “No, no. But, would you maybe even say I’m benevolent?”

  Clare frowned at him. “Benevolent? I guess you could say that,” she said. “Why?”

  “No reason.”

  “Here we are, now,” Clare said.

  “Yes, here we are.” Mrs Dollimore would be pleased to hear. She would be able to tick another criterion off the checklist.

  “No, I mean we’re here. This is my car.” Clare pointed to a black four-by-four, with something that looked like a horsebox attached to the tow bar. “It was nice meeting you, Niklas.”

  28

  “Bye!” Niklas turned to leave. He was looking forward to a cup of hot black coffee on his return to Mrs Dollimore’s B&B. It had been a productive day, after all. He had acquired a scooter for Sophie — never mind it was blue and not red — and he had proven himself a benevolent character by helping Clare the reindeer lady, who, as it turned out, was probably not a militant activist. Two items ticked off the list in one day — as long as Mrs Dollimore agreed, of course. Not bad at all.

  “Hang on a minute!” Clare called to him.

  What could she possibly want now? Niklas turned back. Should he pretend he hadn’t heard her? Too late, he’d accidentally made eye contact.

  “Can you just hold Einar for a minute, while I get the ramp down?” Clare said.

  Niklas checked his Casio. “I should get going.”

  “Please? It will only take a minute.”

  He took Einar’s rope and watched Clare loosen the four large buckles that held the horse trailer’s ramp in place. She lowered it slowly. It pivoted on its strong bottom hinges but stopped halfway. The car parked behind the trailer had pulled u
p too close and the ramp would be resting on its hood if Clare had continued.

  “I’ll just move the car up a bit. Stay there.” Clare buckled the ramp back in place.

  Einar shook his head gently and stepped closer to Niklas.

  “What’s he doing?” said Niklas.

  Clare laughed. “He’s just trying to cuddle up. He likes you!” She climbed in the driver’s seat.

  “Not long now,” Niklas said to the reindeer, in case it was wondering. As Clare turned the key in the ignition, the four-by-four made a peculiar rasping sound and then it died. Niklas stamped his feet to keep them from going numb in the cold. Clare turned the key again, and again, and each time, the noise was even more jarring. “It isn’t going to start,” called Niklas to her. “Stop trying!”

  Clare opened the door. “No. No. No. Don’t do this now. Not today of all days. You’ve been running like clockwork for years. Please don’t break down today.”

  Niklas assumed she was talking to the car, and not to him. “Pop the hood, I’ll have a look.”

  “It won’t be of any use. A red warning light has come on. It means I need to have it towed to a garage.” She slammed her hand on the steering wheel, and accidentally beeped the horn. “Oh, be quiet.”

  “I’m sure it’s not that bad. You’ve probably just run out of petrol.”

  “I haven’t run out of petrol. I’ve got a full tank.”

  Niklas leaned in to see the fuel gauge. “It’s empty,” he said.

  Clare sighed. “It isn’t empty, I refuelled it this morning. But because the engine is off, the needle stays at the bottom. It’s the same as most cars.” She turned the ignition key, and the needle rose to full.

  Now she mentioned it, Niklas thought that sounded familiar. He would have to check next time he drove a car.

  “And there’s the red warning light. See? It means engine failure.” Clare pointed to the red light that had come on.