Page 25 of Break the Ice

‘Yep, he moved there three years ago. It’s where he was originally from, he wanted to go home,’ I say, snuggling the fleece cape I bought for him around my lower half. Yes, I know I bought it for him but the temperature has dropped to −2 degrees so needs must. ‘It’s a little village called Stoke Gabriel, near the River Dart.’

He smiles, a little too broadly.

‘Was that funny then?’ I ask.

‘It’s just the names. I find the little village names very endearing. Like back there, we passed somewhere called Popham.’

I laugh, mainly because he pronounces it accentuating the ham bit. ‘Tufton Warren, Barton Stacey – they all sound so quaint.’

‘And this is exciting to you?’ I ask him, offering him another chocolate.

‘My mom’s a Bridgerton and Austen fan, she’d lose her mind.’

I see him open his chocolate and then reach back and dispose of the wrapper in the bin behind his seat. I don’t know if he’s noticed I’ve not done the same. I mean, I’m not completely feral – I haven’t filled his car with foil wrappers – but I have put them back in the box.

‘She’d love my dad’s little village then. It is quite a place for one to take respite from the busy wilds of city life, besides the water and upon glorious walks through the bosom of nature,’ I say, putting on my best Lizzy Bennet.

He laughs and I have to admit I like the audience.

‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you haven’t mentioned your mom when you’ve spoken about family,’ he says.

I turn to him, surprised by the observation. ‘I haven’t. You’re right. My mum passed away four years ago, from cancer.’

He pauses for a moment. ‘I’m very sorry.’

I sigh and take a deep breath, then exhale it slowly. ‘Her name was Valeria, she was Spanish, from Seville.’

‘So you speak Spanish?’ he asks.

‘I get by. I mainly know how to swear,’ I tell him.

He laughs. ‘So how did she meet your dad?’ he asks, a gentleness in his tone.

‘She studied and worked in London. My dad was also working in London at the time. Their story is that they met on the South Bank at the second-hand book stall under Waterloo Bridge.’ I doubt that’s how people meet any more, brushing hands across first editions, conversations and lit sparks. ‘Anyway, they both stayed in London, married, and Norah was born two years later.’

‘I know Norah. What are your other siblings’ names?

‘There’s Norah, Florence, Benjamin et moi…’ I tell him. ‘My middle name is Valeria.’

I always feel a lump in my throat when I say her name. We lost her far too early and that time was so bleak. I still feel her loss deeply, in my very core. I know I was lucky though, to have her, and lucky to inherit all the best parts of her: her tenacity, her flair for the dramatic, but also the way she loved people so very deeply. We challenged each other in so many ways but she was also the person I felt most connected to in this world, someone who grounded me. ‘She would have liked you.’

Joshua appears surprised. ‘And yet you hardly know me yourself.’

‘Oh no, you’re helpful, sensible, you come with old-fashioned manners. Like back in the supermarket when you kept apologising to Colin and helped old ladies get bottles down from top shelves.’ He looks over to me, suspiciously. ‘I am always watching,’ I say, using my fingers as eyes, pointing them around the car. ‘It’s the psychologist in me.’

‘You mentioned your masters. Did you do a thesis?’ he asks me.

‘Educational outcomes in children with dyslexia, dyscalculia and information processing disorders,’ I say in a posh accent. He looks over, eyebrows raised, and I wonder if he’s impressed or surprised; maybe he thought I was just some party-planning sap who didn’t have a brain.

‘That sounds interesting. Is that what you’re looking to go into? As a job? Education?’

‘Maybe? I don’t know. For now, I like seeing where the wind takes me. I think I want to travel, earn some moolah, get out into the world and live a little. But yes, educational psychology will feature in my plans too, something collaborative, purposeful. I’m good with kids. I have…’

‘Big energy?’ he says.

I pause. ‘Norah would say I have the same emotional IQ.’ I wait for Joshua to laugh but he doesn’t. I think for a moment about my mum. How she got sick when I started my degree, and I worked so hard as a distraction, and to prove to her that I would be a daughter of whom she could be proud. How she died before she could see me graduate. And that has left its scars, has amplified my sense of growing up but away from everything I’ve ever known. And as my siblings have all married and had kids, it’s felt like a better option for me to go against the grain. To keep living: freely, wildly, authentically. To cram in as much life as I can as some sort of tribute to her. Maybe I’m just trying to work out how to do that, how to harness all of that appropriately.

Josh glances at me, sensing my mood. ‘Do you have a picture of your mom?’ he asks.