‘Indeed,’ I said, feeling a growing sense of horror. ‘And the repairs are carried out by…?’
‘Kristian,’ Laura nodded. ‘Who you’ve already met. He’s a good kid, skilled, but…’ Laura seemed to be looking for the right words. ‘Sometimes getting information through to him can be a bit of a challenge, but he’s conscientious and hard-working. Unlike…’
‘Venla,’ I said.
Laura looked surprised. Just then our pace slowed slightly, giving me a chance to look somewhere other than at my feet.
‘Kristian informed me that Venla was having difficulty getting out of bed this morning.’
‘This morning,’ Laura scoffed and sounded as though she meant something else altogether. She brushed the hair away from her glasses. ‘Right. This is where the Turtle Trucks set off. We have thirty trucks in total. The route runs almost right the way round the building. As the name suggests, this isn’t exactly Formula One. This ride is a good way to calm down the rowdier kids. You sit them in the cart, let them career round the hall a few times, and gradually things cool off. As you know, I’m sure. Do you have children? A child? Sorry, it’s none of my—’
‘None at all,’ I interrupted her. ‘I live by myself, alone. Given all the stochastic variables, it’s by far the most sensible option. Do you mean Venla has difficulty getting out of bed on other mornings too? Why does she work here then? What exactly is she paid for?’
We had come to a stop. One of the dark-green Turtle Trucks jolted into motion, the number 13 on its bonnet. Sitting in the truck was a driver about three years of age, who was looking at us instead of at the course ahead. In the truck behind sat the child’s father, who looked as though he might nod off at the next chicane. Nothing terrible would happen: the trucks were travelling slower than average walking speed.
‘Did you and Juhani ever speak about…’ Laura hesitated. ‘About our … I mean, the park’s business affairs?’
‘Not in so many words,’ I said. ‘He sometimes told me about new acquisitions, the Trombone Cannons, the Komodo Locomotive, maybe the Doughnut, perhaps some other investments. But otherwise…’ I shook my head. ‘No, we didn’t.’
‘Okay,’ said Laura. ‘I’m sorry. I assumed you’d be up to speed on things – at least vaguely. I suppose I’d better start by explaining who I am and what I do. My official title is park manager. That means I’m responsible for the day-to-day running of operations in the park, making sure everything is working and that our staff are in the right place at the right time. I’ve been park manager for two and a half years now. I’ll admit straight away, I wasn’t planning on a career in adventure-park management. I’m an artist by profession, a painter, but then … life got in the way. You know how it is.’
‘I’m not at all sure I do,’ I replied honestly. ‘In my experience, automatic assumptions regarding the proportionality of things often lead us astray.’
Now Laura Helanto was openly looking me up and down. Her gaze was studious, her expression somewhat concerned. Perhaps not so much concerned as suspicious.
‘A messy divorce … and I have a daughter, Tuuli, who needs very expensive treatments for her allergies,’ Laura said eventually. ‘But you asked about Venla. Juhani hired her.’
Both the subject and her tone of voice seemed to have changed in a flash. I assumed the vaguely defined concept of life getting in the way had now been dealt with. That suited me.
‘Given what I’ve learned about her behaviour, it doesn’t seem a very sensible appointment,’ I said.
Laura looked over at the gleaming steel of the slides.
‘Your brother always wanted to give people a chance.’
A group of little people scurried past us. The decibel levels reached rock-concert proportions. Once the shouting had died down a little, I dared to speak again.
‘I understand,’ I said, though I didn’t fully understand. ‘How many members of staff are there in total?’
We were on the move again. Laura Helanto led the way; I was following her though we were walking side by side. She was wearing a pair of running shoes, colourful and with thick soles. Her gait was that of someone used to walking. Her hair gave off a most pleasant fragrance. But my attention was drawn to the way her eyes moved. She had a unique way of scrutinising me while avoiding eye contact altogether.
‘We have seven full-time members of staff,’ she said. ‘I’ll introduce you to the others shortly. Then there are the seasonal workers. Mostly in the café, the Curly Cake. The number of seasonal workers is constantly changing, depending on the day or week it can be anything from zero to fifteen. The half-term holidays in September and February are our peak season. Summer holidays aren’t quite as full, though they certainly keep us busy. Each and every one of us. Sometimes I bring Tuuli along with me. She quickly makes friends – like most kids. I’m sure you remember.’
I remembered, but in the opposite way. As a child, I always enjoyed my own company. My early experiences reinforced the fundamental truth that the more people there are, the more problems there are – and the bigger the problems are too.
‘Was Juhani often on site?’
‘No, to be honest. In the time I’ve worked here, he visited less and less. He seemed content with the way I run the park – if I say so myself. He said there was no use for him here, seeing as I take care of everything.’
‘Did he ever talk to you about the park’s financial situation?’
‘Yes,’ Laura replied quickly. ‘Our visitor numbers have been steadily increasingly. Juhani kept saying things are great, just great. Recently, in particular. He would clap his hands and shout funny words of encouragement. A while ago he said he would pay us all a bonus.’
‘A bonus?’
Her hair bounced again, her head turned towards me. Now there was something more than just caution in those blue-green eyes.
‘Once we meet our footfall target and the results of the customer-satisfaction surveys are up to scratch. Things are looking quite promising. The bonus will be paid at the end of the year, as a Christmas present.’
‘This Christmas?’
‘It’s only eighty-seven days till Christmas,’ said Laura. ‘I know this because I have a Facebook friend who posts every week about how many days it is till Christmas. God knows, I need that bonus, otherwise it’ll be a grim festive season for me and Tuuli.’
In my mind’s eye, I could see and hear the side of Juhani that lived in a completely different reality and who said and did whatever popped into his mind. We stopped. Laura pointed at various activities and explained what they were, she spoke quickly and enthusiastically. The size and scale of the park caused me physical sensations – and they were far from pleasant. Laura pointed at the slides.
‘Do you want to try?’
I looked at her. She smiled.
‘Just joking,’ she said, now serious. ‘Sorry. You’re not in the right frame of mind. When someone close suddenly…’
‘It seems we weren’t all that close after all,’ I said before I’d even noticed I’d opened my mouth. ‘There’s so much I didn’t know about Juhani. Well, everything, it seems. I knew he had this…’ I said and swirled my right hand through the air, like stirring an upside-down porridge pot. ‘But I must admit, it turns out I didn’t know the first thing about the place. It is a … surprise. In so many ways.’