Page 8 of Break the Ice

‘Phoebe…’ Norah says.

‘So little faith…’ I shake my head at her. That seems to be the theme of our relationship, but I smile, pulling faces to mask how that sometimes makes me feel.

‘Also,’ she says, looking down at her worktop, ‘I know exactly what you’re doing. Stop making your cookies look like tits.’

FOUR

JOSHUA

‘Hey, are you Norah?’ I’m already taken with the plastic snowmen decorating the hallway of this house in Chiswick, the way this porch glows against the dark street. Holding the door open is a woman with a brown bob, a chunky-knit jumper and big fluffy UGG slippers.

‘I’m hoping you’re Joshua?’ she says.

‘That’s me.’

‘American?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Cool. Come in.’

I’ve only been in the Premier Inn for two days and I think Marge on reception is right about how depressing it could be to make it my home for the next week. It’s comfortable enough but my room neighbour is a man called Kevin. We met at the vending machines. His wife threw him out because he was texting a lady from his work and I can sometimes hear him crying through the wall between his phone fights. So I’ve taken Zhang’s counsel and scoured the links he gave me for housesitting opportunities and found Norah and Adam. They have two kids and a semi-detached house near Richmond, so I might bump into Ted Lasso if I’m lucky. It’s on a quiet leafy street with a garden and there’s also space for me to park my car. This will be like The Holiday, right? I wipe my boots on the mat as I enter, then take them off.

‘He’s already housetrained, I like it,’ Norah says, looking on approvingly as I balance myself against the wall.

‘Force of habit,’ I say, taking in the different-coloured fairy lights and the chaos that defines a family home. It makes my heart smile. I see the Christmas tree in the living room, the ornaments vibrant and home-made and lit up in a hundred different colours, a small pile of gifts at the bottom, a fireplace roaring with light and warmth. ‘You have a beautiful home. What’s that smell? Is that gingerbread?’

‘It is. I have two girls. We’re making a gingerbread house.’

I smile. This is what you don’t get at the Premier Inn. I look up the stairs to see two faces peering around the banister.

‘Freya, Skye… say hello to Joshua.’

‘HELLO!’ they scream before giggling and running off.

‘How old?’ I ask.

‘Eight and ten.’

‘Fun.’

‘Sometimes?’ she says. ‘Please come through. Can I get you a drink? Cup of tea?’

This might be the best thing about being in England. They solve everything with tea. I am part of this tradition now and I take great pride in knowing exactly how to answer too. ‘Yes, please. Milk, one sugar.’ I follow her through to the kitchen, where there are utensils and bowls piled high on the island from baking, school uniform hung off chairs, family photos on the fridge. It feels like home and that sensation runs warm through my veins.

‘You’ll have to forgive the mess… Take a seat.’

I perch on a stool and look at the rack of freshly iced cookies on the counter. There are two that look like eyes. Wait, are those tits?

‘Oh, ignore them. That was the work of my little sister. Have a mince pie, they’re warm,’ she says, pointing to another plate with pies piled high and sprinkled with powdered sugar.

‘Are those the things with the fruit and the pastry?’ I ask, taking one. ‘We don’t have these in the US. I was offered one the other day and I was expecting mince, like ground beef,’ I joke.

‘You don’t have mince pies?’ she says, her eyes widening. ‘Quite literally my favourite thing about Christmas. Turn around, open that fridge behind you and take some brandy butter. Try it with that. It’ll blow your mind.’

‘I’m driving,’ I tell her.

‘Well, I applaud the sensibility, but you won’t be eating the whole tub,’ she says, her eyes twinkling, already so welcoming.