by Anna Blix
“I’m sorry to disturb you on Christmas Eve, but we are closing for the holidays in a couple of hours and they are very keen to speak to you ASAP. I was hoping you could stop by and take a look at the job specification. Then we can set up an interview.”
“What?”
“I was delighted when this landed on my table, and I thought of you straight away. To be honest, when you first came in, I didn’t think we’d find you anything. I mean, considering your highly specialised skills. They want you to come in for an interview, so we’d better get the ball rolling. I can talk you through it when you come in. Anyway, it’s with the University of Cambridge. They’re starting up a new research program, and they’re looking for someone just like you.”
After agreeing to come in, Niklas ended the call and slid his phone back in his pocket in bewilderment.
“Who was that?” Mrs Dollimore asked.
“It was from the job centre. They’ve found a position for me.”
Mrs Dollimore clapped her hands together. “But that’s wonderful news, Niklas! And just in time for Christmas. See? I told you it would be all right. What kind of job is it?”
Niklas scratched the back of his head. “It’s with the University of Cambridge. They’re starting up a new research program, and they want me to—”
Clare entered the room. She was wearing a knitted cardigan over a fitted dress, and her hair was down. Niklas glanced at her, then he averted his gaze to the floor.
“Hello,” he said.
“Wonderful news, Clare!” Mrs Dollimore said. “Niklas has been offered a job.” She placed the turkey on the table.
Niklas shrugged. “They haven’t offered me the job yet. But they want me to interview for it, and the lady at the job centre sounded like she thought I would get it.”
“That’s great,” Clare said.
“Now take a seat you two, before it goes cold,” Mrs Dollimore said. “There’s turkey, roast potatoes, Brussels sprouts, gravy, cranberry sauce, and I’ve made baked swede especially for you Niklas. Apparently, it’s all the rave in Finland. I looked the recipe up on the Internet.” Mrs Dollimore placed the dish of baked swede on the table. “I’ll just get the last bits out.”
Clare sat opposite Niklas. “That’s great, about your job,” she said.
“And he’ll be in Cambridge,” called Mrs Dollimore. “Just up the road. You can come and visit at the weekends, Niklas. It’s only an hour or so on the train.”
“Yes. Well, it’s with the University of Cambridge, but—”
“Shall we begin? Niklas, would you carve the turkey, please?” Mrs Dollimore said. “Maybe you could go and visit Clare in Scotland if you get some time off from work. Wouldn’t it be exciting to see all her reindeer? We could go there together, you and I!”
Niklas picked up the carving knife and fork and cut into the turkey.
“That’s it! Keep going.” Mrs Dollimore nodded enthusiastically. “Don’t you worry about the bones, dear. We can always spit them out as we eat.”
Niklas served the women and then placed two generous chunks of turkey on his own plate. “This is just like in Finland, with the swede and all. Only the ham is missing,”
Clare cleared her throat. Then she kicked his leg under the table. Niklas tucked his feet in under the chair.
Mrs Dollimore smiled at him. “I’m happy you like it, Niklas.”
The lady at the job centre had sounded encouraging. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad researcher after all. He wondered what Pekka Aho would say when he heard Niklas was running a research project for the University of Cambridge. Ha. That would show him. And Juha. They’d be surprised when they saw him at the next conference. Then he’d be the one attracting a big crowd to his presentation.
“Here, let’s do a cracker.” Clare handed one end of her Christmas cracker to Niklas. “No, you’re supposed to pull it. Grab the other end!”
Niklas pulled the end of the cracker. It snapped in two with a bang. A little folded piece of green tissue paper fell out along with a plastic toy and a note.
“You wear the hat. I’ll read the joke,” Clare said. Niklas unfolded the curious piece of green tissue. It turned out to be a hat in the shape of a crown. He placed it on this head.
“Here goes,” Clare said. “Why are Christmas trees so bad at sewing?”
“I don’t know,” Niklas said.
“They always drop their needles.”
“What?” Not only giving presentations, but maybe his work would be published in Nature after all.
“Well, they mean needles, as in… oh never mind.”
They repeated the procedure with the remaining two crackers, and Clare and Mrs Dollimore were awarded their own paper crowns to wear.
Then Niklas reached for the presents from under the tree. “Here you go,” he said and passed one to Mrs Dollimore.
“Well, this is a surprise!” Mrs Dollimore turned the present around in her hand. It was wrapped in brown paper and decorated with a plain red ribbon. She unwrapped it. Inside was a small wooden box. Mrs Dollimore opened it and held up a large gilded brooch, encrusted with sparkling gemstones.
“Niklas, this is beautiful!” she said. “Thank you ever so much. I’m going to wear it on my lapel.” Mrs Dollimore blinked away a tear. “I wasn’t expecting you to get me anything for Christmas.”
“You’re welcome.” Niklas turned to Clare. “And… I got something for you too.” He handed her the second present. “It’s just… It doesn’t mean anything. But since you got me my jumper…”
Clare smiled. “Thank you, Niklas.” She unwrapped her present. Inside was a small wooden box. Niklas watched her open it, and out fell a large gilded brooch, encrusted with sparkling gemstones.
She turned the brooch around in her hand. “It’s exactly the same.”
“I thought they were nice…”
Clare smiled at him. “Thank you, Niklas,” she said. “It’s very thoughtful of you.” She pinned it to her cardigan and patted it gently. “And it is nice. It will remind me of you.”
Mrs Dollimore bent down and picked up two presents from under the tree. “Here, I got you something too.” She handed Niklas and Clare a present each. Both were wrapped in red paper with white snowflakes. They were of identical shape and size and they both contained knitted hats — a green one for Clare and a red one for Niklas. “I told you I had the red hat covered, Niklas. I’ve used chunky yarn, so it was a quick knit.” Mrs Dollimore smiled. “We can tick it off the list, and then you can wear it when you go out tonight.”
“Thank you.” Niklas reached across the table to shake Mrs Dollimore’s hand. “I’ll see what happens at the job centre.”
Clare wrapped an arm around the little lady and squeezed her shoulders. “Thank you. I usually don’t enjoy Christmas, but this has been lovely.” She looked at Niklas. “…and you too. You’ve both made this year… Truly special.”
Mrs Dollimore wiped the corner of her eye with her knuckle. “You’re both very welcome.” She got up and went out to the kitchen, returning with the checklist in her hand. “Let’s see,” she said. “That’s the hat ticked off. You only need to deliver the present now, Niklas. Oh, and drop it down the chimney, of course. Those are the only two points left on the list.”
Clare nodded. “There you go. You’ve got this!”
Mrs Dollimore reached out her hand and placed it over his on the table. “I know you will succeed, Niklas. I can feel it in my bones.”
Niklas smiled. “I might not—”
“What do you say, shall we tuck into the Christmas pudding?”
Niklas and Clare cleared the table, while Mrs Dollimore got the pudding out.
Niklas had never eaten an English Christmas pudding before. He helped himself to a large portion of it, with a generous dollop of brandy cream. He had a first mouthful — and was immediately reminded of the English people’s love for dried fruit. The Christmas pudding was stuffed to bursting point with raisins. He reached for the bra
ndy cream and scooped what was left in the bowl over his pudding.
“I’m happy you like the brandy cream, Niklas,” Mrs Dollimore said.
Niklas grinned at her.
“I’ll see if maybe there’s some more in the kitchen. Did you want more brandy cream, Clare?” Mrs Dollimore pushed her chair back.
Clare shook her head with a satisfied sigh.
Mrs Dollimore nodded proudly. “Do you like the Christmas pudding? I made it back in November.”
Niklas peered suspiciously at the sticky black pudding. “So long ago?” He ate the rest of it, taking plenty of brandy cream with every spoonful.
“That’s it, Niklas, make sure you fill up,” Mrs Dollimore said. “You’ve got an important job to do tonight.”
“I don’t know if I’ve got time for that now. With my new job.”
Mrs Dollimore twitched. “Oh, but I thought… You’re not going to start straight away, are you? It’s Christmas Eve — surely they don’t want you in Cambridge tonight? I’m sure it can wait until after the holidays.”
Niklas nodded. “They just want me to come to the job centre today and look at the requirements. But I’ll be busy preparing for my interview.” He scraped up the last streaks of brandy cream from the bottom of his bowl. “And I won’t be stationed in Cambridge. They want me at the Amundsen-Scott station.”
Mrs Dollimore finished up her last bit of pudding and glanced up at him. “What’s that, Niklas?”
Clare stared at him. “It’s in Antarctica.” She shook her head. “They want him to go to the South Pole.”
Mrs Dollimore dropped her spoon.
37
The doctoral defence was in May. It had been a warm spring, and lilac and bird cherry trees were in full bloom, dousing Helsinki in their heady fragrance. Niklas stood on the podium, looking at his scarce audience: his supervisor, the faculty council, a few members from his research group. Pekka Aho wasn’t there, and neither was Emma.
He had practised the presentation over and over, and worked through it on autopilot. The opponent was a Japanese scientist who was a guest researcher at the university. His questioning offered no surprises and Niklas answered him mechanically.
Emma didn’t come to the karonkka, even though she had said she would. Niklas found his eyes wandering towards the door throughout the dinner, while doing his best to smile and keep his opponent entertained. The waiter placed Emma’s rosemary lamb in front of an empty chair.
“Niklas!”
Niklas noticed Juha was looking at him. Juha nodded towards the opponent, who was also looking at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said, what are your plans for the future?”
Niklas shook his head. The future. “I haven’t got anything planned at the moment. Maybe I’ll try to find a post-doc position somewhere.” He shuffled his food around the plate.
When everybody else had finished, Emma’s lamb still sat untouched in front of the empty chair.
It slowly dawned on Niklas that she wasn’t going to come. But she had to! They were meant to be together — why else had he run into her outside the canteen that day? Why had she kissed him? She had said she would come, so she must be coming. People were beginning to rise from their seats and were heading over to him.
“No,” he said, too loud. “She said she would be here!”
“Who?” Juha asked. He too was standing up. Everyone was standing up around him.
“She’s coming! You can’t leave yet.” They all stared at him. Niklas realised he had been shouting. “She’s coming! Don’t go. You have to sit down again!”
The Japanese opponent tried to shake his hand.
It was a dark summer, mostly spent in the house. Sometimes the phone rang, but he never answered it. Juha came over twice to check on him, but otherwise, Niklas didn’t talk to anybody apart from the staff at K-Supermarket. Summer turned into autumn. One day in late September, Niklas saw Emma again, with Pekka Aho. Hand in hand, they were walking towards him on the opposite side of the street. She was wearing an orange dress that wasn’t like anything she’d worn before, and her hair looked different, straighter somehow. She spotted him and their eyes met for a fraction of a second, then she quickly turned her head away. Pekka spotted him too and winked an eye at him. They walked off, and that was the last time Niklas saw either of them.
Soon thereafter, the university advertised a research position in the Arctic. Niklas couldn’t say exactly why he applied. He didn’t at the time have any particular interest in the polar regions, but he knew a thing or two about materials physics that could be applied to ice formation. He interviewed for a panel of senior faculty members, including Juha.
“So you want to go to the North Pole?” Juha leaned back in his chair and studied him over his round glasses.
Niklas nodded. It seemed a good place to go. Far enough away from everyone.
38
As Niklas pulled his snow boots on, Clare caught up with him in the hallway. He tried to read her facial expression, but as far as he could tell, it was completely free of emotion. “She says you should take this.” Clare handed him the scooter in its gift-wrap paper. “Just give it to some random kid, I guess. It doesn’t matter.”
Niklas took the scooter. “Is she in the kitchen? I’ll just tell her I’m leaving.”
“No, she’s upstairs, resting. I’ll tell her you’ve gone. What I don’t understand is… Never mind. Just do what you want.”
He opened the door and stepped outside. “I’ll be about an hour, maybe two.” He turned back to her. “Will you be here when I come back?”
Clare shook her head.
He raised his hand and waved goodbye. Clare shut the door.
The sky that had been clear earlier in the day was now obscured by low-hanging clouds, lit from below by millions of London streetlights, and reflecting a yellow glow over the city. Niklas walked the twenty minute walk to the job centre, treading the now familiar streets which had felt so foreign the first time he made his way there.
A bell jingled cheerfully when he opened the door and stepped inside. The lights were dimmed, and at first, he wondered if they had all gone home for the holidays and forgotten to lock the door, but then he heard a muffled sound from a corner. A television was on with its volume turned down to an indistinguishable mumble. Niklas approached it. The program was a British television show called Bargain Hunt, where contestants were given a sum of money to spend on antiques. Mrs Dollimore sometimes had it on in the afternoon, and once Niklas had watched it with her.
A woman cleared her throat behind him and Niklas spun around. She was sitting behind a desk at the back of the room. Niklas vaguely recognised her in her cat-eye glasses and frilly hair. She signalled him over. “Dr Heikkinen,” she said. “Do take a seat.” She had a name-badge pinned to her black suit — “Margaret”, it read. Ah, yes, that was what she said when she phoned.
Niklas hung his red parka over the blue plastic chair by the side of her desk and sat down.
“It’s good of you to come in. The others have gone home already, but I wanted to stay and wait for you. I must say I thought you would be a difficult one, but we never give up on a client.” She smiled at him.
Niklas looked at her screen. She was playing solitaire, a game he was well versed in from his days as a PhD student. “What do they want me to do?” he asked.
Margaret closed the solitaire window, even though she had a good shot at winning the game. “I’m sure they’ll tell you more in the interview, but these are the specifications.” She handed him a printout from the top of a pile of papers on her desk. “Shall we schedule the interview for the twenty-seventh? Eleven o’clock?”
Niklas nodded. “That should be fine.” He read the job specification. They wanted him to be part of a research group to investigate glacial erosion in the Antarctic continent. His group would be based at the Amundsen-Scott station and do regular field excursions. “This looks like it will suit me,” he said. “It’s similar to my previo
us job.”
Margaret smiled. “I’m very happy to hear that. It’s all above my head, but I thought of you straight away when the job came in.”
Niklas glanced at the photo on Margaret’s desk. A family, posing against a white background. Smiling.
“My daughter and her children.” Margaret nodded to the photo. “It sounds absolutely thrilling what you do, Dr Heikkinen. You’re lucky to have such a fascinating career. A polar researcher. But I suppose it takes a certain mindset. It’s not a job for everyone.”
Niklas nodded. “Yes. I enjoy science.”
“And it’s so important, now with the ice caps melting. It was on the news only yesterday. You’ll be the one saving the planet.”
Niklas stared at the television. “It’s an interesting field.”
“I, for one, could never be away from my family for that long. I’d miss them terribly.”
Niklas studied the paper in his hands. It detailed the requirements in a bullet-point list, and it looked like he was a good match.
Margaret continued, “They live around the corner from me, so I see them nearly every day, but it will still be a treat to have them over tomorrow. I love Christmas — it’s my favourite time of the year.”
“Can you turn it off, please? I need to concentrate.” Niklas nodded towards the television.
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Margaret clicked a button on a remote control, and the television switched off. “It’s all the magic. We all get to be children again at this time of year, don’t we?”
“Yes.”
“It must be lonely for you to stay in a hotel over Christmas. I’d invite you to my house if I could, but I’m afraid it’s against our policy.”
Niklas shook his head. “Thanks, but no. I… I’m not alone.”
“No? I thought you were in a hotel…” Margaret consulted her screen. “Bed and breakfast, it says here. Well, it doesn’t matter right now. Just make sure we have the right address on any documents you sign.” Margaret handed him a document and a pen. “If you would sign here to say we’ve helped you set up the interview…” She pointed to a dotted line.
