ICEHOTEL (2 page)

She was watching me. ‘You will get over this, Maggie. But
you’ve got to give yourself a chance.’

I looked into her eyes, wondering why, after all these
months, she still believed it. Probably because she didn’t know the whole
story. Nor did I, come to that. Yet until I did, there’d be no recovery and the
dream would overwhelm me. All it needed was a single sharp tug at the thread of
my fraying sanity, and it would unravel completely.

‘It isn’t just about what happened there, Maggie, although
those events were terrible enough. Something else is behind this dream.’ She
paused. ‘You’ve come to the same conclusion.’

After a silence, I said, ‘The police got it wrong. They got
it all wrong. I need to know what really happened.’

‘And what’s stopping you?’

‘I might discover something that . . .’ I tailed off, unable
to find the words.

‘Something you want to discover, yet something you dread
discovering?’ she said softly. ‘The thing in the bath.’

‘If I discover it, will it release me from this . . .’ – I
gave my head a small shake – ‘from this hell?’

‘Nothing else will. And I think you know that. But we can
make the journey together.’ Her eyes held mine. ‘Will you tell me what
happened?’

I nodded slowly.

‘Start at the beginning, then. Start with how you came to be
at the Icehotel.’

So, as the wind seized the windows and rattled them, wailing
to be let in, I told Dr Langley everything.

It was Harry who’d raised the idea.

We were in Liz’s back garden. Summer was slipping away,
making a last desperate attempt to survive with a spell of balmy weather.
Although the time for shorts and t-shirts had passed, there was enough heat in
the pale September sun to warm our upturned faces.

I was watching Liz’s children, Annie and Lucy. They were
running around the plum tree, playing a chasing game I recognised from
childhood, their shrieking laughter eclipsing the droning of the wasps drunk on
the rotting plums. The twins had inherited their mother’s looks – creamy skin,
blonde hair, and blue eyes – but their hair wasn’t straight like hers, hanging
in short heavy ringlets which bounced as they moved. The curls were held back
with hair slides and, as Annie and Lucy were identical twins, the colour of the
slides was the only way to tell them apart.

Liz was the sister I’d never had, my closest friend with
whom I’d passed a blissful childhood and teens. After her divorce, she moved
from London back to Edinburgh to start a new life with her children. I’d run
into her two years before, and we took up our friendship as though we’d never
put it down. It was she who’d introduced me to Harry Auchinleck, ‘a gay
gentleman in his fifties’, and a Professor at Edinburgh University. An
accredited Cordon Bleu cook, he shared Liz’s love of entertaining, and most of
our Sundays were spent at his legendary buffet lunches. Harry and I hit it off
immediately, and it wasn’t long before he, Liz, and I, became inseparable.

Liz was picking over the last of the strawberries, examining
each one before popping it into her mouth. As she chewed, the velvety mole on
her cheek jiggled up and down. I’d once tried to give myself a beauty spot with
an eyebrow pencil, but had smudged it without realising, and spent the entire
evening at a party looking as though I had a tadpole on my face.

Harry had just mooted the idea of the holiday. He was
sitting under the sunshade, wearing his battered panama hat. He’d exchanged his
spectacles for an ancient pair of sunglasses, held together with sticky tape.
‘So we’re agreed, then,’ he said, pushing them further up his nose. ‘And you’re
sure next spring will work for you, Liz?’

‘Absolutely,’ she said, running a hand over her ponytail. ‘I
can leave the girls with their grandparents. They’re awfully fond of the
children. But let me get the diary so I can check the dates.’

As she passed me, moving with that idle grace that comes
naturally to some women, I caught a trace of her perfume, Paris, by Yves Saint
Laurent.

‘It was too easy, Harry,’ I said. ‘I was certain that p
rising Liz from her children would be much more difficult.
’
I leant back, drenching myself in the heady scent of jasmine.

‘My dear, gift horses and mouths spring to mind. If only
persuasion were as easy with my head of department.’

I smiled, my eyes still closed. ‘I thought those travel
brochures you brought might be tempting fate.’

‘The important thing is that she’s agreed to take a holiday.
She’s run ragged half the time, and it’s healthy to loosen the umbilical cord a
bit.’ He lowered his voice unnecessarily. ‘I’m delighted you’re able to come,
Maggie. It would have been improper for me to take her away, even though I’m a
crusty professor, old enough to be her father, and everyone knows I bat for the
other side.’

‘Harry, no-one bothers about that sort of thing these days.’

At that point, Liz returned with a large leather-bound book.
‘March, you said? How about the first week?’

‘Has to be second week, my dear.’

I glanced at him, surprised at the firmness in his voice. ‘I
thought you had that conference in Rome then,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you the
chairman, or something?’

‘I’ve decided to cancel.’ His tone discouraged further
questions. ‘Now, children, I know we discussed a beach holiday, but I’ve rather
set my mind on skiing.’

‘Fine by me,’ said Liz. ‘So, France or Switzerland?’

He poured himself another Pimms. ‘Sweden.’

‘I didn’t know there was skiing in Sweden, Harry,’ I said.
‘Seems an odd choice.’

‘I was there briefly last year, and I’d really like to see
the place properly.’

‘
Okay
, where are the
brochures
?’ I said, watching the twins.

They’d stripped to their knickers and were running under the
arcing jets from Liz’s garden-watering contraption. Thoroughly soaked, they
charged at Harry and banged into the table, upsetting the jug of Pimms. They
pressed against him, leaving wet marks on his trousers.

Annie, the older of the twins by five minutes, spoke with
the authority conveyed by her status. ‘Do the trick with the flower, Harry.’

His round face broke into creases,
happiness making him instantly younger. H
e removed the red carnation
pinned to his cricket whites and, with an impressive sleight of hand, made it
disappear. He held up both hands, palm outwards, for the girls to inspect, then
reached over and pulled the carnation from behind Lucy’s ear. The girls
squealed with delight.

Lucy jumped up and down. ‘Do it again, Harry. Do it again.’

Harry did it again. I’d seen this trick many times, as had
the girls, but we never tired of it. Fortunately, neither did Harry.

Liz was poring over a
catalogue
.
‘There’s skiing way up near the border with Norway.’ She shooed the twins away,
and they skipped off happily.

‘Nothing further south?’ Harry said, disappointment in his
voice.

‘That’s not where the mountains are, I’m afraid.’ She
scanned the pages, frowning in concentration, then sat up so quickly she spilt
her drink over her jeans. ‘Oh, wow, forget skiing. This is it. This is the
one.’ She read from the brochure:

‘For a winter holiday with a difference, why not spend a
week discovering the spectacular scenery of Lapland, the land of the Northern
Lights? The highlight of this unforgettable experience is a stay in the unique
Icehotel.’

‘Ice hotel?’ said Harry.

‘It’s spelt Icehotel, all one word.’ She read on:

‘Set near the town of Kiruna, the Icehotel is built
entirely of ice and snow – a staggering 30,000 tons of snow and 10,000 tons of
ice are used in its construction. Each spring the Icehotel melts and each
winter it is rebuilt to a different design.’

‘A building made of
ice
?’ said Harry. ‘Not sure the
old constitution will stand it.’

‘We’re not in the Icehotel the whole week, sweetheart. Four
nights in a nearby hotel.’ She looked up, her expression anxious. ‘Please,
Harry, let’s go. We can do skiing some other time.’

He smiled faintly. ‘Of course, my dear, if that’s what
you’ve set your heart on. But where exactly is Kiruna?’

‘North of the Arctic Circle. There’s an airport, so it’s not
exactly in the sticks.’

‘The Arctic Circle.’ He spoke quietly, almost to himself. ‘A
fair distance from Stockholm then, but if there’s an airport, I could fly
there.’

I tried to catch his eye. Was it my imagination, or was he
deliberately not looking at me? First he’d cancelled attendance at the Rome
conference, which he’d spent months organising, and now he was muttering about
flying to Stockholm. Something wasn’t right . . .

‘You’re awfully quiet, Mags,’ Liz said. She placed the
brochure in my hands. ‘Take a look.’

I studied the photograph. I was mildly disappointed: I’d
expected a tall tiered building, white, and heavily decorated like a wedding
cake. But the Icehotel was an elongated igloo with low rectangular structures
on either side. It squatted against the darkening sky like a monstrous pale
toad. And it wasn’t white. It was blue – faintly, but distinctly, blue.

There was one other photograph. The caption read:
A guest
in one of the Icehotel’s bedrooms
. A girl wearing
ski
suit, gloves, and fur hat
was sitting on a bed covered in animal skins.
Frosted snakes curled behind her head like an anaemic
Medusa, but she seemed oblivious, leaning back, smiling radiantly. With a shock
of recognition, I realised that she was leaning against a headboard made of
ice, and the snakes were the curved patterns.

I ran a finger over the outline of
the building. An uneven glow radiated from its depths, as though the bloated
toad had swallowed fire. It was surreal, scary, and magnificent. I knew then
that I had to see it.

Liz took my silence for hesitation. ‘Come on, Mags, it’ll be
a hoot and a half.’

I looked up. ‘Oh yes,’ I said softly. ‘Let’s do it.’

She laughed,
a light ringing sound
like a bell, and
pushed Harry playfully. He made a joke of falling off the
chair and scattering the brochures.

He took the catalogue, nudging his reading glasses onto the
bridge of his nose. ‘My God, but look at the cost. I can’t afford this. I’m on
the edge of ruin, as it is.’

‘There’s a special offer, sweetheart. If we book within
seven days, it’s half-price. We really need to do this tomorrow at the very
latest, you know.’

‘Only seven days? How very awkward. Even with the discount
it’s a bit steep. What sort of people can afford this sort of holiday? I’m a
humble academic, remember.’

‘Ah, but it’ll be fantastic, Harry,’ she said, squeezing his
arm. ‘The holiday of a lifetime. You can mortgage the Rubens.’

‘Nice if I had one to mortgage. There’s nothing for it. I’ll
have to write another book.’

‘You do know you won’t be able to wear carnations in the
Icehotel, don’t you? They’ll shrivel at those temperatures.’

‘Ha, that’s not the only thing that’ll shrivel, dear girl.’

I listened as they made plans.

‘Look, there’s a Web site,’ Liz was saying. ‘We can book
online. Shall we use my computer?’

I lay back, warmed by the sun, trying to imagine a night in
a building made of ice. I closed my eyes and pictured the gleaming igloo. But
something had changed. The light was dwindling, fading slowly at first, then
more quickly until, with a bright flicker like the sudden rekindling of dying
embers, it vanished. The Icehotel darkened, growing menacing against the livid
sky.

I opened my eyes, touched by a strange fear.

Liz was on her feet. Her eyes were shining. ‘Come on, if
you’re coming, Mags.’

The feeling passed. My
excitement returned and I followed them indoors. In her office, Liz made the
booking. With a few clicks, our fate was sealed.

It was March of the following year,
and the plane was approaching the runway at Stockholm airport. Harry was wedged
between us, squeezing our hands tightly. He’d developed a fear of flying years
before, after his plane had landed badly at Charles de Gaulle airport. Sweat
had broken out on his forehead and his eyelids were fluttering. Although he’d
taken enough temazepam to knock out a horse, it had done nothing to reduce his
strength, and I winced as he crushed my fingers.

I glanced across at Liz. ‘You
okay
? You
look a bit preoccupied.’

‘I’ll be fine once we’ve landed and I can call the twins.’
She looked away. ‘I’m just awfully worried they’ll be suffering from separation
anxiety.’

‘The twins, Liz? Or you?’

She gave a lop-sided smile. It was clear she was finding it
difficult away from her children. I disentangled myself from Harry and squeezed
her fingers. Her hands were cold.

I wondered whether Harry had caught the conversation. His
eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. I thought he was asleep but I felt his
body stiffen as the wheels touched the tarmac.

An hour later, in the main airport café, we were waiting for
our flight to Kiruna to be called. Harry looked queasy, Liz was drinking
espresso, and I was demolishing a second breakfast.

Liz glanced at the smorgasbord. ‘Keep eating like that,
Mags, and you can kiss goodbye to that hour-and-a-half-glass figure.’

I pushed the plate away, smiling; my metabolism allowed me
to eat as much as I liked. But my smile faded as I saw Harry’s complexion. How
would he manage in a twenty-seater plane?

As if reading my thoughts, he said, ‘Could one of you
children please remind me to take my pills before we board? Otherwise you’ll
have to scrape me off the ceiling.’

‘Shush a minute, listen to this,’ Liz was saying. Her eyes
were glued to the banks of TV monitors. ‘It’s a news clip, I think, about a
murder. There’s a picture of a hotel. Pity I can’t understand very much, it’s
in Swedish.’