Ice Diaries

by Lexi Revellian

  “As soon as you get tired, Gemma, you can have a nice nap in our bed until it’s time to go home.”

  “I won’t get tired,” said Gemma. “I’m good at staying up late.”

  Claire said quickly, “That’s very thoughtful of you, Nina.” I caught Claire’s eye; the corner of her mouth twitched and I turned away before we got the giggles. Paul reappeared from the bedroom wearing grey trousers and a corduroy jacket. None of us looked like our normal selves. Like Gemma, we were in fancy dress. Claire had put her hair up which she never does. She wore a long skirt and a low-cut draped top with a dramatic necklace.

  “I haven’t had a cleavage like this since I fed Gemma, so I’m making the most of it. Lucky Nina’s is always so warm. Get you – is that Vivienne Westwood?”

  “Yep.”

  A movement on the terrace caught my eye. Greg was swinging his leg over the wall. I realized Nina had got us all here half an hour before Mike’s lot, in order to check our hands were clean and our hair brushed and have us sitting neatly in a row for when he arrived. He must have made quite an impression. Greg wiped his feet carefully on the mat, and removed his parka revealing a new red cardigan. He offered Nina the plastic bag he was holding, and she took it and peered inside.

  “I’ll put it away with your coat. You didn’t have to bring supplies. This evening isn’t one of our usual get-togethers.”

  “Will we be playing Monopoly?”

  Nina pursed her lips. “No.”

  “Scottish dancing?”

  “No. I don’t expect Mike and his friends know how to.”

  Greg’s brow wrinkled. “What will we do, then?”

  “We’ll make conversation in a civilized manner on topics of general interest.” Nina bustled off to the kitchen.

  Archie gave Greg a drink, and went to help Nina with the food. Greg came and sat between me and Claire.

  “Cheers.” I clinked glasses with the others. “Shall we practise a bit of civilized conversation? What topic do you fancy?”

  “I nearly came as Minnie Mouse,” Gemma announced, sitting on her throne and swinging her legs. “The dress has got white spots but it is red and has a black top, and there’s a bow at the front and between the ears, and you wear black tights. It’s got a petticoat with frills.”

  “That is the most amazing coincidence! I nearly came as Minnie Mouse too. But on reflection, I thought I wasn’t quite mini enough to carry it off.”

  Gemma was not deceived. She gave me a disapproving look. “No you didn’t, Tori. You haven’t got a Minnie Mouse costume, or I’d have seen it. You’ve only got ordinary clothes.”

  “Yes, and it’s not fair. I’m going to make a formal complaint. I see Toby came as a baby. Cheating a bit. Must have a word with him.”

  “He can’t talk yet, Tori. You’re being silly again.”

  “Darn. Have to watch that.” I turned my attention to Greg. “Nice cardigan.” I peered closer. “I don’t wish to alarm you, but your pocket appears to be moving …”

  Furtively, Greg shot a look over his shoulder towards the kitchen; Nina’s voice and the chink of crockery could be heard through the open door. She’d be a while. He put his hand carefully in his pocket and got out something small and furry. A baby rat; soft grey fur, pink nose and feet and ears, with long whiskers and black bead eyes. Claire exclaimed and Gemma jumped off her seat and came over to have a look.

  I said, “He’s so sweet! Can I hold him?”

  “She’s a she,” Greg said, putting the rat in my hands. “I found her in Argos. She was lost. I don’t think Nina would like her at the dinner party, so don’t let her see. I couldn’t leave her behind on her own all evening.”

  “We won’t tell,” said Gemma.

  Paul hovered. “Careful, Gemma. She won’t bite, will she?”

  “No, she’s very friendly.”

  Claire said, “Did you wash her?”

  Greg nodded. “I heated some water and used Head and Shoulders. She wasn’t nearly so fluffy when I found her.”

  Claire did not look totally reassured. The rat felt warm and light in my hand, and her claws tickled. I could feel the beat of her small heart. Her blunt nose snuffled at my fingers, then she sat up and groomed her whiskers, quite unafraid. I stroked her behind the ear with one finger and she shut her eyes as if she liked it.

  Greg smiled proudly. “I’m going to teach her tricks when she’s bigger.”

  Gemma was practically hopping up and down. “Can I hold her?”

  I handed the rat over. “What’s she called?”

  “Rosie. After Rose Tyler.” His favourite of Doctor Who’s companions.

  Gemma laughed, delighted. “She’s nibbling my fingers! Shall I get her something to eat?”

  “She’s had her tea. I’ve got some muesli in my other pocket in case she gets hungry. You can try her with a bit.”

  Rosie took the proffered almond flake and held it with surprisingly hand-like paws, turning it round and audibly crunching, little furry jaw working.

  “Aaah … Mummy, can I have one?” I knew how she felt. I wanted one too.

  “No.” Claire’s voice was firm.

  “Why not? I’d look after it.”

  “Because they’re wild creatures … except for Rosie who’s … adopted.”

  “But if I had one it would be adopted too. Please, can I have one?”

  Nina’s voice became more audible. Greg took Rosie from Gemma and pocketed her. Her worm-like tail hung outside briefly, then vanished. We all sat back as Nina walked past us to the table.

  Gemma hissed, “Please, Mummy, can I? I want one.”

  “Ssh, we’ll discuss it later. Go and wash your hands.”

  I went too. Their bathroom is nice; they have a proper commode, and an old-fashioned bowl and jug for washing, with a matching soap dish, and a hanging lantern.

  I could hear the snowmobiles’ engines getting louder as we rejoined the others. Team Mike had arrived. They lined the sleds up the far side of the terrace wall. Mike walked into the room, all smiles and compliments and introductions, and Nina fussed over him, taking his jacket. Beneath it he had on a smart suit and tie. So, improbably, did Big Mac, Eddie and Hong, giving them the air of bouncers outside a flash casino. BJ wore a suit with a shirt open at the neck while Serena, once changed out of her ski suit, was elegant in a long dress with a ruffled neckline. Sober she was back to normal; I was no longer her best friend. They’d all come. Morgan had thought Mike might leave a couple on guard duty at Bézier. Mike handed Archie a boxed bottle of Rémy Martin XO Excellence Cognac, and Nina a bottle of Jean Patou’s Joy.

  Nina was delighted. “Mike, you shouldn’t have!”

  “It’s nothing. I’m sorry not to be able to bring you flowers.”

  Mike greeted me like an old friend, holding my hand and kissing both cheeks. He stepped back so he could survey me. “Tori, you’re looking amazing tonight.”

  Nina moved him on to the drinks. Mike refused champagne and had a glass of orange juice. He shook Gemma’s hand and said he’d always wanted to meet the Queen, made Claire glow by admiring Toby thoroughly and convincingly, briefly discussed the design of the Barbican with Paul, then charmingly evaded Nina’s clutches and came and sat next to me.

  “Tori.” He lowered his voice to an intimate level. “I’ve been worrying a little about our conversation the other day. Perhaps I should have kept quiet.”

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t take it too seriously.” From across the room, I saw Serena’s eyes straying in our direction, computing Mike’s interest/lack of interest in me. More to needle him than in the hope of being told anything, I said, “Though I have been wondering what you and Morgan fell out over.”

  He smiled and leaned forward. “You just want me to badmouth Morgan so you can get angry with me. I bet you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” Having delivered this cliché, he settled back against the sofa, smug as a panther lolling in a tree, irritating as a raspberry seed between the teeth, regarding
me under half-closed lids. “I’ve got an almost overwhelming urge to pull that zip, and Nina wouldn’t approve. Quick, tell me something, take my mind off it. Something that’s not corsets or bodices or bustiers.” He shut his eyes for a moment. “Or velvet or zips.”

  The stare I gave him was as cool as the weather. “I’ll make it easy for you.” I got up and joined Greg and Archie over by the drinks, keeping my back to Mike.

  Charlie and Sam arrived late – on account of Sam fussing over what to wear, if past form was anything to go by. Nina introduced them to the guest of honour. I saw Serena notice Mike’s eyes flicking over Sam the same way they’d flicked over me, but she didn’t have anything to worry about; Charlie always puts people in the picture at an early stage.

  “This is Sam and Charlie. Charlie was a published author, as well as being P.A. to Harry Carrington.”

  “A published author, I’m impressed. Tell me, what books have you written?”

  “Book. Just the one, Carapace. My pen name is C.J. Hewitt. I don’t expect you’ll have heard of it, it’s rather niche.”

  “Carapace? But I bought it for my sister, it was the last present I gave her.” He looked sad for a moment then rallied, as if determined not to let his loss cast a pall. “I thought it sounded her sort of thing, and it was, she loved it. I’m honoured to meet you. Are you writing something else?”

  I didn’t believe Mike. The guy was a creep. He was making friends and influencing people tonight, and in my opinion this was just part of his charm offensive. Clever of him to say he’d bought it as a present; too easy to be caught out if you say you’ve read a book when you haven’t. But Charlie glowed just like Claire had, happily taken in, and chatted about Carapace and Jeanette Winterson and Sarah Waters until Nina called us to sit at the table.

  Archie sat at one end and Nina at the other, with Mike in the place of honour on her right, BJ on her left. Mike chatted to Claire on his other side, but mostly to Nina. From what I overheard, they seemed to be talking about foreign travel and music. I was in the cheap seats next to Archie, opposite Greg and Serena. When she told him about the labradoodle she’d had as a child, I could see he longed to boast about his new pet, but after a glance at Nina he evidently decided it was not a good idea. The three bodyguards said little, and when they did speak it was to each other in a sort of guttural shorthand. Hong sat on my left. He was younger than Mac, shorter and Chinese, but with the same Chesterfield sofa build. English wasn’t his first language, I discovered when trying to get him into conversation. I have a theory that most people have one subject on which they are interesting, if you can only discover what it is; but if Hong had one, I failed to find it. So I leaned across the table and tried Mac.

  “Tell me about cage fighting.”

  He regarded me curiously. “What d’you want to know?”

  “Well, everything, really. I don’t know anything about it.”

  He gave a short laugh. “You and everyone else. A mate of mine’s wife asked me, ‘Is it to the death?’ I said, ‘Yeah, and I’ve only lost twice.’ Mind you, she was pissed at the time.”

  “I suppose it’s because not many people have met a cage fighter.”

  “No. There’s a lot of people say they’re MMA when they’ve never been in the ring. The sort of meathead who used to say he was SAS to impress the lassies. Got the ink, some of them, that’s all.”

  “Ink?”

  “Tattoos.”

  “Did women do MMA?”

  “Oh aye. There were some good Scottish girls coming up.”

  I sipped my wine while deciding what to say next. Archie on my right, unaware he was interrupting, said my top was quite Elizabethan in style, apart from the zip of course, which got us talking about royalty and Shakespeare and Tom Stoppard and circuses … When I next looked, Mac was involved in some ponderous and incomprehensibly Scottish teasing of Eddie.

  Every so often snatches of conversation from the other end of the table reached me. Mike’s deep voice, “One would like to help more, but we have to be realistic …” “Not wanting to be sententious, but civilization is more important than any individual.” “The Magic Flute is a great favourite of mine, I envy you.” And Nina, “No, I entirely see that. Anyone would do the same in your position …” “Oh absolutely, I couldn’t agree more …” “Ah, Mozart …”

  BJ was regaling Sam and Paul with funny stories about when he was training to be a nurse and was the only male in the group. Serena strained to hear, clearly wishing she was the other end of the table. I tried to picture Morgan at the dinner; if his behaviour at the ceilidh was anything to go by, he’d be scornful about Nina’s efforts, uninterested in social chit chat, and rebuff people who tried to start a conversation with him. In a word, ungracious. Whereas I had to admit Mike was making the occasion go like a rocket. Part of me would have liked Morgan sitting by my side, bad manners and all.

  The meal was leisurely, with several courses and a different wine to accompany each dish. Even had Nina thought them appropriate, we wouldn’t have had time for board games or dancing. The wine was rather better than the food – no fault of the cook, Nina had done well with the materials available. I began to feel pleasantly chilled out. My mind ran on Morgan’s raid on Bézier, wondering whether it had been successful. Over tinned fruit and cream with Muscat de Beaumes de Venise, Nina asked Mike about his plans, and how long he’d be staying. There happened to be a lull in the buzz of conversation just then, so even from the far end of the table I could hear Mike’s answer.

  “Well, you know we’re practically pirates.” An amused, deprecating murmur rose from his neighbours. “So while we’re here we’re doing some pirating, looking for gold. We’re digging down to the British Museum. Unfortunately it’s a low-rise building.”

  “But that’s stealing!” Gemma stared at him, scandalized. “It’s not your gold, it’s the Museum’s, you can’t take it. And anyway, pirates have ships and you don’t.”

  Nina and Claire both said, “Gemma!”

  “It is, though.”

  Mike smiled. “I’ll get a ship when I need it to cross the Channel, Your Majesty. And I’m not sure anything left behind under twenty metres of snow belongs to anyone any more, unless you dig it up, at which point it belongs to you.”

  Gemma thought about this. “So have you got a lot of treasure?”

  “No.” His voice was grave; all laughter had left his eyes. He’d done one of his disconcerting mood flips. “We did have, but someone took it.”

  “Who?” said Nina. All heads were turned towards Mike.

  He took a sip of his dessert wine. “I think you’ve met Morgan?”

  Nina nodded, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Yes. I know he was with you. But he never told us anything about his past. He never talked much at all.”

  “That figures. Before the snow he used to work for me. When I first knew him he was earning peanuts loading trucks, and I thought he was better than that. He’s not just muscles, he’s got a brain when he chooses to use it. But he’s his own worst enemy. I gave him a job in my organization, then when the snow built up I said he could come with me. We were friends, or so I thought. He went off one night with my sled – my snowmobile – and everything we’d spent a year collecting. I was hoping to catch up with him and persuade him to give us back our share.”

  “That’s terrible! What made him behave like that?”

  Mike shrugged. “Greed.” He smiled down the table at Archie. “One of the seven deadly sins. And a bit of envy, that’s another.”

  Nina shook her head, deploring Morgan’s low behaviour. She was enjoying herself. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I didn’t take to him while he was here. He had no manners, and I know that may sound trivial, but I find it’s often indicative of deeper personal flaws.”

  “He didn’t have a snowmobile though, did he Tori?” Charlie said.

  “No.”

  Mike said, “Maybe he just didn’t let you see it.”

  Without mean
ing to, my next remark came out hostile and rather loud, so that all eyes slewed in my direction. “He did have a knife cut on his ribs, though. How did he get that?”

  “He lost his temper and tried to stab Eddie. Eddie defended himself.”

  Eddie nodded, not meeting anyone’s gaze. I said to him, “So you’re a better fighter than Morgan? You surprise me. Because he’s bigger than you and a Jiu-Jitsu black belt.”

  Eddie went a dull red but didn’t say anything. Serena’s gaze was steadfastly on her lap. Mike said, “There’s more to fighting than Jitsu. Eddie’s a boxer.”

  “But good with a knife as well apparently.”

  “Morgan’s knife – but I’m not defending either of them. It was a dispute that got out of hand, an ugly brawl that shouldn’t have happened. If you want to blame anyone, blame me. I’m in charge, and I failed to stop Morgan getting hurt.”

  Nina rushed in to forestall an awkward silence. “I’m sure whoever’s fault it was, it wasn’t yours. From what I’ve seen of –”

  A piercing scream interrupted her. Serena jumped to her feet, chair clattering to the floor behind her. While we were disagreeing over Morgan, Rosie had woken up unnoticed and decided to explore. Paws gripping the rim of Serena’s dessert dish, her nose twitched as she busily investigated its contents.

  Ice Diaries ~ Lexi Revellian

  CHAPTER 13

  Civilized and reasonable

  “She made an awful lot of fuss,” Greg said thoughtfully, as we walked back together through the snow. “Rosie wouldn’t have hurt her.”

  “Suddenly appearing out of nowhere made it worse, I suppose. But Serena didn’t have to be such a total wimp about it, especially after we’d told her Rosie was a pet. D’you want to come in for a coffee? It’s still quite early.”