Others have exploded.
      Hoping hers wouldn’t, Tytti Vertainen plucked up the courage and grabbed the lever to adjust the height of her deluxe wooden desk chair with genuine leather seat.  The hydraulic contraption let out a gasp of air and sank a few centimetres.  She was safe—the pressurised cylinder had not detonated.
      That’ll teach me not to read articles about death by exploding chairs.
      Of course, when she read those articles, she’d been thinking about her rehab-bound boss whose chair she now sat in.   
      But at last, Tytti was free!  She’d presumed she’d be stuck in her old role as a staff writer at the Tapiolinna Times forever; there had been nowhere to go except up or out.  Out beckoned, but she was desperate not to leave her home on the island of Tapiolinna.  And then, when her toxic boss left, she’d been de facto promoted.  Now, she sat in prime position to manage the affairs of the newspaper.  A weekly with not many pages, but a newspaper nonetheless.
      Suddenly, the door banged open, and a mite of a girl with mousy hair barged in.  It was Venla Laukkanen, the new intern and, possibly, new staff writer.  Her dim eyes scrutinised Tytti from behind a pair of thick-lensed glasses.
      ‘He rang back,’ she said bluntly.  ‘The public relations event will 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 getting used to Venla’s crude manners. 
      Manners are usually learnt from a person’s parents, friends, the TV—somewhere—during their formative years.  Has it now come down to me to teach her to be polite?
      A PR man had alerted them to the imminent arrival of a film crew.  They were to film at a run-down lighthouse on the island—a misguided choice for a tourist destination that had closed for the season.  The summer tourists had now left the small atoll where Tytti lived in the Finnish archipelago.  It was an island of steep cliffs and rocky shores, topped with forests and enclosed by a brackish sea.
      This will liven things up!  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 would give Tytti time to put the piece into that week’s edition—an important article in that it would take up a two-page spread.  The news on Tapiolinna was meagre at the best of times.
      ‘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 drug addict from the mainland had waved a knife and demanded the cash from the till.  However, unknown to him, the seemingly delicate coiffeur was a black belt in aikido.  He had speedily disarmed the robber, thrown him to the ground and hogtied him using a hairdryer cord.
      That was quick.  Doubts arose.  She’s turning out to be far more efficient than I ever was.  Do I really deserve my new position?  Absolutely.  She had paid her dues, having 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’s time to enjoy myself, and that means attending the more exciting events that my boss ordinarily kept to himself.
      ‘I’ll be going to the poetry reading tonight,’ said Tytti. 
      Venla looked at her blankly. 
      ‘The one with Simo Salama.’  Now Venla was looking at her angrily.
      What have I said wrong?  Maybe Venla is a fan and wants to go instead.
      ‘Do you like poetry?’
      ‘No.’ 
      ‘Is something the matter?’ countered Tytti.  Venla’s mercurial temperament made her a challenging person to deal with.  
      ‘I’m not feeling well.’
      ‘What’s the trouble?  Do you need to go home?’ 
      ‘Yep.  I’m feeling dizzy.’
      It was Tytti’s turn to scrutinise Venla.  Does she have a hangover?  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 swiftly 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 feigned a 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.
      That was weird.  Maybe this is her sense of humour coming through.  Or perhaps she’s delirious.  They had only worked together for a month but Tytti was yet to warm to the girl; there was just something about her. 
      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 best 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-blonde hair and pale skin were only saved from invisibility by her wide-set blue eyes and pink lip balm. 
      Tytti dropped into a squashy leather armchair.  Before she could untangle her long plait and take off her cardigan (a knitted yellow cardigan to reflect the coming autumn colours), Lili, Ritva’s Shih Tzu, 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 mugs of coffee and placed them on the table in front of Tytti.  Eccentric in her fashion sense, she was wearing a voluminous 1970s dress covered in swirls of orange and blue.  Lili, “hello” having been said, lay down in a ball and plopped her head on Tytti’s knee.  Ritva straightened up and assessed Tytti’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.  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 flashed back to the slew of emotions she once felt whenever her dead boyfriend was mentioned.  After years of hating him, she’d found that the only way to move on was by forgiveness.  But that didn’t 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?
      ‘He’s looking good at the moment.  A new haircut and, I think, he’s had his teeth whitened.’ 
      The wishful gaze; yes, there it was.  The look Ritva got whenever she had a new crush—and she’d had a few.  Could Erik be a potential suitor in Ritva’s serial dating 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 came to her senses and realised that Kai was, in fact, a nice person who deserved better.
      ‘I suggested he come over for coffee sometime.’  Tytti knew what that meant.
      ‘Is he single?’
      ‘I don’t know—yet!  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.