Page 67 of Break the Ice

Love, Steve

I laugh. ‘Steve, what amazing handwriting you have. Feral, my arse.’ I pat him on the head and look out of my kitchen window, up into a starry night sky. Joshua. He saved the day again. I think about him. A night in a hut, memories flashing into view of squirty cream, warm skin and tangled legs. I can see us rebuilding snowmen together, running around big Tesco, the power of his s’mores. I think about why I called him, the way I immediately dialled his number when I needed help with Steve. I look at my watch and reach for my phone.

Did Steve really write that letter?

I see three dots appearing almost straight away and I have to admit, I like that he’s up and engaging.

Yes. Doesn’t he have wonderful penmanship?

Thank you for looking out for him this afternoon x

It was a lot of fun. I’ve missed him. You ever need a dog-sitter then you know where I am.

When are you off home?

I fly out tomorrow evening on the red-eye.

Then do you want to grab a coffee tomorrow? We can walk Steve together, in the morning?

I bend down to pet Steve as I await his answer, strangely anxious about how he might reply. ‘Did you have a good day with your Uncle Joshua? Did he look after you?’ Was that a nod? Or did I imagine that?

9 a.m. By that café near the pond?

It’s a date.

THIRTY-TWO

JOSHUA

28 December

I don’t know any adult who asks for so many extras with their hot chocolate. Most people I know have a bit of cream but Phoebe loves the works, the marshmallows, the whipped cream, cocoa sprinkles, and she eats the top layer like a little kid, with a wriggle of the shoulders, her eyes lighting up as she savours it all. I look at her from my very boring latte and grin.

‘Enjoying that?’

‘Always. Christmas is the only time you can go extra on a hot chocolate like this. I like to make the most of it,’ she says.

In all the versions of Phoebe I’ve seen, from the one in pyjamas to wetsuit to wading through snowy fields, this is by far the most calm and serene. She wears her bright pink flamingo beanie unapologetically, her blonde hair hanging in curls around her face, and she’s snug in a big grey overcoat. We stand next to a wooden outbuilding flashy in lights and tinsel that serves as a café, overlooking the park, the pond and groups of kids still trying to sledge on what’s left of the snow.

‘Maybe we keep moving?’ I suggest, handing her a lid for her drink, and she eyeballs me for spoiling her fun. ‘I came to walk the dog, not watch you get marshmallows stuck in your teeth.’

This makes her laugh and we pick up our drinks and snacks and head out into the winter sunshine. I thought being here in London with her, without the rush of Christmas and dog delivery, might be awkward, but she greeted me with a massive hug and everything feels so normal, calm.

‘So…’ Phoebe says, turning to Steve, as she breaks off a gingerbread man leg for him.

‘So…’ I echo, smiling, watching the winter sun bounce off her hair.

‘Thank you again for coming to the rescue with Steve again. It was a last-minute gig, I didn’t want to leave him on his own,’ she explains.

‘It’s all good,’ I tell her. ‘Thank you for getting in touch. Christmas was kinda fun in the end. Sounds corny but I really thought I might never see you again after the holidays and that made me⁠—’

‘Deeply inconsolable?’ she asks, snickering to herself, as we start to walk around the pond to the middle of the park, Steve on a tight leash. ‘But I mean what I said about being friends, keeping in touch. You’re here in London on your own. We should totally hang out. And I agree, Christmas was super fun. Didn’t we have fun?’

I take a large sip of my drink. Did she just wink at me? She pushes me playfully, leaning into me. ‘Oh, Joshua. I was thinking about the making of the s’mores, the snowball fights,’ she says, circling a halo shape over her head. ‘I don’t know what fun you may be referring to?’ she adds, teasing me. How can she talk about these things so casually? We’re in a public place.

‘Well, stuff happened. I’d like to understand… I mean, I liked… But…’ I mutter, realising I am not coming across as incredibly smooth.

‘I can’t quite tell if you’re embarrassed or not about the fact that you and I had sex?’ she asks. ‘I’m not. I had fun. No shame in having fun.’