Page 1 of The Winter We Met
1
It was a misunderstanding that started it. I sat in the wrong row. The air steward said it didn’t matter. The flight wasn’t full and so I stayed there, by the window. We were about to take off.
I was travelling back to England after attending one of the many toy trade fairs that ran throughout the year, this time in Germany. I managed a shop called Under the Tree. It was the end of October and I was thinking ahead to next year’s must-have products. I yawned. It was an obscenely early flight.
Before heading to the airport I’d bought a little Bavarian cuckoo clock. I bent down and took it out of my hand luggage, put it on the seat next to me for a moment and grinned, imagining my plain-speaking gran’s face as the wooden bird flew noisily out of its door.
‘Must be a great joke.’
I looked up at the lofty frame, red jumper and eyes that laughed with me. Hastily, I put the clock back and removed my woollen bobble hat. He put his big rucksack and anorak into the overhead cabin and offered to lift my bag up there as well. Then he settled into the seat next to me and put on his seatbelt.
‘Sorry. I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Nik.’
He had an accent, it took me a moment to place it. Australian. He held out his hand and long fingers enveloped mine.
‘Jess,’ I said, unable to look away from those eyes, surprised by their startling blueness – and the tingly feeling spreading across my palm.
He glanced down at our hands and humorously raised an eyebrow. Blushing, I released him.
‘Sorry. Premature jet lag. I’ve been at a trade fair for two days and feel as if I could sleep through to next year’s.’
‘Me too. Nuremberg by any chance?’ he asked, and we chatted about how busy the fair had been.
‘So you manage a toy shop?’ he said, then really listened as I replied. His eyebrows moved up and down as we chatted. He was interested, paid attention.
Not everyone did that. It made me feel seen.
The plane vibrated as the engines started and Nik ran a hand through thick hair that was streaked with white. It was unusual for someone in their, what, early thirties, and contrasted with his tanned, smooth skin. He looked distinguished. At twenty-nine I’d not had my first grey hair yet.
‘What about you?’ I asked.
‘My family owns a toy manufacturing business in Sydney and I’ve been keeping track of the competition.’
The plane turned onto the runway – normally my cue to lean against the window and try hard to relax.
‘Do you like flying? You must be used to it, coming all the way from Australia.’
‘Love it. Night-time is best, with winds dying down along with thermal turbulence so that you just glide through the air, with stars coming out, realising Earth is just another spherical mass… it kind of gives you perspective, right?’
‘True. It’s so easy to believe that the world revolves aroundus– until we leave it and realise we are nothing but a tiny cog in a huge machine.’
‘Not that cogs aren’t important. Cogs have needs. Cogs have feelings – even teeny tiny ones.’ He caught my eye and we laughed. He stared at my hands again, which were clenched together. ‘Statistically, this is the safest form of travel,’ he said in a soft tone.
‘It’s still fairly new to me. I only started flying abroad a couple of years ago, with my flatmate Oliver. I never had foreign holidays when I was little.’
‘If it’s any consolation, I threw up the first time I flew. I was seven. It was Easter and I’d secretly scoffed a huge chocolate egg before boarding. The turbulence didn’t agree with my digestive system.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Nor did its contents with the passenger in front. The poor woman was wearing white shoes. The whole cabin stank afterwards.’
Laughing loudly, I became aware we were up in the sky. Nik leant in as the air steward trundled towards us with a jingling drinks trolley. The aroma of coffee energised me and we each accepted a cup, both taking no milk and just one sugar. The two of us sipped and gave a contented sigh before chatting about Nuremberg. My shoulders relaxed as the conversation flowed. There weren’t any awkward silences and we had plenty of laughs. I’d heard people talk about it before – meeting someone you felt as if you’d known for years. That instant connection, like… I glanced down at my lap… like two halves of a seatbelt clicking together. I thought I’d had it once before.
Not wanting to think about that now, I bought a large bar of chocolate from the duty-free list, wishing I’d had time to grab breakfast. I shared some of it with Nik before we lapsed into comfortable work talk again about how his family’s company favoured making traditional products.
‘I loved that wooden clock you were holding, when I boarded,’ he said.
‘It’s for my gran. She used to collect wooden ornaments and would always look for unusual decorative ones for our Christmas tree when I was younger. She’s a huge fan of the festive season. Gran’s a keen reader and would read all of the new children’s festive releases with me. We spent many a cosy December Saturday in the library.’
‘Do you see much of her now?’
‘Yes, but we no longer live together. She moved into an assisted living facility four years ago. She still enjoys Christmas to the full, though. Every December they hold a huge Christmas Eve party. The residents start preparing for it as early as January, buying in cheap craft materials during the sales and, as the months pass, testing out new festive recipes in the communal kitchen for the buffet they put on. They also research different themes. Then in early November a meeting is held to vote for the best one.’
