Page 44 of Break the Ice

TWENTY

JOSHUA

I don’t know if these Allbright sisters have problems with their hearing but yes, I heard all of that. I heard Norah assuming that Phoebe and I are an item and that she’s very disapproving that her sister isn’t wearing a bra in my company. Yes, I have been aware of the lack of bra, but it’s none of my business and there’s no reason to even be thinking about her bra and the contents of her bra. I lie here now, a wall of cushions and pillows between myself and Phoebe, my back turned away from her, in a t-shirt and underwear. Sleep, Joshua. Hit the hay before the rest of our drive. But I can’t. I’m in some strange heightened state. I don’t know what that is but I’m blaming her s’mores.

‘You’re still awake,’ Phoebe tells me.

‘So are you,’ I tell her. ‘How did you know?’

‘I can hear you breathing. You keep humphing. And you’re rubbing your feet together like a…’

‘Fruit fly?’ I say. I feel her laugh shake the mattress. ‘You want me to talk about geometry now? That would help us both get to sleep.’

‘Or I could sing?’ she says.

‘Can you sing?’

‘Rude. Anything you want to hear in particular?’

I’m not sure when I agreed to her singing but she starts to hum ‘Silent Night’ and I have to admit, it’s quite soothing. I join in.

‘Shall we try and harmonise?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know how to do that,’ I say. I close my eyes for a moment, still humming, and suddenly I feel a presence on my side of the bed and Steve is standing there, nuzzling into my hand.

‘Hey buddy. What are you doing up? You want a stroke?’

I hear Phoebe stop humming. ‘Joshua, are you talking to your… penis?’

I sit up. ‘God, no. It’s Steve. Steve is up.’

She starts to laugh, possibly out of relief, and pokes her head over the wall of pillows. ‘He must have liked our singing.’

Steve puts two paws up on the bed and starts snuffling into my face and I laugh as he tries to lick my neck. Maybe he was coming over to beg us to stop. ‘Good boy, you know it’s Christmas tomorrow, don’t you? And you are going to meet your family. You’re going to love them. Go and rest, buddy.’ I think he nods before dismounting and trotting back to his bed. I watch him and then turn to Phoebe, who’s sitting up, looking over her pillow fort wall.

‘You’ve breached the wall,’ I tell her, trying to get comfy.

‘I was just watching Steve. Here, pass that dodgy alcohol over. I’ll have a final shot to get me to sleep. Pass the squirty cream too.’

I reach over to the bedside table where the bottles stand. I’d have suggested camomile myself. ‘You really need to stop calling it that. The cream.’

‘But that’s what it’s called,’ she says. ‘I still don’t know why you don’t call it squirty cream. That’s what it does,’ she continues, then squirts a bit in her mouth and shows me the interior. She’s one classy chica. ‘See?’

‘You mean everyone calls it that? Not just you? It’s not whipped cream?’ I ask.

‘Whipped cream comes in a carton and you whip it in a bowl with a whisk. This, you squirt,’ she says, again mimicking the actions.

‘Stop saying squirt,’ I plead. ‘I beg of you.’

She’s struggling to handle her giggles. I think that might be the Irish liqueur speaking. ‘What’s wrong, Joshua? The word squirt making you embarrassed?’ she says in a sing-song voice, getting closer to me with the can.

Because we’re sharing a bed, yes. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask, my eyes wide, hands in the air.

‘Are you afraid of the squirty cream?’ she says, her tongue sticking out of her mouth.

‘Please be sensible, the sheets. Think of the sheets…’

She laughs, getting closer to me until our bodies are touching and she’s close to mounting me. A planned attack, a breach of the walls, and I’ll admit I feel a complete mix of terror but also anticipation, a heady warm sensation to have her this close, the thought of feeling the touch of her skin. She smells incredibly sweet.