Page 58 of Break the Ice

‘You are?’ Joshua replies, surprised.

‘Well, yeah…’ I say. ‘I’m not giving up on him.’ He stops, smiling broadly, but to be fair he’s been doing that a lot since we arrived at my dad’s, this big syrupy grin on his face that makes me worried we’ve been giving him too much Buck’s Fizz. He looks at my family again, all of us scattered in a strange formation like we’re about to storm this beach. ‘I guess this wasn’t how you were envisaging spending Christmas, eh?’

‘Oh man, it’s much better. Your dad is so kind for inviting me to stay today,’ he says.

I smile at the excitement etched into his face. ‘You don’t normally do this then for Christmas? Gather on a frozen cold beach?’

‘We don’t have a lot of kids in the family. We normally just have lunch,’ he says.

‘You don’t go ice-skating outside the Rockefeller? Play the dancing pianos at FAO Schwartz?’

He laughs. ‘You really need to watch fewer movies,’ he tells me. ‘No, it’s always quiet. Which is why this is pretty awesome, the volume of it all, the energy.’

I thread my arm through his and I like how his body moulds into mine. How he’s here. ‘Then you are very welcome.’

We catch up with the rest of the group, and watch as Ben stretches carefully, Norah puts on her goggles and the kids run in tornadoes of excitement. I throw off my Dryrobe and immediately feel the sharp coastal winds cut up my spine like a knife. I jump around to keep warm, looking at Dad. He looks like some frogman tactical diver, head to toe in black.

‘Strong look, padre,’ I say.

‘It’s mainly to prevent a heart attack,’ he says, slapping Josh playfully on the back. ‘Well done for joining in.’ He distributes a stack of shot glasses and gets out a big bottle of whisky and we all stand in a circle. Joshua joins in, knowing exactly where this is going. Well, we wouldn’t do this sober. Dad pours out shots of the amber liquid. ‘So I wouldn’t normally as she wasn’t fond of this beach but, this year, I’d like to propose a toast to your mother,’ he says, looking down at his shot. A shimmer of emotion runs through me and I put an arm around him. ‘She always wanted three kids and a dog but then she got pregnant with Phoebs and that put an end to that dream.’

‘DAD!’ I shout as Ben and Flo lean on each other, laughing. ‘Seriously?’

‘You were basically like a puppy so I think she got her dream,’ Dad says, blowing me a kiss, grinning. ‘She’d love that dog. She’d love all of this, all of us together. To Val.’

‘To Mum,’ the siblings all say and we down our shots, howling into that sea breeze as we do. Oh, Mum. How I bloody miss you on days like today. I miss being your secret favourite. I miss you complaining in mumbled Spanish about the cold, how you’d refuse to get in the water but how you’d laugh in delight to see us all enjoying ourselves, how you’d be here with hot chocolate for after, hot-water bottles ready, and handing us our towels. The grief never quite lets go. I never quite know how to reconcile her loss. I look over at Norah, putting on her sensible swimming gloves, and run towards her. I embrace her, planting a large kiss on her cheek.

‘What’s that for?’ she asks, her brow furrowed.

I look at her and smile because I used to ambush our mum all the time, without warning, big, wild hugs to infuse all my love into her.

‘Just because. Well done…’ I tell her.

‘For what?’ she asks quizzically.

‘For trying.’

For trying to love me like she does, for trying to control the big ball of energy that I am. I love that you try. She shakes her head quizzically at me, then follows her kids into the sea. I look over at Josh, grinning at the splashing, the squeals from my sister as she enters the wash in her wetsuit and Santa hat. My brother and Chloe stand sharing a prolonged kiss before they race to the wash together. ‘You can back out if you want,’ I say.

‘Never,’ he says. We jog down together to the shore and I reach down to hold his hand, then drag him into the water and watch the shape of his face change as the cold hits him.

‘MARY, JOSEPH AND BABY JESUS…’ He really isn’t a natural swearer, is he?

‘Cold as balls, eh?’ I shout at him, laughing.

‘If I could feel my balls.’ He laughs too. And that’s when Steve jumps in, and bounds about in the shallows, right into Joshua who loses his balance and falls in so he’s sitting there in the water, almost certainly questioning his life decisions ‘Steve! Dude!’ I watch Steve run off back to the safety of the beach as I put a hand out to pull Josh back up. His jaw is juddering with the cold, his skin turning slightly blue. He laughs, looking so very happy to be out here in the freezing water. God, you’re mad like us. I put my arms around him to give him a hug to warm him up. I know I do this a lot because I don’t really have boundaries, but he’s a great height for hugging. His shoulder is just the right height, and has an excellent curve. But for a moment he pushes me back from the hug and studies my face, salt water spritzed across his face.

‘What?’ I say, smiling. What does that look mean? Go on, say it. You like spending time with me. I’m great. I think you might be too. But instead he grins and then puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me, hard, into the shallows of the icy-cold water.

TWENTY-EIGHT

JOSHUA

I remember I saw a wildlife documentary once about orcas breaking up the ice and eating the seals. I remember cheering for those seals to swim for their lives but also marvelling at the wonder of all that ice. That looks cold, I thought. Now I know that cold. I have felt it penetrate my soul. Was it pleasant? In a weird masochistic way. It was sharply and completely refreshing. I concur with the idea of it being a baptism because I liked the way that I emerged completely energised, like I’d achieved something new and different, a million miles from where I’d usually be, looking out on to the horizon. I liked hearing everyone squeal as we experienced the same thing, I liked seeing the rosy cheeks of the kids as their grandfather poured them cups of cocoa and how the siblings all had matching fleecy hats with the same flappy ears and posed for selfies. But I also liked how we all trundled back to the cottage, how we warmed up in the shower, sat in front of the fire with sweet cups of tea. How this was a ritual that bonded them, where no one was allowed to sit it out.

‘You did what?’ my mom asks. Meatball sits on her lap and my dad tries to squeeze into view. They’re both in Christmas sweaters, and my mom’s garlands line the shelves.

‘I went swimming in the ice-cold sea. It’s a family tradition, apparently.’