Page 29 of Break the Ice

‘Yeah. We could go and stare at them for a while,’ she says, still scrolling through her phone. ‘I think it’s also that place where those Russian spies got done over with Novichok.’

‘Oh,’ I say, confused now, my excitement diminishing slightly.

‘So I guess we pit-stop there and then we…’

‘Make it up as we go along?’ I stop short. I don’t think I’ve ever said that before in my life. Usually my life is order, it’s a plan, it’s wrappers in a trash can, a direct route. And I exhale slowly with the anxiety of not knowing where any of this will end up. However, as I look over at Phoebe, the feeling is laced with something else. All of this is beyond my control. Maybe for once I need to embrace the chaos. And for some reason, I feel a strange twinge of excitement.

THIRTEEN

PHOEBE

There are things I don’t pay for. I don’t think I’ve ever bought an envelope in my life (I steal these from my sister) and I do tend to skip over barriers of establishments that request payment to use the toilet. But it’s Christmas Eve and as much as Stonehenge is a place of history, culture and spiritual significance, there is no way that I am going to pay thirty-odd quid to see a pile of stones behind a fence, especially when I can’t even get near them. If that means that for the last half an hour I’ve been looking at YouTube videos working out how to look at it for free, then so be it.

‘Those are some big boots,’ Joshua tells me as he watches me trying to get them on, perched on the boot of the car.

‘Wellies, Joshua,’ I tell him.

He mouths the word to himself and smiles and I look down to see him wearing what look like gym trainers. I think my dad has those Asics. It’s finally stopped snowing and the countryside around Salisbury and beyond is completely stunning; fields blanketed in white, silence and not a soul for miles. Mainly, I think, because no one would be stupid enough to do a spot of sightseeing on Christmas Eve when there’s four inches of snow on the ground. Joshua keeps looking around and taking pictures and selfies, sometimes including Steve, and I think he’s sending them to people. I can’t deny, I’m glad he gets to see these old stones instead of just being a dog chauffeur. I just hope his Asics can handle this.

‘Fuck me, it’s cold,’ I say, readjusting my hat and scarf.

‘That’ll be the snow,’ Josh informs me.

I narrow my eyes at him.

‘Are we good to leave my car here? I won’t get clamped, will I?’ he says, looking around at the empty fields with zero signage.

‘It’s the countryside, you’ll be fine, city boy. We just have to walk up here and then cut through a field on the left. This YouTube hiker man has given me coordinates,’ I tell him, like I know what I’m doing. I don’t usually use coordinates. I let the maps app tell me where to go.

Joshua salutes me, then skids around as Steve, on his lead, yanks him hard across the snow. ‘Yo Steve, we’re not doing that, OK bud?’ I think Steve is too distracted. His little legs galloping across the freshly fallen snow, excited to be stretching his legs and out of the car. Joshua stops for a moment and then starts to walk in a circle. ‘Heel.’ He waits and then starts walking again.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask him.

‘It’s a method we used with my mom’s dog to lead-train him,’ he says.

‘The Boston terrier. Does he have a name?’ He doesn’t answer me. ‘Don’t tell me he’s called Steve too?’

He sighs, still walking in arbitrary circles. ‘His name is Meatball.’ I burst out laughing. ‘A reminder that he is my mother’s dog. I did not give him that name.’

We continue walking and I think Steve is calming, or possibly tiring. He stops to cock his leg and leave a yellow stain on the snow. That’ll be all that Evian he’s been drinking. I look down at my phone at these coordinates I’m trying to follow, and see a gate to the left of us. ‘We go through there I think, this gate.’ Joshua lets Steve lead him and I see him study the gate mechanism, the National Trust signs and boards all covered in a dusting of snow. Everything is so novel to him and he keeps taking in big deep breaths to inhale all that fresh air. I guess he’s an urban monkey and used to busy landscapes with yellow taxicabs and dodgy hot dog vendors. I’ll let him absorb some peace here.

‘Come on, Steve, let’s run!’ he tells the dog. I will not join in because this feels like an incline and one of my big rules is no exercise at Christmas. I watch them run off and I pick my feet up to get through the snow, looking back and seeing our footprints, marking out our tracks. Two human, one canine. That’s worth a picture. I angle in Stonehenge in the background, for the cinematic value. I’ll be honest, I have never seen the stones this close. Usually I would see them from the car while we zipped past on the A303 for family holidays. ‘STONEHENGE GUYS!’ my dad would scream, and we’d all turn our heads. Someone would take a photo and then my dad would shout at all the other cars that had slowed down to have a look.

‘Well, that’s it,’ I tell Joshua as I approach him and Steve, both of them clearly having a moment as it comes into view. I think he might be tearing up. I hope that’s the cold. I will admit it looks exceptionally pretty in the snow and I take a picture as the twilight catches its angles. ‘Would you like me to take one of you and Steve with the stones?’ I ask him.

‘Yes please!’ he says. I take his phone and angle it properly. ‘Make sure you get it all in, yeah?’

No, I was going to cut off the big bloody stones. ‘Everyone say… cheeses?’

‘Jesus?’

I laugh, forgetting who I’m taking a picture of. He looks very confused. I’ll have to take that again. ‘No, it’s something my dad does at Christmas. It’s double cheese because it’s Christmas and it sounds like⁠—’

‘I get it.’

‘This snow gives you excellent highlighting,’ I tell him. ‘That dog is bloody photogenic too.’ Steve looks at me like he might agree and I bend down to show him the photo. I then unclip his lead from his collar to let him have a real runaround on this big field. ‘Well, we’ve seen it, can we go back to the car now? I’m starting to lose feeling in my toes,’ I say.

‘Isn’t it amazing?’ Joshua says, still looking over at the stones.