Page 13 of Break the Ice

‘What about you? Who are you?’ I ask, hearing the dog’s little feet pad around the downstairs living space. ‘How do I know you’re not some intruder?’

‘Intruder?’ she says, impersonating my accent. ‘You better get an APB out on me then.’ She really is mocking me. ‘Intruders wouldn’t have keys. I’m Phoebe.’

I remember that name. ‘The sister who killed the fern?’ I reply.

‘How do you know about that?’ she says, surprised.

‘Your sister told me.’

‘Odd thing to say to an absolute stranger,’ she says, still suspicious. She walks past me, keeping her distance, and goes through to the kitchen and straight to the cupboard under the sink where the paper towels and disinfectant sprays are kept.

‘Can you tell your sister that your dog came in here and peed on the floor? I don’t want to get the blame for that,’ I say, watching as she pushes past me to return to the hallway.

She laughs as she bends down to mop up the yellow puddle of pee in the hallway. ‘Are you prone to peeing on the floor like some feral elf?’

She’s mocking the slippers now. ‘I’m just… you should throw some soda crystals over that, it will neutralise the smell.’

She looks at me. ‘Oh yeah, I have some in my handbag. Could you fetch them?’

‘You do?’

‘I was being sarcastic.’

‘Oh.’

I leave her to clean up the mess, and follow the dog around the kitchen as he sniffs all the corners of the cabinets. He looks up at me with big chocolate eyes, cocking his head to one side. I reach to the counter, find a piece of bacon left over from this morning and bend down to feed it to him. ‘Sit.’ He doesn’t seem to understand the instruction, so I do a squatting action, lowering my hand. He cocks his head to one side and then does as he’s told. ‘Good boy,’ I say, putting a palm to the side of his head. He rests his head against it. ‘Hey buddy. Don’t pee on the floor any more, OK?’ I can hear Phoebe in the hallway, swearing again, and peer around the door again to see her on all fours, scrubbing the floor. ‘Is he your dog? Is he new?’ I ask her.

‘He’s not my dog. He’s Norah’s new dog. I’ve been tasked with transporting him this Christmas. He’s a surprise gift,’ she tells me, then puts her face to the floor to smell it. ‘I came here to get the last of his things. Can you find a bag with a dog-food bowl? A little dog coat?’

I nod. ‘I think I saw something by the washer. He’s cute. What breed is Poochy?’

‘I don’t know. Why are you calling him Poochy?’

‘That’s what you called him,’ I say.

‘He doesn’t have a name. I’ve been calling him all sorts. Poochy, Muttley, Doggy Dog…’

I smile at that but she doesn’t acknowledge me. ‘I will assume the transportation is not going well?’

She emits a loud exasperated sigh and stares me down. Her eyes are very blue, vivid. ‘He doesn’t like the car. He howled all the way here,’ she says. ‘I now have a crazy long drive ahead of me in the snow. The reports are telling me not to drive but Poochy is the gift, I have to get there or Norah will never let me live it down, so how can he not like the car? I can’t have him howling the whole way.’

I listen to her rant, watching as she occasionally looks out of the windows at the snow that doesn’t seem to be stopping, trying to blow the hair out of her face. ‘Were you playing music? Maybe he didn’t like your music?’

She looks at me blankly. ‘What’s your name, random American man who isn’t helping but just standing there in your novelty slippers?’

‘Joshua.’

‘Joshua,’ she says, imitating my accent again. The dog comes and stands next to me, nestling into my leg and watching Phoebe closely. At least he feels like an ally. You’re not like your sister. Norah was warm and welcoming and I don’t get that vibe from you. I feel like an inconvenience. You feel like hard work. I can see why the dog has been howling. She backs up to the wall. ‘I’ve still got gifts to buy. I don’t know how this day could get much worse.’

I don’t know why she looks at me as she says that. Hey, I don’t care much for you either.

SEVEN

PHOEBE

‘Well, next time, please warn me there’s going to be some strange American man in your house so I don’t nearly shit myself,’ I yell at my sister on the phone, as the snow settles on my windscreen so I can’t see out of it. It’s coming down in swathes but in that gorgeous peaceful way where you can’t hear it. I like the peace of it, less so the way it’s really starting to get in my way.

‘He’s not strange, he’s lovely. His name is Joshua.’