Prologue: Gael, now
Twenty years. In the beginning, grief is a crushing weight you’re convinced you cannot bear. After two decades, you can bear it but the effort changes you. The others have altered too, an extra line on the brow, a slight stoop, a shadow behind the eyes. Although no one liked to talk about it. Over the years, our gatherings have become less of a memorial to death and more a celebration of life. Our lives go on. That’s the strange thing about this biennial tradition: the more comfort and reassurance it brings, the worse that silent sense of guilt. Five university friends, now spread across the globe, return every twenty-four months for New Year’s Eve. We celebrate, but it’s also a punishment for the horrible events of 1999. Sometimes I question why we do it to ourselves.
Grief and guilt have combined into an alloy, a chain which over the years stretched a little longer. Sometimes I forgot it was there. But then, just as a walk breaks into a run, the chain pulls tight, tying me like a yard dog to what happened on 31 December twenty years ago. Maybe it’s the same for the others, I couldn’t say.
Twenty years. Finally, it was my turn to organise one of our reunions. It wasn’t deliberate that I always ended up at the back of the queue. Every time it was Gael’s year, circumstances changed. Someone had a better idea or an insider tip or an offer we couldn’t refuse. But in 2019, the responsibility for the New Year’s Eve party was all mine.
My chalet suggestion was an immediate winner. Of course I’d given them other options, though none as attractive as a Swiss chalet in the Alps. It had everything: a big kitchen, enough space for each of us to have privacy, a fireplace and that cosy feeling of being protected from the winter. Just perfect for the twentieth anniversary of our friendship. It should have been our best NYE ever. As it turned out, it was our last.
I sometimes wonder if we would have stayed friends without the shared trauma of loss. If Dhan was still with us, would we have enough reason to meet every two years? In my memory, we were the closest gang of mates, completely inseparable and would have stayed that way forever. But how much of that closeness was created in retrospect? Perhaps the five of us cleaved to each other to close the gap. That gap where number six should be.
Dhanesh. I pictured his face, black eyes flashing with animation, eyebrows as mobile as bats and white teeth inviting me to join in his amusement. His voice with its South London vowels and how he used to ham up an Indian accent for laughs. I closed my eyes with an audible sigh. Twenty years on and I still missed him.
My mind slipped its leash and wandered back to that night twenty years ago. I tried to drag myself back to the present or the future but the path to the past was well worn and familiar. You can’t spend twenty years thinking about the same event and just suddenly stop. The mind doesn’t work that way. At least, this mind won’t.
The country retreat was Dhan’s idea. Somewhere out in the back of beyond, away from all the hype and expectation, shitty fireworks and crappy parties. Just us and the natural world as we watched the passing of a millennium. It surprised me to see Mr Life-and-Soul eschew the celebrations of a lifetime, but he insisted the night should be meaningful. He hit every syllable of that word.
We agreed. Of course we did. Where else would we go and who with? The six of us spent every significant moment together. More importantly, we shared the insignificant ones too. We were best friends, a cosy clique and when I look back at those times now, I would describe us as an unhealthy co-dependency. Twenty years ago, I didn’t know that expression existed.
When Mika offered his place near Prague and told us about the lake; that was totally unexpected. Simone caused a fuss because that is what Simone does. Jumping into a frozen lake, was he crazy? The lake might be dirty and we would all get sick! What if something went wrong with the sauna? There was no one around for kilometres! Who would rescue us?
When Simone flapped, her voice grew higher and her French accent more pronounced. Her theatrical alarm made it easy to laugh at her, despite the fact she voiced everyone’s fears. We each adopted our usual roles. Dhan made jokes, turning one of her silk scarves into a superhero’s cape and promising to rescue her. Lovisa sat beside her, holding her hand and addressing her concerns with practical answers. Clark teased her about being a French drama queen and Mika played the paterfamilias. He repeated how his family did this every year and nobody had even so much as suffered a scratch. Dhan did his Flipper routine; arms stiff, body bobbing, wide eyes and huge grin. No one could resist the performing dolphin, even if one was unlikely to be present in a Czech lake.
The imminent adventure sounded like a break from the norm. This was an opportunity to be part of things and I’d be damned if I’d let the girls’ side down. Choosing my moment, I announced I was going to jump into the frozen lake and no one could stop me. Lovisa gave me a high-five. Simone’s protests subsided into shrugs and sighs. Until she saw the lake.
After our respective Christmas celebrations, we were giddy and overexcited to get away, just as we should be. Flights and trains into Prague all arrived at separate times, so we arranged to stay in the same hotel and meet for dinner. Next day, Mika took us on a tour of his capital city, bursting with pride whilst we froze to our bones. For once, the first one to complain was not Simone. It was me. The others understood the realities of minus 15° and dressed appropriately. Sure, I wore a thick coat, a beanie, gloves and sturdy boots. My jeans became so cold they stiffened into cardboard, chafing at each step. My nose and buttocks were numb and I was in desperate need of a warm drink. After ten minutes of my moaning, Mika took us to an underground bar, bought beers, hot chocolates and a peppermint tea for Simone. By the time I had thawed out, we were on the move again. Prague was pretty, at least what I could see of it between the tourists, with plenty of Gothic atmosphere. But way too perishing cold.
In the morning, we left for Mika’s cabin in the forest. My disappointment about the castle was no longer an issue. When Mika first proposed we spent the change of millennium together in the Czech Republic at his family’s place, I assumed he meant their aristocratic pile. I’d seen the pictures – online, Mikhael would never be so crass as to show off his family wealth. So when he explained his proposal was a holiday cabin at the lake, I had to call on all my thespian training to hide my disappointment. Dhan understood. Dhan always understood.
“What matters to us, Gael, is that we are together. Yeah, of course a Transylvanian castle would be a magic location, but ...”
“It’s not Transylvanian, it’s Bohemian.”
“Whatever. The thing with the castle is we would be guests of Mika’s family. On our best behaviour, trying to remember how to say thank you in Czech and not guzzling too much champagne. In the cabin, we will be on our own. We can cook, eat, drink and dance as much as we like. Best of all, we can get sweaty in the sauna, run through the snow and jump into the lake. Gael, this is gonna be the best New Year’s Eve in living memory.”
Dhan’s deep brown eyes, simultaneously sincere and amused, gave me no choice but to capitulate. I let go of the castle.
“You’d better be right about that. Anyway, it’s not the castle per se, just the chance to see how the other half live. I want to know how it feels to have staff, acres of land, horses and peacocks and corridors filled with fine art. Just for one weekend, I want to be a guest at a country house and enjoy the luxury of dressing for dinner.”
He threw his head back, laughing and clapping his palms together. “You never got over Jane Austen, did you? I get it, Gael, I really do. We’re in a world where everyone takes success for granted because they were born to it. In this particular Regency romance, you’re the pretty maid with the fine eyes. Make no mistake, a handsome young sire shall spot you with your pert ways and pluck you from the flock. Thou shalt have a happy ending.”
“And you?”
“Me? No roles for Brown Man with Big Mouth. Perhaps when Memsahib goes on a tour of the Empire, I can be Tubby Bloke in Turban fanning table with banana leaf. Talking of the Raj, do you fancy a G&T?”
On December 30, we departed Prague in Mika’s minivan. The way I remember it, we left right after breakfast, but that’s not possible because we didn’t arrive till after dusk. The ambience was a mixture of trepidation and excitement. No one, not even Mika, knew exactly what to expect when the six of us would spend three days in the back of beyond. Sure, we’d spent last New Year’s Eve together and the New Year’s Eve before that, but those were at a club in one of Geneva’s arty joints beside the Rhone and the first year university party on campus. There we were part of a crowd, able to mingle and mix, with the opportunity of simply leaving if we were not having fun. Not that any of us ever did. We stuck together, maybe dancing, flirting or conversing with someone else of our acquaintance, but always returning to sit with the group.
This time, it was different. We were closer, more of a unit than six individuals, and had no need of the herd. Where else would you want to spend the Millennium New Year’s Eve but with your five best friends? In a castle, in a cabin, in a caravan, what did it matter? We wanted to celebrate such an event together in a conscious effort of making memories.
The drive to the cabin took almost two hours, through snowy rolls and folds of a landscape so uniformly white and blank, it was like driving through a gigantic duvet. We crossed bridges, spotted forests patterned with white-dusted pine trees, encouraged each other to admire the sunset, the only colour in the entire palette. Flakes of snow changed from hypnotic grey dots coming at us from the white sky to hypnotic white dots looming out of the dark blue night. The effect was like being in a spaceship whizzing through the stars.
Conversation had dried up along with the daylight and we travelled in silence. Mika and Lovisa rode up front, Clark and me in the row behind, our luggage between us. I glanced over my shoulder at the rear seats. Simone had fallen asleep on Dhan’s shoulder. I couldn’t see if he was awake or not.
Mika indicated and we left the main road to take a smaller lane into the forest. It had a light covering of snow and as far as I recall, we didn’t see another vehicle pass in the opposite direction. The sense of being off grid and in the wilderness enveloped me, and I nudged Clark. We grinned at each other but said nothing.
“Here we go,” said Mika, taking a still narrower lane into the trees. It opened out into a clearing, and a huge body of frozen water stretched away as far as I could see. The van came to a halt and we scrambled out, keen to get a look at our holiday home for the next three days.
Rustic, basic as hell and far smaller than I’d expected. Maybe I hadn’t really got over the castle. Only three rooms, all with double beds, so immediately things were awkward. Mika and Lovisa took the master bedroom, as was their right. The two guest rooms were both a decent size but designed for couples. Clark and I were great mates and had previously exchanged bodily fluids, but I had no intention of letting that become a habit.
“I’m crazy excited to see the sauna,” said Clark. Mika led us to the end of a corridor and opened the door. Inside was a pine-scented room with four wooden slatted loungers, assorted chairs and in the corner, a small interior room with a single black window. Clark and I opened the door and stuck our heads in. Two broad shelves, some kind of coal container and a wooden bucket with a ladle. I joined in with the oohs and aahs because it was, as Simone said, charmingly Nordic. It was also sinister as hell in that cabin-in-the-woods kind of way.
“Can I sleep in here?” asked Clark. “No offence, Gael, but I think both of us would be more relaxed in separate rooms. You know what, I really like the smell of this wood.”
“You can sleep anywhere you like,” said Mika. “Guys, I want you to be comfortable. I’ll find some bed linen for Clark while the rest of you unpack. Then let’s meet in the kitchen. Tonight, we’re going local. Sausages, cheese, potato cakes and a few civilised beers. Because we’re keeping our powder dry for New Year’s Eve!”
Everyone bundled out of the door, enthused and delighted with our new quarters. Only Clark and I stayed behind.
I shuffled up to stand beside him and dropped my head against his shoulder. “Thank you,” I said. “You’re a decent man.”
He tilted his head to rest it on mine. “Life is all about choices, sweetcheeks,” he said. “May we always be free to choose. You know what, unpacking can wait. I fancy a Czech Pilsner and some of that stinking beer cheese. See, you’re already glad we’re not sharing a room.” He planted a kiss on my forehead and with long strides, followed the others up the corridor.
We didn’t go out that night. Where would we have gone? Mika and Lovisa prepared something not particularly memorable for dinner; we played games, drank strong Czech beer and stared at the fire while talking about what a change of the millennium might mean for us. We were all optimistic for the future, for each other, for the planet. Mellow, comfortable and happy to be together. Lovisa and I sat on a sheepskin rug, our backs to the sofa, arms entwined, laughing over her translations of Finnish Christmas songs. Dhan disentangled himself from Simone’s octopus embrace and stood in front of the fireplace to give a speech, blathering on about new beginnings for all of us. He thanked Mika for providing the location, he thanked all of us for being the best mates he’d ever had and he thanked whoever brewed Czech Pilsner. The last thing I remember before I bade my friends goodnight was eating some kind of nutty, treacly pastry. No idea where it came from but it stuck my teeth together and I threw most of it into the fire. Everyone went to bed early. After all, we were saving ourselves for the start of the new millennium.
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