Working Wonders (20 page)

‘No, that was kidney machines,’ said Marcus from the other end of the room.

‘So, what’s the point in doing this if you don’t do it right, yeah? And doing it right means going for the best. And the best is in Skærgård.’

‘And you’re related to how many of them?’

Sven shrugged. ‘None of them. They’re just the best in the world at what they do. It’s a Danish thing. Like bacon.’

‘Like horse porn,’ said Arthur. ‘What are you proposing?’

‘We go there, and see what they do, then you can probably weigh up a decision between them – as artists – and some local Mr Watery-Molecules.’

‘An overseas jolly,’ said Arthur. ‘That’ll go down great in the papers.’

Sven turned to him. ‘Look, it’s not like you have a lot to lose at this point. And now the local boys won’t do it, and I’m telling you how good these ones are … don’t you even want to consider it?’

‘Don’t they have a catalogue?’

‘You can’t touch a catalogue! This is so good, it’s like real. You can cover the river, decorate the bridges … I’m telling you!’

‘Okay, okay, I’m listening.’

‘We need to see it.’

‘Who’s we?’

‘Well you, me – I speak the language …’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Gwyneth, Sandwiches.’

‘You can’t take Sandwiches!’

‘Yes I can! He loves Denmark and he’s got a pet passport.’

‘They gave him a passport?’ said Marcus. ‘What did you two do, get married?’

Sven and Sandwiches sniffed, and Sven leaned over and ferreted around in his grubby rucksack. He passed over a smart royal blue plastic booklet. Arthur opened it. He looked at Sven, looked at the dog and shook his head.

‘You’re joking, right?’

Sven shook his head.

‘Your dog has a
diplomatic
passport.’

Sven attempted false modesty. ‘Yeah.’

London fell away beneath them, a dingy grey puddle. Arthur sighed and settled back in his seat.

To his right, Gwyneth was buried in a pile of papers. She couldn’t understand Arthur at all. Ever since they had nearly … well … he had paid her no attention whatsoever. That was a good thing, of course, but … truth was, his stepping back had piqued her curiosity. She found herself thinking about him more and … but no. It was impossible. He was bonking his ex-girlfriend, for one thing, and for another he didn’t seem that keen, and for another … dammit. She tried to turn her attention back to the cost/benefit analysis.

Arthur looked at her bent-over profile and thought how gorgeous she was. But he’d fucked it up so badly. He sighed.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Gwyneth.

For a moment he considered telling her how he felt … no. Being called a dick in public was always embarrassing.

‘Nothing.’

‘Oh,’ said Gwyneth. ‘Well, we’ve had a good response from the street residents,’ she said, keeping it purely professional and passing over a sheaf of papers. ‘Quite a lot of them want to get involved. Although they seem to think we’re taking over their entire electricity bills.’

‘Great, that’s great,’ said Arthur, taking the papers gingerly and making sure their hands didn’t touch. ‘What about the traders for the fair?’

‘Fine. Although I think there’s going to be a preponderance of people selling oversized jester’s hats.’

‘Well, that’s traditional. Perhaps we should have a mediaeval dressing up day for the whole town?’

‘Yes, maybe. Although the insurance is going to be terrifying as it is. I’m not sure about throwing unwieldy costumes and sharp blades into the mix.’

Arthur looked up. ‘Nobody is going to fall under the ice, are they?’

‘Just those few small children here and there I expect.’

Arthur looked at her again.

‘I’m
kidding
.’

Sven leaned over from where he and Sandwiches were sitting behind them. ‘No-one will fall through. I’m telling you, this stuff is more solid than rock.’

Gwyneth snapped her fingers. ‘Hey – why don’t we have it on some rock?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ But Arthur was secretly smiling that she was even bothering to be sarcastic to him.

It was a plane trip, a taxi ride to the railway station and a long, long train ride through ever-thickening forest, and an ever-darkening sky. The country looked huge, and rather as Arthur had hoped for, he thought, pleased – like somewhere Santa Claus might live, or at least come on holiday from the North Pole. Snow lay thickly on the ground, and reindeer could be made out among the trees when the train slowed. Sandwiches leaped up at the window and gave them menacing looks, his paws scratching against the glass.

‘I didn’t know Sandwiches got violent,’ said Gwyneth. ‘I thought he just sicked up on things he didn’t like.’

‘Yes, that’s his primary mode of self-defence,’ said Sven. ‘But he’s always had a thing about reindeer. One antlered him as a pup. He went flying through the air and landed in …’

‘Some sandwiches?’ said Arthur.

‘
No
.’ Sven gave him a look as if this was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. ‘A bouncy castle. We were at a party.’

Gwyneth couldn’t help smiling. ‘What on
earth
did Sandwiches look like on a bouncy castle?’

‘Oh, he loved it. Wouldn’t come off it all afternoon. When he bounced higher than the wall he could see the reindeer. Woofed menacingly at them.’

‘Woof,’ said Sandwiches.

Arthur shook his head. ‘I swear that dog understands everything we say.’

‘I know,’ said Sven mournfully. ‘He’s losing all his Danish.’

Day was turning into evening, and Arthur was starting to worry.

‘They will see us, won’t they?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Sven. ‘I’ve spoken to them about it. They’ll meet us and talk to us, then decide if they want the job or not.’

‘They decide?’ said Arthur. ‘I thought it was us who decided whether or not to give them the work.’

Sven huffed. ‘Yeah, you wish.’

‘I wonder what it was like when I controlled things in my life?’ said Arthur. ‘Oh yeah, I remember. I never did.’

Finally, the train drew into Skærgård station. It was pitch dark, and bitterly cold. Arthur absolutely had to put up the hood of his jacket, even though he knew it made him look like a dick.

‘Wow, you look like such a dick,’ said Sven, who was wearing an enormous fur hat.

‘Thank you, Buzby. Now, where’s the cab rank?’

Sven smiled at him. ‘Oh, follow me, it’s just over here.’ He led them off through the steaming station waiting room and out into the forecourt, where both Arthur and Gwyneth stopped suddenly, their mouths hanging open.

In front of them was a row of large wooden sledges, lit by oil lamps swinging at the corners. The drivers were standing around chatting and stamping their feet, or rubbing down their horses. Bells attached to the horses’ reins made a tinkling sound as they moved.

‘Oh!’ was all Gwyneth could say. She broke into a ridiculously wide smile. Arthur saw it, and wanted to kiss her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life.

‘
Kontoret for Is og Sne, så gerne
.’ Sven hopped up into the first sleigh and beckoned the others, slipping Sandwiches under the blanket that was handily provided.

‘
Ja ja. Tyve minutter, OK
?’

‘Okay,’ said Sven.

Arthur leaped onto the sleigh immediately. That’s not terribly gallant, Gwyneth found herself thinking, until she saw him turn round, crouch and offer her his hand to help her climb up. Or it is, she thought, pleased.

‘Where did you go to sledge etiquette school?’ she asked, pulling her scarf tighter round her neck and sitting down in the middle of the boys.

‘My father always said it would come in handy – and it has!’ Arthur said. ‘Not sure about the bongo lessons, though. And the synchronized swimming was a complete waste of time.’

‘
Afgang!
’ shouted the driver, and the two horses moved away. Gwyneth looked around her in excitement. The town was small, and other sleighs passed them up and down the white streets. People walked in snow shoes. The houses were small and brightly painted. Through the wooden shutters they looked warm and cosy. Many had open fires. She saw a mother read a bedtime story to a sleepy tow-headed toddler wrapped in an elaborate sleep suit and wondered what it would be like to live here, in the frozen north. Her romantic fantasy lasted as long as it took for them to hit a massive rut in the road and for her to get snow down the collar of her jacket, but she still watched in wonder. The houses became more and more spaced out, and the whoosh of other vehicles – there were skidoos too, and the occasional Landrover – gradually died away as they passed into the open countryside. It was so dark now that all that could be seen were the haunting shapes of the forest around her, and the icicles hanging down over the pitted road. Occasionally she thought she saw movement through the trees, and she huddled down further under the blanket.

Arthur looked over her. To be so close – under the covers for goodness’ sake – and not to be able to touch her was torture. He leaned in and rubbed his chin against her red hat in a way that could have just about looked accidental.

‘Hey,’ she said as soon as he touched her.

‘Um, sorry …’ He moved back.

Gwyneth raised her eyebrows. Then she looked at him. ‘What?’ she said.

‘Nothing. Nothing. Sorry. It was an accident,’ he said defensively.

‘Okay, okay.’ God, thought Gwyneth. This bites. Maybe I just need something uncomplicated. Maybe with someone like Rafe …

The sleigh turned into what appeared in the dark to be an open field with a rutted trail across it. The horizon opened out. Gwyneth thought she could make out some lights at the far end of the field, and pointed them out to Sven, who nodded and leaned further over.

‘What is it?’ said Arthur. He couldn’t believe Gwyneth was still ignoring him.

‘Look! Do you think that’s where we’re going?’

As they strained their eyes, however, it suddenly felt as if morning had come. There was a definite, perceptible lightening in the air.

‘
Se
!
Se
!’ shouted the driver suddenly. He pointed straight up in the air, and they followed his finger.

‘Oh, oh my goodness,’ said Gwyneth, the breath knocked out of her.

Above them, the cloud cover had moved away and shimmering delicately in the night were strange, luminescent shades of green and pink, dotted with stars.

‘
Nordlys
,’ breathed Sven. ‘I’m home.’

Arthur nearly stood up. ‘I never … aurora borealis,’ he said. He looked at the others in excitement. ‘The northern lights … all my life …’ He cleared his throat as his voice caught, and sat down again suddenly. ‘Well. Um, it’s very exciting to see it, I mean.’

It was so beautiful, thought Gwyneth suddenly, staring at it and trying to swallow it with her eyes – it made her want to cry. It could almost make you believe in anything; an older world. The smell of pine in the air, the quiet crunch of the snow under the runners, the light tinkle of the bells – and apart from that, silence, and their dazzling private light show.

And there, at the far end of the field, now spread before them, was what looked like a madman’s playground.

A huge, towering castle loomed up in the murky dark – next to a statue of an elephant that was nearly the same size. Next to that was a huge Viking ship, sailing on to nowhere. The effect was extremely eerie. The sleigh proceeded towards it, as they pushed themselves forward.

‘What are we looking at?’ said Gwyneth.

‘We’re here,’ said Sven. ‘This is it.’

They passed slowly beneath the massive sculptures, looking around them in wonder, and feeling extremely small, holding the oil lanterns towards them to get a better view. The statues were at least thirty feet high, and close by, with the light of the lanterns and the stars above them, they could see they were made entirely of ice, so sharp and clean it looked like glass. Gwyneth realized that they weren’t in a field any more; there were no ruts or bumps. The horses’ hooves cracked and they slowed down measurably, and she realized they were passing over hard-packed snow on solid ice.

‘My God,’ said Arthur.

‘Beats your little skating rink man, huh?’ said Sven, but not nastily; he was as busy drinking in the view as the rest of them.

At the far end of the sculpture park – behind an enormous, impossible oak tree hewn entirely from frozen water – stood a small cottage made from logs. It looked isolated and lonely in the strange oversized landscape, but a warm glow came from its lighted windows.

‘
Stands her
,’ said Sven. The sleigh driver nodded. Then, gingerly, the party disembarked. Gwyneth expected to skid on the ice, but it felt surprisingly solid beneath her feet.

‘Right,’ said Arthur, and Gwyneth, looking at him, realized he was nervous. ‘Um … let’s go do the big ice thing.’

The man who answered the door looked infinitely old. He was tiny, and had a long beard, and privately Arthur wondered if he might be part dwarf. In fact, he was.