Midnight Sun Marathon – Part 2: The Finish Line

The marathon began at midnight under a sky the colour of apricot jam. Three thousand runners crowded the start line, bouncing on their toes, blowing on their hands. Dísa stood in the middle of them with her heart hammering and Arnar at her elbow.

"Breathe," he said.

"I am breathing."

"Breathe slower. Like you are blowing out a very large candle."

She did. The starting horn sounded, and the crowd surged forward.

For twenty miles they ran side by side, Arnar talking about everything and nothing: the saga of the man who lost his sheep, the cousin who sold fermented shark to tourists, the first time he had seen the northern lights and wept. Dísa laughed, and ran, and lost track of the clock.

At mile twenty-two, her legs gave out.

She stopped dead, bent double, her lungs on fire.

"I cannot," she gasped.

"You can," said Arnar, crouching beside her. "You have four miles. You have done twenty-two."

"My mother's time. I cannot beat it."

"Then do not beat it," he said. "Finish it. That is the only thing she wanted."

Dísa looked at him. His face was flushed and sweaty, and his eyes were very steady.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, between breaths.

"Yes."

"Would you hold my hand? Just for the last mile?"

"Yes," said Arnar, and took it.

They walked the first half-mile, then jogged, then ran. The crowds lined the final stretch, cheering, banging cowbells, waving flags. The sun hung low and gold over the harbour. Her legs burned, but her hand was warm in his.

At the finish line, she threw both arms into the air and screamed, and Arnar caught her as she stumbled.

"Five hours, forty-eight minutes," he said, reading his watch. "Two minutes faster than your mother."

Dísa burst into tears. He held her, one hand on the back of her head, until she could breathe.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, when she had stopped.

"Yes."

"Would you like to have dinner with me? Somewhere with a chair, and no running."

"Yes," said Dísa, laughing. "But only if you pay. I have used up all my money on trainers."

"Deal. Can I kiss you? Here, in front of three thousand strangers?"

"Yes," said Dísa. "And if I say stop, you have to run the next one with me."

"That is a very long punishment," said Arnar, and kissed her.

It was warm and salty and unhurried, her fingers gripping his sweaty vest, the cheers of the crowd roaring distantly in her ears. The sun hung over the bay like a promise.

When they parted, both of them were laughing.

"Green?" he asked.

"Green," said Dísa. "Very green. Now find me some food, Arnar. And tell me the story about the shark."

"It is very smelly," said Arnar, and wrapped his arm round her shoulders.