Page 54 of Break the Ice

‘Is he your boyfriend?’ Theo asks.

‘Yikes, no,’ Joshua says. I don’t know whether to laugh or be mildly offended.

I wrap up those little boys tightly in my embrace, side-eyeing ‘funny’ Josh as my nieces giggle at his accent.

‘Mummy said you got stuck in the snow?’ Theo says.

‘We did,’ I explain. ‘It was awful. I was frozen. I had to dig myself out of a giant snow cave, fight off yetis. Are we building snowmen later? Sledging?’

They all nod enthusiastically and I high-five them all in turn, then look at Elijah as he stares at my feet. ‘Aunty Phoebe, why is the snow by your feet yellow?’

I look down and see a yellow patch where Steve was standing next to me, and little pawprints. The dog. He’s supposed to be a surprise. I have to think on my feet here. ‘I wet myself,’ I joke.

‘No, you didn’t!’ Elijah says, laughing.

‘Oh my God, did you guys see the footprints too?’ Josh says, crouching down. ‘Rangifer tarandus, I am sure of it. I’ve seen it before.’

‘You what now?’ I ask him as he pretends to look around the snow like Bear bloody Grylls. He pulls me down to also have a look. I hope he doesn’t smell the wee or ask me to do so.

‘Reindeer. Those are reindeer prints…’ he says, quite convincingly.

‘I thought reindeer had hooves, not paws,’ Elijah says, confused.

‘That’s definitely reindeer wee though,’ I say, pointing to the yellow patch, trying to save us.

‘How do you know?’ Skye asks.

‘It smells of… carrots.’ Four little people start to sniff the air, their jaws dropping. ‘You sure?’ Theo asks me. ‘We did leave out carrots last night.’

Joshua and I both nod, slowly, pretending to smell the air too. The children all study the snow for traces, for bells, for droppings? I don’t know. I feel Joshua’s hand reach for the inside of my pocket. Don’t be doing that now, here, in front of the youngsters. But oh yeah, I forgot what I put in there earlier – quite disgustingly, I may have left half a carrot in there after I gave a snowman a rhinoplasty.

‘OH MY GOD, LOOK WHAT I FOUND!’ Joshua yells.

He holds it up. Everyone gasps. Except me. I laugh, quite loudly. You are funny. Damn you.

TWENTY-SIX

JOSHUA

It really is like being in The Holiday, the actual movie, with the snow and the cottage with its beams and giant Christmas tree and the country lanes and holly bushes and snowy fields. And I don’t know how these Brits are so calm – I want to jump about and punch the air at how darn cute it is. I want to say the word quaint over and over again, and hug Phoebe’s dad and get him to say the word piddle again, and I’ve definitely had too much coffee but I want to live here. Please. I’m here on Christmas Day and I just want to hoover up all of this Christmas festivity and swim in it until my fingers go pruney. Yet I can’t say any of this out loud because I am a guest and I don’t want to appear too American, too needy, too weird because of the kids and because then I wouldn’t have anywhere to be at Christmas. Instead, I have to stand in their cosy country kitchen, keep it all in and hope I haven’t gone bright pink from all the excitement.

‘Josh, right? I’m Ben, the lone brother. Merry Christmas…’

The brother. I feel I know him already from Phoebe’s ramblings in the car. Had a restaurant in Notting Hill, moved to Ibiza, fiancée is Chloe, standing over there in the jumper with the robin. He really does look like Pedro Pascal. I put my hand out. ‘Merry Christmas. Happy to be here.’

‘While we’re doing introductions, I’m the other sister, Flo.’ Flo is not one for handshakes. She comes in for a hug. She’s wearing a Christmas onesie and fleece-lined slippers. ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘Elijah and Theo’s mom?’ I ask. ‘Married to Henry?’

‘Indeed, you’re piecing the family together quite nicely. Buck’s Fizz?’ she says, handing me a glass. It’s these little things that are making me smile from ear to ear. The way we’re all gathered in this kitchen space, pots and pans bubbling on the range cooker, there’s no order but Malcolm has stacked pastries high on this rustic long oak table and I’m sitting on a bench, looking out at the snow in the garden through misted windows. Everyone helps themselves, kids run in, they run out, the crumpets are the shape of Christmas trees, they laugh over mismatched mugs of tea and Buck’s Fizz, which I assume are mimosas. There’s the buzz of conversation, Christmas music in the background, all the signs of a home, of family, of love.

‘JOSHUA!’

Norah, the sister who started all of this, sidles up next to me on this bench and puts an arm around me.

‘I see you’ve all met my housesitter cum dog delivery man?’ she says, and laughs. ‘Merry merry Christmas, you lovely boy. I again have to apologise that you got roped into all of this. I will recompense you.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, Phoebe has done that already, twice over.’