The Christmas Hypothesis

by Anna Blix

  Peculiar. So now he was peculiar. “I never asked to be taken to a ladies’ hair salon,” he said calmly. “To be dangled in front of them like some novelty you found in a thrift shop.” He dropped his parka and boots in the hallway, but just as he was about to go upstairs, there was a sharp ring from Mrs Dollimore’s telephone, sitting on a little table right next to Niklas. Nobody moved. The telephone rang again.

  Niklas picked up the handset. “Hello?”

  A man’s voice came down the line. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Niklas.”

  “Niklas?” A short silence followed. “Niklas who drinks piña coladas?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Steven Dollimore. May I please speak with my mother?”

  “It’s your son.” Niklas passed the handset to Mrs Dollimore.

  The little lady’s eyes widened as she put the receiver to her ear. “Steven, is it really you?”

  32

  Niklas followed Clare up the stairs. He could hear Mrs Dollimore speak on the phone in the hallway below.

  “Come in here, I need to talk to you,” Clare said.

  Clare’s room was smaller than his, and not nearly as floral. It was brighter, even at this time in the afternoon, with walls painted a soft yellow. It didn’t have an en-suite bathroom, but Clare had sole use of the large bathroom on the upstairs landing.

  Niklas would have much preferred this room, had he been offered the choice. But why would Mrs Dollimore ask what he wanted? Just give him the most feminine room in the house. It was a good laugh, and what would he care? Let the cat sleep on his bed. This is a pet-friendly B&B. Never mind asking if he even likes cats. He could have been allergic to cats, for all she knew. Drag him to the hairdressers’ and let them have a good laugh at him.

  “Take a seat,” Clare said and motioned towards a tub chair in the corner.

  Niklas paced around the room before he reluctantly sat down. Slowly he calmed.

  “Feeling better now?”

  He nodded.

  “Good, then I have something for you.”

  She picked up a large carrier bag from the floor. “Here.” She extracted a grey and red knitted jumper.”

  “I saw it, and I thought you might like it. It’s quite Christmassy, so it should go with your Santa Claus style.”

  Niklas took a few deep breaths. He didn’t know what to say. Clare had bought him a present. Nobody had ever bought him presents, not since he was a child. He ran his hand over the jumper. It was soft and felt like it would be warm. He held it up in front of himself — it seemed to be just his size. Slowly, he folded it back up and put it back in the bag.

  “Thank you, Clare.”

  Clare smiled. “Since Mrs Dollimore took you to have your hair done, I thought I could contribute something as well.” She paused, and then she said, “But you really shouldn’t speak to her like that. She was only trying to be helpful.”

  Niklas shook his head. “I know. I got carried away.”

  Clare sat on the bed. She was wearing a grey knitted jumper herself. They were almost matching. “You nearly made her cry. She has helped you so much. You should be kinder to her.”

  Niklas said, “On my first night in London, I had walked for hours when I found this place. I guess I’m lucky it was Mrs Dollimore’s house I stumbled on.”

  “You could say that again. I know, because I couldn’t get a hotel room either. At least I had my car to sleep in. You would have been left out on the streets.”

  “I know.” Niklas buried his face in his hands.

  “You must know you are exotic to her — it isn’t every day you meet somebody who comes from the North Pole, be he Santa Claus or not. Your arrival must be the most exciting thing that’s happened to her in ages.” Clare’s fingers were picking at a loose thread on the throw. “You talk so much about getting Sophie her present and proving your hypothesis. But have you got Mrs Dollimore something for Christmas?”

  Niklas shook his head. He hadn’t given it a thought.

  “Don’t you think that would be more important than getting a scooter for this child you’ve never met? Sophie will most likely be given everything she wants by her parents. They’re probably rich.”

  Niklas looked at her. “Do you think I should give the scooter to a poor child instead?”

  “That would at least make more sense. What are you trying to prove, Niklas? Mrs Dollimore is your actual friend, who has done nothing but help you since you showed up here.”

  “You’re right.” Of course Clare was right. He should have bought a Christmas present for Mrs Dollimore. She had been a good friend to him ever since that first night.

  He stared out the window. Dusk was falling over London. He could see rows of rooftops with chimneys sticking up against a purple sky. The flashing lights of a plane swept past. He noted that he could see into several of the neighbours’ gardens — some overgrown and some meticulously kept. Some had sheds like Mrs Dollimore’s. But only Mrs Dollimore’s had light seeping out from the cracks between the boards.

  “You can keep an eye on Einar from here,” he said.

  “Do you think any of the neighbours have noticed him yet?”

  Niklas shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not worried anymore. There’s nothing we can do about it anyway.”

  “Well, Einar will be out of here tomorrow, and on his way home with me. Only a little longer, and we’ll be in the clear.” Clare came up next to him by the window. “What are you going to do after Christmas?” she asked.

  Niklas hadn’t even thought about it. He had kept himself busy the last few weeks, trying to transform himself to Santa Claus. What was he going to do after Christmas? “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think you’ll go back to the Arctic?”

  “I was fired from my job. They won’t take me back.”

  “I know, but maybe there’s something else you could do there? Work on some other project? What exactly was it you did, anyway?”

  “I sucked.”

  Clare sighed. “But what did you suck at? What was your research about?”

  Niklas rubbed the textured fabric of the curtain between his fingers. “I studied the formation and behaviour of sea ice in various conditions. How it depends on salinity, temperature and whether it’s first year or multiyear. The way it fractures and breaks off.”

  “I suppose the Arctic would be a good place to study ice.” She smiled. “Did you see the impact of climate change?”

  “Yeah, it’s scary how quickly things are happening now. I was writing a research paper about it. Saw some interesting behaviour, actually. But then I lost my funding.”

  “Well, fifteen years seem a long time to spend on one paper,” Clare said.

  “It depends, I guess. But you’re not the first person to point that out. You know what? I don’t think I was that bad at the actual science.”

  “What was it then?”

  Niklas shrugged. “There was this guy called Tom. A real careerist. Wouldn’t hesitate to stab you in the back — I found that out the hard way. And I was supposed to cooperate with people like him. No wonder it didn’t go very well. But there were other things, before Tom. And before I moved to the Arctic. You’re probably right, I’m not great with people.” The sky had turned a darker purple, almost black. Niklas closed the curtains. “Somehow, Tom managed to persuade my boss to give him my job. And I got fired.”

  Clare smiled. There was something comforting about her face. Familiar and interesting at the same time. Maybe it was the soft light from the little lamp on her chest of drawers. It reflected in Clare’s hair and made it look like it was shimmering. “Serves him right, then, that he has to sit there all alone at the North Pole, while you get to be here with us.” Clare handed him the bag of clothes. “Here you go Niklas. Early Christmas present.”

  Niklas received the bag. Clare watched him as if she was waiting for him to do something. Then it dawned on him what she wanted. Suddenly, he felt nervous. But he had done
this before, so there was no need to be nervous. He could do it. He closed his eyes and leaned in slowly.

  “What are you doing?”

  Niklas stumbled forward. Clare must have moved out of the way. He opened his eyes. “I love you,” he said.

  Clare didn’t say anything.

  Niklas flopped onto the bed in his room. Why had he tried to kiss Clare? How stupid could a person be? You don’t just go around kissing people. And then he had said… Stupid! He buried his face in his hands. Of course he didn’t love her. She was… great. He’d been comfortable with her, maybe too comfortable and let his guard down. When he talked to her, the words came easy. They didn’t just escape out of his head and disappear like they usually did. It was strange; she didn’t seem to mind him being, well — him. But he had gone too far and allowed himself to get carried away. He had already tried this kind of thing once, and it had ended badly.

  Black the cat lay next to him on the bed and purred. Niklas stroked the cat’s head and said, “You’re a good cat.” The cat opened an eye and surveyed him sleepily. “I know, Black. I know. It was stupid.”

  Sophie’s letter was on his bedside table. Niklas picked it up and read it. Then he turned it over and studied the picture she’d drawn of her house. It was a typical English house, similar to hundreds of other houses he’d seen during his weeks in London. How was he ever going to find it? Maybe he should just give up and accept defeat. Pull himself together and do something sensible instead, like reject the hypothesis and try to find a proper job.

  Niklas ran his finger over the drawing. The house did have a chimney for Santa Claus to drop the present through. He chuckled to himself. That was something.

  But wait a minute. He looked at what Sophie had drawn in the background, behind the house. How could he have been so stupid? He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about it before. Niklas jumped to his feet.

  33

  Niklas glanced at Clare’s closed door when he passed it on the landing, hoping it wouldn’t open. What would she say the next time she saw him? He hoped she wouldn’t mention anything about what had just happened. He tiptoed past the door and continued down the stairs with Sophie’s letter in his hand.

  In the breakfast room, he found Mrs Dollimore sitting at the table by the window. It was already dark outside and the room was gloomy, but she had not turned the lights on — not even the Christmas tree.

  “Good news!” he called out.

  Mrs Dollimore didn’t move. She cradled a cup of tea in her hands and stared straight ahead at nothing.

  “Hey,” Niklas said. “I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean those things I said.”

  She slowly turned her head and looked at him, then she shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure you had a good reason. I just thought that… Well, perhaps, since you were new in this country. You probably didn’t have many friends here either. Maybe you wanted to… Anyway, I shouldn’t have brought you to the salon.” She lowered her gaze into her cup, but she didn’t drink from it.

  “That’s all right.” Niklas put the letter on the table in front of her. “I’ve found something interesting in Sophie’s drawing.” He pointed to the picture. “Look here.”

  Mrs Dollimore kept staring at her cup. “Niklas, they’re not coming.” Her voice cracked.

  “What?”

  She cleared her throat. “Steven and Lydia… You know, he phoned. He said that…” She swallowed. “He told me to stop phoning. They’re not coming. He doesn’t want to hear from me again.” She pressed her hand over her mouth and tears welled up in her eyes.

  Niklas gently pulled out a chair and sat beside her. “But that’s not right. How could he say such a thing?” He shook his head. “There must have been a misunderstanding.”

  Mrs Dollimore sobbed. “No, there’s no misunderstanding. Niklas. I haven’t seen Steven since my husband’s funeral.”

  “You haven’t seen your son since the funeral? But I thought…” Niklas didn’t understand.

  “I thought that if I made more of an effort this year… If I was bold and just invited them over, then maybe they would come. When you believe something strongly enough, sometimes it comes true, doesn’t it? I thought that if I carried on as if they were coming…” She shrugged. “If I kept phoning, then maybe they would show up here on my doorstep. Just like you did, Niklas. In the middle of the night.” She smiled through the tears. “It was silly of me, I know.”

  “But your husband passed away ten years ago. Have you not seen Steven since the funeral?”

  She shook her head and wiped her face with a wet tissue. “I’ve been such a fool. I’ve already bought the turkey and all the food. What am I supposed to do with it now?”

  Niklas tried to think of a solution. “What if you went to visit them instead? You could take the food with you.”

  Mrs Dollimore scrunched the tissue in her hand. “I don’t know. It’s rather late to book something now. And I can’t really bring the turkey on the train. How would that look?” She laughed softly. “I don’t even know if there will be any tickets left this late…”

  Niklas took his phone out of his pocket. “I could help you look? If you want to go?”

  The little lady rested her hand on his arm. “Oh, I don’t know… I don’t want to inconvenience Lydia’s family.”

  Niklas unlocked the phone. “I’m sure they won’t mind. Where in Devon do they live?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think that—”

  “I can buy the ticket for you. Don’t worry about the money.” He typed “train tickets to Devon” into the browser.

  “Niklas, stop. They don’t want me to come.”

  Niklas lowered his hand. “But they’re your family. Just think how much you’ve looked forward to it.”

  “Steven doesn’t want to speak to me…” Mrs Dollimore closed her eyes. “…because of my husband’s accident. It was my fault. I was the one who talked him into it. You see, he didn’t want to do it. He said he wasn’t feeling very well, but I kept pressing. It was his birthday present, and I didn’t want it to go to waste. It was my fault Malcolm died.”

  Niklas stared into her eyes. He didn’t know what to say. There was a kitchen roll on the table. He tore off a sheet and handed it to her. “Here.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Mrs Dollimore wiped a drop off her nose. “It was in August and we were in Cornwall. We had spent a few days with Steven and Lydia, and then we continued the holiday on our own. We stayed in a quaint seaside town. They had a scuba diving school which I contacted ahead of our visit. It was Malcolm’s sixty-fourth birthday and we had dinner in a nice restaurant the night before. I told him what his present was… and he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to do it, Niklas.”

  “No?”

  “It wasn’t like him. Normally, he’d jump at a chance like that. Anyway, in the end, he agreed. They geared him up in a wetsuit and took him and a few others out in the boat, while I stayed on the beach. When they came back, I knew straight away that something was wrong.” She shook her head. “He didn’t want to do it, but I kept nagging.”

  Niklas put his hand over hers on the table. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was his heart. It couldn’t take the strain.” She shook her head. “He was rushed to the nearest hospital. Steven and Lydia drove down as well. They did all they could, but… We all stayed by Malcolm’s side until the end. I think he knew we were there.”

  Mrs Dollimore turned the teacup around on the table. “The funeral was in London. Steven helped me with the practical things. He stayed for a week and sorted out the paperwork for me. But he was different. Something had changed between us. After he went back to Devon, he stopped returning my calls. And in the end, I stopped trying.”

  Mrs Dollimore fell quiet and Niklas said, “I haven’t spoken to my parents in a while, either. But the situation is a little different.” He laughed, but it sounded out of place. He glanced outside — Mrs Dollimore must have forgotten to close the blinds
. “Maybe there’s something I can do for you? Around the house or in the garden? Here, let me help you with this.” He reached out and flicked the Christmas tree light switch. The whole tree lit up in a warm glow. “That’s better, you can see now. You’ve got to remember to light the tree.”

  Mrs Dollimore smiled at him, and Niklas continued, “Can I get you something? More tea? A glass of Pinot Grigio maybe? It’s very refreshing.”

  She laughed softly. “No. But thank you for offering.”

  “Piña colada? I can mix you one.”

  Mrs Dollimore shook her head.

  Niklas pulled his fingers through his hair. “It turned out nice, the haircut. Those ladies know what they’re doing. I can tell.” He ruffled it with his fingers and added, “And yours looks lovely too.”

  “Thank you, Niklas. It’s nice of you to say that. And it’s good to have you here. Will you stay over Christmas, Niklas? It would be nice to have company.”

  “Of course. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” Then Niklas’s eyes fell on Sophie’s letter on the table. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know if this is the right moment. But there’s something I wanted to show you in Sophie’s drawing. If you feel up for it? Maybe you can help me?”

  34

  Mrs Dollimore looked at the letter on the table. “I don’t think I’ll be of much help, but go on. What did you want to show me?”

  “Well, it’s something I noticed in Sophie’s drawing.” Niklas pointed to the picture of Sophie’s house. How had he overlooked it before? In the background of the picture, behind the house, Sophie had drawn something that made all the difference in the world — the London skyline.

  There were landmarks. Landmarks which could be used to calculate the relative position of the observer — who in this case was Sophie, standing right in front of her own house. “See these buildings here?” he said.