Page 17 of Break the Ice

‘You’re assuming this will get messy,’ she says.

‘I am being prepared. There are also blankets and that monkey he seems to like.’ I watch as she places the dog in the back seat and he sniffs the blankets and lies down. She strokes his ears, closes the door lightly, then watches me use a broom to sweep the snow off the bonnet. She starts to help me, using the sleeve of her coat. I resist the urge to tell her that’s not a good idea given she’s already soaked through her canvas trainers.

‘Can you pop the trunk?’ she asks me. She keeps doing this, using American vernacular and putting on a strange accent that could be from anywhere between Boston and New York. She clearly thinks she’s hilarious. ‘I have bags,’ she adds.

I open it up for her and watch as she transfers a holdall, some gift bags, a panettone and what looks like a bag of board games into my boot. It’s all very random, and why am I surprised? It’s exactly how I imagined this girl would operate. She’s very in the moment, there is no order. Flighty, I think is the word. She has messages to herself in pen on her hands. I glanced over earlier and saw ninety-five unread messages on her WhatsApp.

She gets in the car, makes herself comfortable and looks around, using her finger to flick at my Magic Tree and sifting through my glove box, finding a tin of sweets and helping herself to one. I decide not to tell her that tin came with the car, they may be quite old. I take my gloves off, and de-fog my glasses. ‘So, pal…’ she starts to say.

‘Why yes, me old chum…’ I reply, summoning my best cockney accent.

‘What was that?’ she says, grimacing.

‘Me going Van Dyke.’

‘More like Van Shit. At least mock me properly.’

If this is going to be four hours of her being mean then it will be painful. I think the Brits call this banter. I can never tell whether I’m meant to join in or be offended.

‘So, I guess this is it. A Christmas road trip. Exciting, no?’

‘Is it?’

‘Totally,’ she says, seemingly annoyed that I don’t want to share in this excitement. ‘We can stop and get snacks and I will get anything you want, yeah? Any meals… completely on me.’

‘So I’m going prime rib and lobster.’

‘If you think you can get that on the A303 then you’re super funny.’ She continues to look around my car. ‘Your car is very clean. You have a bin,’ she notes as she turns to see the gadget hanging off the back of the seat.

‘I got it in Lidl,’ I tell her.

‘That’s very middle-aged, Joshua.’

I look at her. ‘How is cleanliness middle-aged? Where do you put your trash in your car?’

‘My dear boy, that’s what the footwell is for, no?’ She pulls out one of my travel tissues and blows her nose loudly, dropping the tissue by her feet. She wasn’t joking. ‘It’s cold, isn’t it? This thing have heat?’

‘I can turn it up. There is plenty heat.’

‘Hold up, matey. We’ve only just met,’ she says, laughing. Was that a joke? Does she really think I’m flirting with her? I stare out the window in case she’s trying to flirt with me. I haven’t started the engine yet and I’m already fighting for my life. I’m just here for the dog. I was all down for getting cosy and hibernating this Christmas. I take a deep breath. I will see this as a winter’s quest, driving through the snow to do a good deed for those cute nieces of hers. Maybe I can discover more of England in the process. Plus, I like dogs and this one seems like a good boy.

‘It’s really tossing it down again, eh?’ Phoebe says, her head arched to look out the window.

I pause because I know tossing can mean a range of things over here. I hope she’s referring to the snow. ‘It is. We should probably make haste.’

She looks at me and smirks. ‘We should, Jon Snow. Let us take our leave and deliver this hound to its rightful owner.’

I don’t react. At least that was a Game of Thrones reference. It seems she has one redeeming feature.

I start the engine to warm up the car and see the dog appear in my rear-view mirror. He’s standing but he’s also howling. He paces up and down the seat. I turn to look and pat him. ‘Buddy, you have to calm down, it’s cool, it’s cool.’

Phoebe turns around with me. ‘I told you. It was half an hour from the rescue centre to here and he did this the whole way.’

‘The whole way?’ I say, thinking she maybe didn’t put enough emphasis on this part of her eventful journey so far. ‘It sounds like he’s… crying?’

‘Yeah, I tried not to take it personally.’ She turns to study my rather confused face. ‘You can back out now if you want? Or you could let me borrow your car and I can do this solo?’

Given she thinks a car footwell is a trash can then maybe not. But I look over at the little dog’s face, a complete change of expression in his eyes from that dog in the kitchen who was feasting on bacon. He doesn’t quite know what’s happening. I think he’s scared. I’ll do this for him, for those girls. ‘I’m still in,’ I say and I signal, and pull out of that very icy, snowy street.