Page 57 of Break the Ice

I turn to look at her. ‘I did it for the nieces.’

‘Yeah, whatever. Norah will never tell you this, but she hardly slept last night worrying about you.’

‘You mean, she was worried about whether I was shagging her fish-sitter,’ I jest.

‘No. She had weather radars up. Every time she heard there was an accident, she’d get online to check if it was you.’

‘She just wanted to check her dog was OK…’

‘Or not. Never be fooled by the hard shell on that one. It’s all worry masked as love. She knows you struggle without Mum so she sometimes tries to fill that space,’ she explains.

We stop for a moment to take that in, looking over at Norah walking ahead, her arms around her daughters.

‘So, this Joshua—’ Flo continues, trying to change the subject.

‘Don’t,’ I say, putting a hand up. ‘You guys are really bloody indiscreet, by the way,’ I add. ‘There’s a lot of elbows and knowing looks.’

‘He’s cute.’

I look at him as he walks ahead of us chatting to Ben, wearing one of my dad’s chunky fleeces over his wetsuit. He’s game at least. I’m not sure if many guests would agree to this freezing Christmas sea dip, but he’s squeezed his arse into that wetsuit, he’s out here, letting the sea air give him an attractive combover. The arse is very respectable but I try to pretend that I’m not looking.

‘We are complete opposites. He’s very tidy and orderly of mind.’

‘I believe they call that yin and yang,’ Flo says.

‘Oh, do piss off…’ I say. ‘He’s a nice guy. And history should tell you that’s not my vibe at all.’

‘And yet you are still single. What a wonder…’ she says. I push her and she stumbles into the snow, then sticks her tongue out at me and runs towards her boys. ‘Hey, guys… race you there!’

I’m left there, my new, very fetching camouflage Dryrobe flapping in the wind on this overcast beach. I always think this place is connected directly to my soul. Naturally, my Spanish mother didn’t think Broadsands was a beach because of the persistently low water temperatures but it is one of my dad’s favourite places. And I can’t remember when it became tradition but there was a point in our early teens where we would come here at Christmas and do our own Christmas Day dip, a way to stimulate the appetite for the day ahead and open up the lungs. It borders on insanity but it’s now not Christmas until it’s done. I stand facing the open sea and take a large cleansing salty breath as I listen to the waves crashing. On the horizon, the clouds are low and slate-coloured, the sunshine struggling to break through.

‘So do we actually swim anywhere?’ a voice next to me asks, competing with the breeze. There’s something really comforting in hearing Joshua’s voice in this moment. He leans into me. He has an oversized woolly hat on. I pull it up out of his eyes and wipe away the tears induced by the cold. His skin is icy to the touch but I rest my hand there for longer than I should, tracing my fingers down the curve of his chin. ‘It’s more a dip. We run in, we scream and dunk and then run out commending each other’s bravery.’

‘Like an outdoor baptism?’ he asks.

‘Exactly… and what better way to say happy birthday to Jesus. Today we might even meet a penguin, if we’re lucky.’

He laughs nervously at this. ‘Do we know the temperature? The risk of hypothermia? Apparently, we are at risk of cold-water shock, you know?’

‘OK, Dr Google. If you freeze, we’ll thaw you out. I have a hairdryer back home.’

He chuckles, shaking his head at me, the wind making his hair tousled. He looks out to the sea, clouds rolling overhead. Could I be with someone like you? I feel like you would tell me off too much and find me too ridiculous. But you’d possibly do all those things I hate, like ironing and picking the lint out of the dryer.

I watch Steve as he sees us walking together and circles back, jumping up at Ben.

‘Cookie! Cookie!’ Adam shouts from across the sand.

‘Is your brother-in-law hungry?’ Joshua asks.

‘No, it’s Steve’s new name,’ I say, grimacing. ‘Between you and me, though, I don’t think it’s taking. He’s definitely not a Cookie. He’s a dog of the streets, it’s far too sweet. He’s definitely a Steve.’

‘Have you told them this?’ Josh asks.

‘Oh, I did, and apparently Adam’s got a colleague called Steve, so it’s weird. But I guess they don’t really know what to do now they’ve found out Skye is allergic.’ I look at Steve, his ears bouncing, his tongue hanging out. The freedom, and this new gang of people giving him all this attention, are making him so happy.

‘They won’t give him back, will they?’ Joshua asks worriedly.

‘No, I won’t let them do that. Flo can’t take him as she has cats, so for now Aunty Phoebe is going to do the right aunter-ly thing and take him in.’