Page 33 of Break the Ice

I blush intensely. ‘I can’t… we didn’t have… Sir. I’m sorry…’ I look in the rear-view mirror. Phoebe is laughing to herself with Steve in her arms.

‘You young people need new hobbies. Move along. Go home, Yankee Doodle.’ He knocks on the roof of the car, then returns to his Land Rover, looking up at the sky as the snow starts to fall in thicker waves. I should be offended but I’m still mortified that he thought I was having sex, in my car. With the dog? I am so confused. And appalled. I can still hear Phoebe laughing.

‘Stop it? Aren’t you embarrassed? That could have been the police.’

She laughs even louder. ‘It wasn’t though.’

‘And what was he going on about… dogging? What’s wrong with dogging? It’s a perfectly normal and fun pastime. Getting out in the fresh air. Getting some exercise,’ I say, still wondering why this man thought I was having sex. Was it because Phoebe was sitting there without a top?

‘Yeah. Dogging is great,’ Phoebe says. She’s laughing so hard, tears fill her eyes.

‘I go dogging all the time in New York. With my mom,’ I say.

And with that, Phoebe loses it. She laughs so very hard the car starts to shake. I think the dog might be laughing too. I still don’t get it. I don’t know if she’s being mean. This country is weird.

FIFTEEN

PHOEBE

‘Phoebe! For the love of? That is dogging?’ Joshua says, scrolling through his phone. He is able to do this as we’ve now been sitting in the same spot on the A303 for twenty minutes. I laugh to myself thinking about what his searches have brought up though. ‘And just to clarify, I don’t do this with my mom at all.’

I have to laugh. I figured he didn’t, but on this long trip of snow and dog chasing, it’s provided a sliver of amusement. ‘Do they not have dogging in the USA?’ I ask him.

‘I just don’t think we call it that,’ he replies. Don’t do a Google search. ‘I think we just call it outdoor sex. I still don’t understand why the dog comes into it,’ he says innocently and I have to admit, I bite my lip, because that’s verging on adorable.

‘I always assumed it was something to do with the positioning?’ I tell him and that’s when he blushes. You and I are very different, Joshua, eh? He continues to scroll, pulling faces and looking out of the window in confusion. Just don’t look up cottaging.

I never made it to the front seat. After the farmer accosted us, Joshua gathered his wet belongings pretty speedily and wanted to leave, obviously still living in fear of being arrested. It meant I didn’t have time to move so I’ve stayed in the back of the car with Steve which is nice – he’s like a furry hot water bottle. Oh, Steve. You scared the shizzle out of me. You must have been scared, cold, but you also made it back to the car, so that’s a sign of canine intelligence, which makes me incredibly proud. You are precious cargo now, Steve, and I will do better to protect you like a good aunt. I cradle his slowly warming body and watch him sleep.

In the background, Stevie Wonder plays quietly, and the snow continues to fall, this time with the extra added effect of wind, so there’s a whistling sound that feels like the world outside of the car is haunted. The traffic crawls, which is almost the wrong word here because I think I could out-crawl this car at the speed at which we’re travelling. I look out at the windscreen at all the red brake lights.

‘How’s the research going?’ I ask Joshua.

‘I consider myself educated now, thank you.’

‘You are welcome,’ I tell him.

There’s a moment of silence. I think we are slowly absorbing that this is not going to be the three-hour jaunt that both of us expected. We’ve also eaten a lot of the snacks.

‘I’m trying to think about all the movies I’ve seen where people have been stranded in the snow. Have you seen that Norwegian rom-com where all the people get stuck at the airport?’ Joshua asks, obviously trying to revive the conversation.

‘I like how your mind has gone to rom-coms. My brain went to The Shining. And that vampire movie set in Alaska where the vampires kill everyone because the town is plunged into darkness,’ I say.

‘Oh. Vampires probably are good in the snow because they’re cold-blooded.’

‘They’re not,’ I retort. ‘They’re dead.’

‘Undead, technically,’ he corrects me.

‘And fictitious creatures, so you don’t really know how warm their blood runs. They are susceptible to frostbite though.’

‘They are?’ he says.

‘It was a joke.’

‘Oh. Frost. Bite. I get it.’

He’s too cold and bored to even get my brilliant sense of humour.