Page 95 of Break the Ice

‘Goes with the job, Miss Phoebe. I’m going to catch the fireworks, grab a sub. I’ll keep myself busy,’ he says.

I’m not sure how I feel about that, so I give him a peck on the cheek. ‘Well, make sure you have a bit of fun too,’ I tell him, winking.

‘Always,’ he says, grinning. ‘And for what it’s worth…’ he adds, pretending to help me adjust my coat, ‘I’ve never heard my boy laugh like that with anyone else. Avery was not the one, never the one.’

‘I don’t know what you’re saying, Lenny,’ I say jokingly.

‘I’m saying don’t let that girl get her claws into him again,’ he says, looking over at Joshua as he leans in to Maddie, telling her a joke.

I put a hand on Lenny’s arm. ‘Then I will do my best. I’ll see you later, Lenny. Have a good night.’

‘You too, Baroness,’ he says in a really terrible British accent.

And I laugh and curtsey as he bows back at me, and Josh looks over in complete bewilderment. It’s time for some fun.

FORTY-FOUR

JOSHUA

I guess you don’t know you’re comfortably wealthy until you’re in your teens. I went to a good prep school in Manhattan, we regularly went on nice holidays and my parents were generous to a fault when it came to things we wanted in life, without spoiling us. However, there came a point when I started to notice the lifestyle, the parties, the people who’d sit around talking brashly about politics and money, and that was when the realisation dawned on me that we had privilege beyond most people’s. But with that came the realisation that the measure of your worth was perhaps a bit deeper than the shoes on your feet and the price of your watch. Dad was cool rich – kids would come round to our house and see the photos of him with Bruno Mars on his office wall – and so, despite me being a massive math geek, there was still some cool about me. However, the wealth, the excess and constant need to compete and outdo people never sat right. That was the good thing about being in London. When I left, I didn’t ask for handouts or financial support, I wanted to blend in, start again, just be Josh, the numbers dude. I wanted to go to pubs where the fanciest thing a person could order was some artisan fruit beer and, when you did order it, people would take the mickey, in the most affectionate of ways.

And so standing here in the grand hall of this party, I am again reminded of how terribly I’ve never quite fitted into this scene. Jesus, that is a lot of fake snow. Is it real? Did they shovel it in from outside? The room is also lined with white-twigged trees fitted with twinkling lights and crystals. I think they’ve even built a log cabin in the corner. Man, it’s serving raclette, manned by two men dressed in white fur. A swing band play festive classics in the corner of the room, there’s an up-close magician circling the guests, and, of course, there’s an oyster bar. Why wouldn’t there be?

‘But no Ice Cube. I think they missed a trick there,’ Phoebe says, looking at the ceiling, at the hundreds of lights dotted around like stars. My parents and Maddie are already rubbing shoulders with friends and knee-deep in the party scene, so I’m glad she’s here. She stands next to me, looking around in wonder but also smirking at the ridiculousness of it all. I turn to her, relieved that maybe she sees through it all. I like how she reacted more to seeing a hot dog vendor for the first time.

‘It’s a lot, eh?’ I say.

‘There’s a man in the corner making snow cones though. Alcoholic ones, so I think I won that bet,’ she says, gesturing for me to follow her gaze.

‘We didn’t put any money down,’ I remind her.

‘Dang it,’ she says, laughing and snapping her fingers.

‘Snowball, sir? Ma’am?’ a server suddenly asks us, glasses of cocktails on a silver tray balanced on their hand. They’re dressed head to toe in white, even down to their very white patent leather shoes.

‘Like the cocktail with the advocaat? Christ, that would go right through me,’ Phoebe says and the server tries to hold in their giggles. ‘Thank you though.’ This is why I like having her here. ‘Did you see the fondue shed too?’ she tells me and I laugh.

‘I think it’s raclette,’ I correct her.

‘All ways of saying cheese on toast.’ She smiles. She looks at the magician as he makes a card appear out of a ball of flame, and makes a fake surprised face in my direction, flaring her nostrils.

I laugh. ‘Is it me or is there an air of cynicism about you, Miss Allbright?’ A server comes round with champagne and I take two glasses and hand her one.

‘Joshy, this is my job. Silly parties, for silly people who have more money than sense. Think of how this money could help other people, the homeless, sick kids. It’s nice to dress up and enjoy it all but it’s all a bit… ridiculoso,’ she says, leaning in to whisper the last word.

‘Wagyu?’ another server says, appearing before us.

‘That said, YES!’ says Phoebe, and, not even letting them finish explaining what it comes with, she grabs a canapé from their tray. ‘You had me at wagyu.’ The server smiles and she stuffs it fully in her mouth. I think that may have been a two-bite deal.

‘Good?’

‘It is,’ she says, tongue licking the side of her mouth.

But is it as good as eating soup dumplings out of the container while leaning against my kitchen counter, or making home-made s’mores in a shepherd’s hut thousands of miles away from here? I don’t think so.

‘Oh my, Joshua. You came! I’m so glad,’ a voice suddenly pipes up behind us and, pained to recognise it, I turn, slowly.

‘Inga, hey. How are you? Jed…’ Avery’s parents. There are presidential hints about the way they dress, Jed’s double-breasted, no-nonsense tuxedo and Inga with her ice-blonde hair, the cape on her dress and elbow-length gloves. Inga comes in for an awkward hug, while Jed shakes my hand firmly.