AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Snow
“Remind me again how you got home?” Mum peers at the wintery scene outside of the window. Snowdrifts line the windowsill; a spruce of holly and a perched robin would make the perfect winter scene. Despite the fact it’s eight a.m., the sky is still dark. The snow glimmers with an ethereal quality in stark contrast.
We are sat in the comfortable kitchen of our monstrously ugly house. The small Suffolk village we live in is picturesque; the perfection just doesn’t extend to our house nor the road in which it resides. When I’d woken and seen the excess of white stuff outside, I’d had one of those joyous moments where I figured it may be a snow day, but no. Psycho Mr Banks, our headteacher at Woodford Green High where I’m in sixth form, keeps the school open in all conditions, no matter how treacherous. Now I’m trying to work out how to get there.
“I told you, Mum. Freddy Bale took a quick look under the bonnet before offering to run me home in his super-sized power truck. Apparently, whatever is wrong with my car can’t be fixed in five minutes and for under a fiver.” I slurp my tea, enjoying the warmth as it slides down my throat.
“Your steering column has gone.” Freddy had observed in an all-knowing car geek manner.
“Gone where? On holiday?” was my tart reply to cover up the sheer embarrassment of not knowing how to unhook my own bonnet. Apparently, that’s funny.
“It’s the steering column, it’s gone somehow,” I tell mum, not that I’m sure she knows much about cars either.
“I told your dad not to buy that crap car.” The car had been a present for my seventeenth, nearly a year ago now, and it caused a row of epic proportions last night when mum realised I’d been left stranded in sub-zero temperatures. It wasn’t Dad’s fault I went out without my mobile, and dressed only in my pyjamas, but I chose to stay out of the argument and hid in my room instead of joining in.
“Oh well, not to worry. I guess I can just walk to school.” I scrunch my face at this prospect, because, honestly, the only place I want to be is back in bed. “I’m gonna go and get dressed.”
Grabbing another piece of toast and my mug of tea, I take the draughty stairs up to my room where I stand in the middle and consider what waterproof clothing I can fashion out of my wardrobe.
I’m still wearing yesterday’s pyjamas that possibly stink, but I had a certain reluctance to take them off after Freddy I-want-to-snog-your-face-off Bale ran his eyes along my fleece lined legs with clear approval on his face and said, “Nice jimjams. I have similar ones myself.”
The heat from the truck along with his evaluating glance, made my face burn a lively hue of fluorescent pink, and I wasn’t guessing—I could see it in the side mirror. At that point, I mumbled some thanks, which made my face get even hotter (and him chuckle) and slid out of his car. And when I say slid, I do mean slid. Underfoot was as slippery as hell and I had to skate my way along the path into the house. I’m sure he was laughing; I could feel it. He didn’t pull away until I offered an embarrassed wave at the door and then fell through into the hallway.
I haven’t told Mum about the whole trip home. Most especially, I haven’t told her about the twenty minutes I spent in his parked truck while the snow fell like sprinkled cotton candy and we chatted a whole lot of random. I don’t think Mum would approve of the chatting, no matter how random it was. She wasn’t overly keen on the ride home but submitted with reluctant grace that it was a nice thing for the ‘posh, loaded boy to do’ eventually. She really doesn’t like people with money; it doesn’t pair well with her second-hand charity shop thrift she likes to run our household with.
Dad said he would go and sort the car out today and get it moved to the right garage. I have this dissatisfied sensation in my stomach every time I think about it, because I know Dad’s interference—uh, help—will mean I won’t get to see Freddy again.
After my steaming hot shower, I neglect the jimmys in favour of leggings, a chunky jumper, and some thick socks. Grabbing my school stuff, I head back down the stairs, stuffing my English folder into my backpack as I go, my feet thumping on every step, making my lack of enthusiasm clear. It’s only a couple of weeks until the Christmas break and the workload is crazy high in the run up to the A-level exams in June. Six months left and then I will be free of Woodford Green High for good, and hopefully on my way to a uni somewhere. Somewhere other than here, which is effectively in the middle of nowhere.
“I’ll be off then,” I shout, yanking one of my Wellington boots off the stand and wiggling my foot into it, showering dried mud everywhere.
Wellington boots are not a style statement, but luckily out here in the sticks of ‘Farmer Land’, you can just about pull it off.
I’m precariously balanced, getting my second foot in when the doorbell rings right by my ear, making me jump out of my skin.
“Jesus,” I curse, swinging open the door to death-glare at the person who nearly bought on an early morning heart attack.
“It’s Freddy, but Jesus could work too.” I stare up into dancing dark pools of blue that watch me wobble on the spot with one foot in a Wellington boot.
“Who is it?” Mum calls from the depths of the kitchen.
“Jesus, uh, I mean Freddy,” I call back, breaking out into an embarrassed sweat. My chunky jumper seems like a bad idea now. Very, very bad. Double-layer deodorant bad. “What are you doing here?” I forget to lower my tone and shout the words in his face despite the fact he’s half a foot away.
A crazy cute grin flashes across his face as he leans over the threshold and grabs my heavy school bag off the floor. “Figured you might need a lift to school, and I’ve kind of got the car for the conditions.” He nods his head towards the monster truck parked in thick snow at the end of the driveway.
I struggle into my other boot. “Guess you do, but I could have walked.”
“Do you want the lift or not?” Fog lifts from his mouth with his words, dissolving into the cold air like a will o’ the wisp. He starts to bang the snow from his boots in anticipation of coming inside.
Down the hallway I can hear Mum shuffling out of the kitchen in her slippers. Let’s not go there. I can’t remember if she has her decent dressing gown on that Dad got her last year or the threadbare mustard number from nineteen eighty three.
“Yes, thank you. A lift would be—” Stepping out onto the doorstep, my feet instantly swoosh out from underneath me. Thankfully, the door bangs shut as I fall so Mum doesn’t get the view of Freddy Bale squeezing me tight against his granite hard chest as he catches hold of me. Wow.
Arms. Of. Steel.
My heart is thrumming like a steam train with a madman at the helm.
“I was just going to say, be careful, it’s slippery,” he whispers directly into my ear and a flutter of warm breath mingles with the freezing air, tracing its way along my exposed skin. I can feel myself heading back into drool mode.
