Tytti Vertainen sat back and stroked the smooth wooden armrests of her new office chair. It was far more comfortable than her old plastic chair. If she had guessed, she might just have requested a new one for herself. Her new desk was also wooden and far larger than it seemed when she had been sat on the other side. But now she was Editor of the Tapiolinna Times, and above cheap plastic furniture. Young to be an editor at twenty-five; but, in this case, youth had not been wasted on the young. Trapped in her old role as Staff Writer, favour had shone her way when her horrible boss had miraculously quit. A fantasy for many had, in Tytti’s case, become reality. Now here she sat in prime position to manage the affairs of the newspaper. A weekly with not many pages, but a newspaper nonetheless.
The door swung open and a petite girl with mouse hair barged in. It was Venla Laukkanen, the new intern and possibly new Staff Writer. Her wolf-like eyes scrutinised Tytti coldly from behind a pair of thick-lensed glasses.
‘He rang back,’ she said abruptly. ‘The public relations event is to be held at the castle.
As this was their first encounter of the day, Tytti had expected a “Good morning, how are you?” or at least a cursory “Hello”. She was still to get used to Venla’s crude manners. Was it something she would be able to train her in? Manners were usually learnt from one’s parents, friends, the TV – somewhere – during a person’s formative years. Had it now come down to Tytti to teach Venla to be civil?
The PR man had alerted them to the imminent arrival of a film crew. They were to film at the run-down lighthouse on the island; a misguided tourist destination that had closed for the season. The summer tourists had now left the small atoll where Tytti lived, in the Finnish archipelago. An island of steep cliffs, rocky shores, topped with forests and enclosed by a brackish sea.
This will liven things up! thought Tytti. The celebrated director was coming to create a masterpiece. That was what the PR man had said anyway.
‘Good. When will the press conference be held?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon.’
That meant she would have time to put the piece into that week’s edition. An important article, in that it would take up a double-page spread.
‘How’s the other story going?’
‘Finished.’
Venla had been putting together a story on an attempted robbery at the island’s hair salon. A young drug addict from the mainland had waved a knife and demanded the takings from the till. Unknown to him, the seemingly delicate coiffurist was also a black belt in aikido. He had speedily disarmed the robber and pinned him to the ground before tying him up.
She’s turning out to be far more efficient than I ever was, thought Tytti, doubting herself for a moment. Did she really deserve her new position? But no, she had paid her dues – sat in that uncomfortable plastic chair in the front office for years reporting on the more mundane goings on of the island. No; now it was time to enjoy herself. And that meant attending the more interesting events that her boss had previously kept to himself.
‘So, I’ll be going to the poetry reading tonight,’ said Tytti.
Venla looked at her blankly.
‘Yes, the one with Simo Salama.’ Now Venla was looking at her angrily.
What have a said wrong? wondered Tytti. Maybe Venla was a fan and wanted to go instead.
‘So, do you like poetry?’
‘No.’
‘Is something the matter?’ countered Tytti cautiously. Venla’s mercurial temperament made her a very difficult person to deal with.
‘I’m not feeling well.’
‘Oh, what’s the trouble? Do you need to go home?’
‘Yep. I’m feeling dizzy.’
Does she have a hangover? wondered Tytti. That had often been the case with the old Editor. Usually he would slink in and go straight to his office after a drinking bout the night before. Once, when still innocent, she had entered his office unannounced and experienced a tirade of abuse. She had quickly assessed the situation (the more hung-over he was, the more annoying she could be) and mischievously continued to aggravate him.
‘So, go home – go!’ ordered Tytti. Venla smiled a fake smile and curtsied. Taken aback, Tytti watched as Venla retreated without turning her back towards her, as if she were royalty, and shuffled out backwards through the door, closing it gently.
Well, that was weird, thought Tytti. Maybe this was her sense of humour coming through. Or perhaps she was delirious. They had only worked together for a month but Tytti was yet to warm to the girl; there was just something about her. Then, brushing it aside, she looked into that day’s diary. Just the poetry reading. She had a few hours before then so she decided to go and visit her friend Ritva Lempinen in her bookshop.
​
‘I have some news,’ called out Ritva, a plump young woman with apple cheeks and wavy brown hair. Her appearance was the polar opposite to that of her friend. Tall and thin (or slim as she preferred to be called), Tytti’s white- blond hair and pale skin was only saved from invisibility by wide-set blue eyes and pink lip balm. Tytti sat down on a sofa next to Lili, Ritva’s Shih Tzu. Before she could untangle her long plait and take off her cardigan (a knitted yellow cardigan to reflect the coming autumn colours), Lili had wagged her tail, jumped up onto her lap and nuzzled her chin. Tytti stroked the smooth ears and fluffy body. Ritva came out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee and placed them on the table in front of Tytti. Eccentric in her fashion sense, Ritva was wearing a voluminous 1970s dress covered in swirls of orange and blue. Lili, hello having been said, lay back down in a ball and plopped her head on Tytti’s knee. Ritva straightened up and scrutinised Tytti. She seemed to be assessing her friend’s state of mind. She hesitated as she considered what she was about to say.
‘I ran into Erik the other day.’
‘Erik who?’
‘Y’know, Erik.’ Ritva paused again, ‘Henri’s brother. He’s finished his postgraduate studies and returned to work as a psychiatrist at the hospital.’
Tytti contemplated this new information. She checked herself to see what her emotions were. Yes, there was some blame there – but it hadn’t been Erik’s fault that his brother Henri had cheated on her. Nor that Henri had been with another woman when he’d had the car accident – the accident that killed him. For a split second she was taken back to the slew of emotions she once felt whenever her dead boyfriend was mentioned; but the moment passed quickly. After years of hating him, she had found that the only way to move on was by forgiveness. But that did not mean she’d forgotten. And Erik had known about the affair all along. All the times he’d seen Tytti, he’d known his brother had been deceiving her and said nothing.
‘That’s nice,’ said Tytti uncertainly. Would it be fine to see Erik again?
‘Yes, he’s looking good at the moment.’
Tytti paused then looked more closely at Ritva. Yes, there is was. The wistful gaze she got whenever she had a new crush – and she’d had a few. Could Erik be the next potential suitor in Ritva’s seriatim love life? Ritva had just disastrously dated Tytti’s good friend Kai, the photographer at the newspaper. A rich, handsome man who lived in a castle – but a kind and modest one. Popular with the girls on the island, he spent much of his time avoiding them and their calculated plans to ensnare him. And for a while, Ritva had been one of these. But thankfully that had ended when Ritva had come to her senses and realised that Kai was, in fact, quite a nice person who deserved better.
‘Yes, I suggested that he come over for coffee sometime.’ Tytti knew what that meant.
‘So, is he single?’
‘I don’t know,’ gushed Ritva. ‘I think he’s moved back here alone. I don’t suppose you could find out for me? He’s staying at the bed-and-breakfast for a few days while he organises a flat.’
‘You don’t need me to do that. Be patient and wait for him to come over for coffee.’
But Ritva had a preoccupied look on her face. She was not one to wait. She was busy plotting a plan of action.