Page 46 of Break the Ice

A hitchhiker we picked up so we could go dogging.

I never know if you’re being serious. I don’t think you’re his type anyway.

Again, rudeness.

I felt like his type yesterday when I attacked him with a squirty-cream tin. Granted, I was a teensy bit drunk, but I think some human, primal instinct took over. I like having sex, I like feeling pleasure and sharing that pleasure. He smelt nice, the body, the girth was a surprise and he had tricks. It felt satisfying but also safe, warm, needed.

You’re a shag and shelf sort. I just sense he’s not. When he came to my house for dinner, I got the feeling this kid was a bit lost so be kind, careful.

Lost how?

He didn’t say.

He wasn’t lost an hour ago. He knew exactly where things were. I shouldn’t text that either. But he was a surprise. It was fun, all the fun. I trace a line down his arm, remembering the curve of it as he put it over his head and pushed himself against the headboard so he could penetrate me deeper. The sound I made. When he was getting excited about his multi-pocketed fishing trousers before, I did not expect we’d end up here.

Just don’t do that thing you do.

I did that an hour ago. He kinda liked it.

What thing would that be, dear sister?

Where you’re full on, wild and laugh at everything.

It surprises me how accurately she’s just described the sex I’ve just had.

Can you not do that thing you do?

???

Can you just treat me like a sister who’s not constantly getting it wrong? Can you point out the stuff I get right too? Can you tell me how much you love me despite myself?

Be a meany bossy pants. It’s Christmas. Go find your goodwill.

Keep your knickers on xx

Too late. I should send her a picture. But I don’t. I just put my phone down and look at the light reflecting off Joshua’s face. Shag and shelf. While not particularly kind, she’s not wrong. It’s what I do, because relationships feel like ties. But we were consenting adults, there was trust and pleasure and it looked like he needed it, to let loose, to be outside the realms of serious and sensible for a moment. I remove that wall of pillows that was between us and spoon his naked body, kissing his shoulder gently. I feel very safe here, very warm, and this is an alien feeling. This is normally the moment where I dig around, looking for my bra and an escape route. But I’ve never felt more compelled to stay exactly where I am. It was just a bit of festive fun in this very little hut. Something to well and truly break the ice.

TWENTY-TWO

JOSHUA

Christmas Day

It’s four a.m. when I wake up, the fire has gone out so the air is bitter cold, and I have a moment where I don’t remember where I am, until I turn and see Phoebe fast asleep and an empty can of squirty cream. Oh yes. We did stuff. Messy stuff. Here, in this bed. She was noisy. I came. Twice. I think she did. It was good. Surprisingly good.

I don’t really do one-night stands. I’m a relationships guy, but she brought out some weird feral side of me. The feel of her was insane, the softness of her skin, the rhythm of how we moved together and instinctively knew what the other needed. And Phoebe was right. It was fun. And we fell asleep almost instantly after. We should probably head off soon. I look over at her for a moment. Technically, she’s paying me to be her driver, so I’m not sure if I feel a little cheap. I enjoyed it. But was this just a slightly drunken way to pass the time? Was the Scrabble not enough? Are we a thing now? Or was that a one-off moment of fun? She sleeps like she lives, messily, and I like how that makes me smile. Her hair has frizzed all over her face, her mouth is open, she’s kicked off her covers so a leg pokes out, and an arm is folded over her face. One of her nipples has made an escape. I reach over and gently pull up the blanket over it. I’m not sure how to fix anything else here but I don’t know if she really cares. I reach over and kiss her shoulder and she doesn’t even flinch. I’ll wake her in half an hour. But maybe we need to warm up first.

I creep out of bed, wrap my fleece cape around me, and use my phone as a torch. Do I pretend that I’m a Tolkien character, edging my way through the darkness on a dangerous quest? Maybe I do. I head over to the stove and open the door, poke at the ashes and put some kindling and paper inside, then light it. I look at the left-over wrappers from our s’more-making. We’re going to have to do a lot of cleaning. I want to leave this place in good order. I see Steve, in the darkness, raise his head and leap off the bed and come trotting towards me. When he sees me, he arches his back and straightens his front legs.

‘Oooh, big stretch! Hey bud, you good? You didn’t see any of that, did you?’ Steve looks at me and I think he winks. Oh dear. I never wanted to add to his trauma. ‘You sleep nice? You wanna go pee-pee?’ I whisper, not that he’ll answer.

I grab the lead from near the door, attach it to him and slip my sneakers on, grab a coat and supplies and lead him outside into the small field next to the shepherd’s hut. This is a farm but I’m not sure what they’re farming. I hope I don’t get caught in a stampede of sheep. It’s so quiet. The snow will do that. I’ve not had this in the longest time. I’ve been holed up in cities with all that ambient noise of cars and buildings and people. I take a deep breath, gazing up at the night sky. There are so many stars, not a cloud in sight. This is good – it means it won’t snow any more – and that clarity, that light and calm feels healing. I inhale a long breath, so cold it feels sharp on my lungs. The snow has frozen and is crunchy under my feet. I watch as Steve cocks his leg and pees in a nearby bush, steam rising off the warm stream.

‘Good boy, Steve,’ I say, giving him a small treat. ‘You want a bit of a run?’ It’s an enclosed space, so I let him off the lead and watch him gallop off around the field, doing circuits. I look up again at the stars, mesmerising in how they light up that sky. I remember a time we went to Nantucket at Christmas to see an aunt, and that was maybe the only other time I’ve seen the sky so clear. I remember my dad telling me he saw Santa flying across the sky. Could have been a plane, could have been a shooting astronomical object but I so clearly remember believing him. Why does all of that seem so very far away, right about now? ‘Merry Christmas,’ I whisper into the cold.

It’s then that my phone starts to glow. I smile for a moment as I realise what the time must be back at home, and these distant memories flashing into my mind feel like a sign. I look down at my phone, glowing in the darkness, and see a picture of a s’more in front of a fire. Maddie. I guess the best of traditions never die, but I bet mine tasted better. I bet you missed out the peanut butter. But then I see the sender’s contact. Avery. I stand there frozen yet open up the message almost immediately.

Merry Christmas Joshua. S’more, the merrier x