Page 42 of Break the Ice

I watch as the marshmallow seeps out the side of hers and she licks the sides of the sandwich, giggling then taking a bite. Her eyes roll back in her head. ‘Fuck me, that’s heaven.’

‘Don’t tell any other Americans I know but the Hobnobs and the Milka chocolate make this next level,’ I tell her.

‘This sounds like someone who’s been experimenting.’ Alone in my dorm room, over a tealight, maybe. It’s quite something to see someone eat a s’more with so much excitement, sitting on the floor of this hut with the flames lighting up her face, the way she savours every bite and makes nom-nom-nom sounds. It’s a lovely throwback to being in my own family home, cosy in my pyjamas, waiting for Christmas to start.

‘We’re doing this all night, yeah? Getting caned on s’mores?’ she says, laughing, and then reaches over to wipe something off my chin. ‘Mucky pup.’

I look at her, the heat of the fire making her curls frizz and tighten, her eyes bright blue and excitable. A few days ago, I could never have predicted this. But there’s something about her wild enthusiasm that has added to the bedlam. I think I like it. I think she might be growing on me. Slowly. I wipe at my chin and smile. ‘It’s Christmas. Why not?’

NINETEEN

PHOEBE

‘You know, I’m in the countryside and I’ve not yet met a hot lumberjack who’s going to make me rethink the meaning of Christmas,’ I say, watching the festive rom-com we’ve projected on to the small screen over the bed. Are we lying down together? We are, but that’s because we had three s’mores each, so I think we may be having some sort of sugar crash. I also like how we didn’t even flinch at lying down together – we’re both tired, we both wanted to watch this film in comfort, wrapped around pillows. The fire still rages in the corner, and Steve is so incredibly content, curled up in front of it in his bed and snoring gently. However, the alcohol, the sugar, the warmth feels good.

‘That’s because you’re not an uptight city property developer type obsessed with money,’ he explains. ‘Your power-suit game is non-existent. Look… this is the part where she won’t destroy the Christmas tree farm and she’ll use all her city money to buy gifts for the orphans. You watch,’ he adds excitedly.

I laugh at this, so hard that I spill my hot chocolate. I wipe it off my vest top and look over at Joshua, and I see that he’s turned his hoodie back to front and filled the hood with popcorn. I’ll be honest, I’d not seen any signs of genius until this very point in time.

‘F-A-V-O-R,’ I say, ‘with a triple word score, takes that to thirty-three, thank you very much.’ I scribble down the numbers. I’m not sure why, but the Scrabble board teetering between us on the bed makes this all the more perfect.

‘So you can use American spellings when it serves your purpose.’

I smile. ‘Yes, because essentially it is all part of the English language. And that is also all my letters gone.’ I show him my tile holder.

‘Well done. You’ve beaten me,’ he says.

‘We haven’t even added up the scores yet,’ I say, showing him the score pad. ‘You got QUINOA.’

‘Which unfortunately couldn’t match your JUMBO on the triple letter score. I’ve been doing the math in my head as we go.’ OK, more signs of genius, but I do some quick maths of my own to make sure he hasn’t gifted this to me on the sly. There’s being gallant but then there’s good sportsmanship, and I like to win my games fairly so I can own the win properly. I start clearing up the letters, putting them back in the cloth bag, as he lies there, half watching me, half watching the film.

‘Am I allowed to say this is one of the best Christmas Eves I’ve had in a while? Just in terms of variety. I expected to be alone and yet here I am with you,’ he says. ‘And Steve,’ he adds, obviously to avoid any misunderstanding. He does that, a lot, and I’ll admit there’s something sweet about the fact that he wants to draw lines here and be respectful.

I think about what he’s saying. I should be with my family right now, so all of this is a surprise, but I don’t hate it. He is not someone I’d have chosen for this trip but he’s growing on me. Slowly. Before I have a chance to tell him as much, though, the moment is interrupted by a familiar ringtone and I hop off the bed to get my phone. I see the caller and realise I should have checked in more with this person.

‘Hey Norah,’ I say, a little too breathily.

‘Well, hello there. Just checking that you’re bloody alive, you haven’t replied to any of my texts. We’re all shitting ourselves here that you’ve skidded off a cliff or been kidnapped by someone called Steve.’

I look down at my phone and realise I’ve been so busy playing Scrabble and watching people fall in love in Mistletoe Falls that I’ve neglected my phone and many of my sister’s texts. ‘I’m switching to video,’ she tells me. I watch my sister come into view, in the kitchen, a Christmas hat on her head, a vegetable peeler in her hand. She looks hard at work, whereas I do not. ‘Is that a log burner? Where are you? We’ve been worried sick!’ she says, studying my surroundings.

‘I’m sorry. I really am. But… Funny story, the A303 was completely fucked, apocalyptic snow so I had to take refuge somewhere. This lovely lady I met in a pub offered me her shepherd’s hut on her farm, so I am here… and so is le pooch,’ I say, bending down to get him in the shot to show that the dog is alive and well and I can be trusted to do things.

‘You look cosy. You’re not even wearing a bra,’ she says judgementally.

‘There’s a lot of snow, Norah. I had to have a bath. Hypothermia was setting in, I lost sensation in my limbs…’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Did your lips go blue?’ she says, unsympathetically.

I show her the dog again. ‘Look, it’s your mummy. She’s just ringing to make sure you’re OK. She doesn’t care about me really.’

I move the phone back to me but, as I do, I see Norah study the background, moving her head around, a look of confusion on her face. ‘You’re not alone,’ she says in a loud whisper. How did she know? Joshua is the other side of the shepherd’s hut. He hasn’t moved. ‘Two mugs. I see two mugs,’ she says like she’s just solved the world’s hardest puzzle.

‘One was for me, one was for the dog. Try harder, Sherlock.’

She glares at me through the screen. ‘Have you seriously stopped to have a booty break? With some fella called Steve? I can’t believe you!’

I can’t quite believe those words have come out of my sister’s mouth. ‘NORAH!’ I look over at Joshua, who heard that as well. I really thought that boy couldn’t blush any harder than he has already. I swivel my phone to the end of the shepherd’s hut to show her Joshua, standing up. He’s taken off the hoodie with popcorn in the hood and is standing there with a hand in the air to say hello.