Laurie Ellingham - Ours is the Winter - a gripping story of love, friendship and adventure

Day 8. Return to Huskyleir

Today you say goodbye to Sweden and board your minibus back to Norway, returning to Huskyleir where you’ll have the opportunity to say goodbye to your huskies and head into Tromsø where you’ll enjoy an evening in this popular Norwegian tourist destination and spend a night in a hotel.

Day 9. Home

Time to say goodbye to your new friends and leave this spectacular Arctic challenge.

Let’s get mushing!

Chapter 1

Day 1

Erica

‘Why are you doing this? You don’t even like dogs.’ Henry’s voice echoed in Erica’s head as she scooped up her rucksack and boots from the bedroom floor. In a matter of minutes the sky outside the window had turned from inky blue to light grey, picking out the bedroom furniture in dull shadow.

Anger stirred inside her. Sudden and sharp – like heartburn – a remnant of last night’s fight. Erica glanced at the sleeping form of her husband. The hump of his long lean body was cocooned inside the red covers. Only his feet and his mop of pepper grey hair were visible.

The air was thick with the smell of sleep and the lingering menthol scent of Olbas oil from Henry’s cold earlier in the week.

Erica peeled open the bedroom door and tiptoed across the hall. ‘Or cold.’ Henry’s caustic voice again, just before he’d swigged back a mouthful of red wine. ‘And you’re going to the bloody Arctic, Erica.’

So much for the romantic evening they’d planned. So much for a farewell dinner together, just the two of them for a change; without Isla distracting them; without the murmur of TV news in the background. But by the time Isla had finally settled, the steaks had lost their succulence and neither of them had had the energy to be kind.

Henry was right about the dogs and the cold, of course.

‘They’re not fun dogs,’ she’d tried to explain, tried to placate the argument he’d been gunning for by that point. ‘They’re huskies. They’ll be doing their thing, and I’ll be doing mine. Other than shout “mush” at them, I’ll be leaving them alone. And, yes, it will be cold but I’ll probably be too busy and too tired to notice.’

As for why – why was she going? She was going for Molly. She was going because she needed time away to think, to find her way out from under the lies threatening to bury her. All of a sudden the anger dissolved leaving only a twinge of regret. She had no right to be angry.

It was darker in the hallway. There were no windows, no fingers of daylight creeping in. Just four closed doors – the study, the bathroom, the master bedroom, and Isla’s room. Erica ran a finger over the smooth edges of the four colourful wooden letters stuck to their daughter’s bedroom door as she passed.

‘I don’t understand why it always has to be you who goes on these things, Erica,’ Henry had said as they’d cleared the plates from the table. ‘I get that Channel 6 like their employees to take part in charity events, but surely one of the fame-hungry presenters or a less experienced producer at the station could go?’ Even in a haze of wine and resentment Henry had chosen his words carefully, but Erica had known what he’d meant. He’d meant younger. Surely someone younger could have gone in Erica’s place?

If only he knew.

The shhh of the boiler humming into life spurred Erica to keep moving. Six a.m. She had to get out of here. Erica shifted the weight of her rucksack further onto her shoulder and, avoiding the creaks, she zigzagged silently down the stairs.

Daylight slipped through the porthole glass in the front door and the gaps in the living room curtains. The light illuminated the polished wood floor stretching across their open-plan living room – the colourful plastic toys heaped to one side, and the empty wine glasses on the coffee table.

Erica slipped her feet into the fluffy wool of her thermal socks and stuffed them into her boots. She caught her reflection in the mirror and smiled. For once it wasn’t the lines crinkling around her green eyes that Erica focused on, it was the excitement dancing inside them. She touched the brittle edges of her dark red hair where it skimmed her shoulders.

Did she really look any different than when she was twenty-nine? Her hair was a shade darker, thanks to the addition of a colour at the salon she visited every six weeks, and no thanks to the appearance of more than a few grey hairs. Her hair and skin were a little duller than she remembered. A trick of the light perhaps, or just a decade of long hours making her way up the career ladder to the Senior Producer of daytime news at Channel 6.

Erica blinked and for the smallest of seconds she saw her mother’s face staring back from the mirror. Erica shook her head and stepped close enough to see the spattering of freckles across her nose. The past ten years had disappeared in the blink of an eye. She’d got married, she’d bought her first house, she’d had a child, and yet time seemed to be perpetually on fast-forward. She was still the same person though. Twenty-nine or thirty-nine, she was still the same.

It grated her insides that not everyone could it, see her. Was she just a number now? Erica had just as much ambition as she’d had ten years ago. She was just as motivated, just as hard-working. She was just as smart; except now, she was experienced too. Erica was good at her job. One of the best. That counted for something. At least it should. More than any number counted, anyway.

Erica sighed and with a final glance in the mirror she stepped to the front door.

The old wood stuck in its frame for a moment as she tugged the handle. Then it opened with a shudder, blasting fresh cold air onto her face, and with it came a burst of adrenaline. She was going. Finally.

‘Hang on,’ Henry’s voice shouted from above her.

Something dropped inside Erica’s stomach. Could she pretend she hadn’t heard? Erica pulled the door open wider and made another step towards freedom. She didn’t want to leave with last night’s argument hanging between them, but she didn’t want to say goodbye either. She hated goodbyes. Besides, what difference did it make if she left now? If she stayed they’d only argue again.

Who’s fault is that? The voice came from nowhere. His voice in her head, or her own conscience, she couldn’t tell.

‘Erica, wait,’ her husband bellowed.

She sighed as Henry’s blue-check pyjama bottoms appeared at the top of the stairs. Too late now.

Erica pushed the front door shut and leaned against it for a beat before fixing a smile on her face and turning around.

Isla unleashed a squeal of delight at Henry’s jiggling run down the stairs. The wide-eyed joy of their thirteen-month-old daughter melted Erica’s heart and suddenly it didn’t matter if she argued with Henry; Erica got to see, hold, be with her daughter one last time.

Isla was wearing a bubble-gum pink Baby-gro covered with red strawberries – one of a dozen garish gifts Henry’s mother had given them in the last year. The curve of a smile poked out from either side of Isla’s orange dummy and spread across her chubby cheeks.

‘Sorry, did I wake you?’ Erica asked, allowing her rucksack to slip from her shoulder and drop to the floor with a light thud.

‘No, but you should have done. I thought your flight wasn’t until this afternoon?’ Henry replied, reaching the hallway and shifting Isla’s weight onto his other hip before using a free hand to smooth down tufts of his wayward hair.

‘It’s not, but I thought I’d pop into the office first and make sure everything is set for my week away,’ she lied, lifting Isla out of Henry’s arms and into her own. ‘Anyway, you know I hate goodbyes.’ She buried her face in the creases of Isla’s neck, as much to breathe in the precious scent of her daughter as to hide her face from Henry.