Ice Diaries (18 page)

She listened, concerned. “I’d
never have guessed he was like that. He was so charming. Gemma said
he was the nicest man she’d ever met.”

“But because Mike’s
horrible doesn’t mean Morgan’s not. They could be as bad
as each other. They were together a long time before they fell out.”

“True.”

“And I’ve only known him a
week. The real problem is I have to make up my mind in the next day
or two. I’m settled here, all set up in the flat with stacks of
wood and food and friends. The journey might be dangerous. Anything
could happen. And I don’t want to leave you lot, you’re
sort of my family now, and there’s Greg … and am I crazy
to even think of going with a strange man somewhere unknown?”

“What’s your gut feeling
about him?”

This was difficult because of the
attraction I felt, which got in the way of objective assessment –
my body kept interrupting my mind. I didn’t want to admit this
to Claire. “That he’s okay … ish … but I could
be wrong. He hasn’t said much about his past, and what he
has
said is alarming, and he’s kind of surly and defensive some of
the time. And quite violent, hitting Eddie like that. Unforgiving,
too.” I expected Claire to be put off by this, was possibly
counting on her telling me to exercise caution; so what she said next
surprised me.

“Talk to him. But Tori, unless
you don’t trust him, or you think he’ll hit
you
,
go. I’ll miss you dreadfully, but it’s an opportunity
that may never come again. We’ll look after Greg. If I had the
chance to get out of here with Paul and the children I would. My
dream is helicopters appearing out of nowhere to take us to safety. I
worry about our future. Supposing the snow keeps rising? How will the
children manage? And if they do, there’s nobody their age for
them to fall in love with.” Tears were in her eyes. “If I
were you, I’d go in a heartbeat.”

I didn’t linger. I was desperate
to get to Morgan, irrationally afraid if I delayed it would be too
late and he might vanish. I walked fast then ran through the snow
towards him.

He hadn’t lit the tea lights on
the stairs, but I had my torch. I hurried through the dank darkness
possessed by a sense of urgency. He wasn’t in the Co-op. I went
next door to Argos, beyond the counter and through the swing doors.
My heart jumped at the sight of a dim light and movement in the
aisles. As I got closer I could see he was sorting through tents.
Still panting from the run through the snow, I shone my torch on his
face.

“What’s your name?”

“Get that light out of my eyes.
You know my name.”

I directed the torch to one side. “Your
first name.”

“No one calls me by it. Why d’you
want to know?”

“Because I don’t know the
first thing about you. When were you born?”

He stopped what he was doing and came
over to me, standing close. His voice was quiet and intimate in the
darkness. “Dominic. Hate that name. The twenty-third of
September, 1993. What else do you want to know?”

“What happened to your last
girlfriend?”

“SIRCS.”

“I’m sorry. Are you a
serial killer?”

“No.”

I eyed him narrowly. “If you were
a serial killer, would you tell me?”

“No. I’d let it come as a
surprise.”

After a moment I smiled, and he put his
arms round me and kissed me. Suddenly it was as if everything had
become simple. Going south with Morgan was meant, it was what I had
to do, even at the risk of my life. He wasn’t David, but he was
Morgan. I wasn’t sure exactly what my feelings for him were,
but I finally admitted they were overwhelming and maybe I should do
something about them while I had the chance. I’d made up my
mind.

Ice Diaries ~ Lexi Revellian

Back at Bézier I started to top
up the stove. Morgan held me and kissed my neck, insistent, getting
in the way. He unzipped my jacket, muttering, “Leave that. It
can wait.”

“It’ll go out. We’ll
freeze.”

“I’ll do it then. You get
into bed.”

I drew the curtains to shut out the
grey light and the falling snow, double-checked I’d locked the
door, and lit the bedside lantern. The silence was absolute. I
undressed fast and got into bed, wondering if I was insane. The sheet
and duvet against my naked skin felt strange; I’m used to
wearing layers even in bed, curled like a cocoon inside my sleeping
bag. Now I lay propped on one elbow with the covers up to my chin,
chilly, gripped with doubt and anticipation, watching Morgan in the
shifting candle light. He closed the stove lid and came towards me,
his eyes grave under level brows, frowning slightly, intent. I
couldn’t stop staring at him. He stripped, dropping his clothes
on the floor, till he wore only the chain with dog tags. All his
muscles were as impressive as the ones I’d already seen. The
black tattoo contrasted with winter-pale skin. He’d got just
the right amount of chest hair. I don’t like men with bald or
simian chests. He slid into bed beside me and pulled me close.

“Come here.”

I shivered. “Your hands are icy.”

“So are your feet, but I’m
not complaining.”

I stared into this stranger’s
eyes, so alarmingly close, then at his mouth, just beginning to
smile. His stubbly beard was a shade darker than his unkempt hair. He
had an L-shaped scar on his forehead I’d never noticed before.
His skin against mine made me shake, but not with cold. His finger
tips brushed my face. That felt good – Morgan felt good. I
relaxed into his arms and ran my hand down his muscled side, lightly
over the knife cut scab, round his waist and up the cleft of his
backbone. He made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan and
his mouth met mine. My toes were warming up. I was beginning to think
this had been one of my better ideas after all.

Some while later I insisted on making
Morgan tea, wearing his sweater over my pyjama trousers. We sat up in
bed leaning against each other and sipping. He was nice to lean on,
like a sun-warmed boulder. Though entirely sober, I felt happy and
irresponsible and a bit drunk. I was seized by a sudden curiosity.

“What did you do before you
worked for Mike?”

“I went in the army at seventeen.
Didn’t like it much, too regimented. No pun intended. Casual
labouring jobs after that.”

I reached for his army dog tags, one on
a long chain, the other attached to it on a short one; steel with
black rubber rims. Both said,

O POS 892058172 MORGAN D ND

“ND?”

“Non denomination. Though it’s
true what they say, there’s no such thing as an atheist in a
foxhole.”

“Why d’you still wear it?”

“I got superstitious after a
couple of lucky escapes.”

I made him tell me about them. Then,
“What would you have done if the world had gone on?”

“Not MMA for much longer. The
businessmen get rich, not the fighters. I was saving for a sailing
cruiser. I wanted to go round the world, see all the places off the
beaten track. I’d nearly saved enough, I was starting to look
at boats. If it had all happened a month or two later, I’d have
been in the Mediterranean. How about you?”

“Much tamer. I worked as a
copywriter for a voucher firm. You know, they do special deals to
offer dinners out, spa days and tooth whitening half price.” It
had been my first job; I’d enjoyed it. “Talking of boats,
how are we going to cross the Channel?”

“I think it may be frozen by now.
It’s only twenty-one miles from Dover to Calais, and it’s
been sub-zero temperatures for a year.”

“Supposing it’s not?”

“Then we’ll think of
something else. The Channel Tunnel, maybe.”

“Right.” I didn’t ask
how we’d get a snowmobile through the tunnel. I decided not to
worry about our two thousand mile journey, but take it one step at a
time. Morgan said we should leave as soon as possible. He didn’t
say
because Mike might come back to get me
, but that’s
what he meant. A shadow fell over my happiness. I suggested we
started sorting out what we were taking from my stores that same
evening. He agreed.

Going through my supplies I was amazed
how much was there. I couldn’t quite believe that in a day or
two I’d be out of the home that had been mine for the last
year, and never see it again; never use the food, firewood and
clothes I’d put so much effort into collecting. I’ve
always been nagged by the anxious feeling that my stockpile needed
building up for fear of illness or some other disaster; however much
I had, it never seemed enough. Now I realized I’d got plenty
for one person to live on for a year or more, and almost all of it
would be left behind, like my friends here. I felt suddenly
overwhelmed by nostalgia for the life I’d soon be leaving; my
head drooped and I stood motionless, on the verge of tears.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Morgan came over to me. I swivelled and
buried my face in his chest, sniffing. “I don’t know.
It’s the thought of leaving everything, I suppose.”

He stroked my hair. “You’re
tired. You’ll be fine once we’re on the move.”

“Suppose we can’t find a
generator? What then?”

“We can manage without if we get
the right kit. Arctic expeditions do – did. Goose down sleeping
bags and high tech clothing, an extra gas stove for if one fails.
We’ll get up early tomorrow and do a systematic search. It’ll
be okay.”

His arms were comforting. I’d
forgotten how nice it is to be hugged by another human. After all,
the others could use up what I left; nothing would be wasted. With
luck we’d be on our way the next day. Morgan said, “We’re
nearly finished. Let’s take a break. Food and drink, that’s
what you need. That’ll cheer you up. Then I’m going to
move the sled somewhere out of view.”

I looked up at him.

“Just in case,” he said.

Ice Diaries ~ Lexi Revellian

When I woke the next morning, I was
alone. Sunlight shone between a crack in the curtains. A note by the
bed read,

Didn’t want to wake you. Gone
to get petrol.

Morgan

I lay and thought about Morgan for a
bit, then stretched and got up, skirting the neat pile of all the
stuff we’d chosen last night to take with us. He had filled the
stove before leaving – I must have been deeply asleep for his
moving about not to have roused me. I washed and dressed, then put
another pan of water on to the stove top and got out the porridge.
Something outside the window caught my eye. Dark against the
brilliant sunlit snow, a man, skiing towards me. A new arrival; no
one I knew had skis. As I stared, the tall figure looked more and
more familiar. My heartbeat accelerated. He swerved to a halt by my
balcony, bent to release the skis, picked them up and climbed over
the rail, clumsy in shiny red ski boots. I fumbled to open the door,
stumbled forwards and wrapped my arms around him as tight as I could,
my eyes filling at the feel of his skinny frame through the padded
jacket. David had come to find me at last. He propped his skis
against the railing so he could hold me.

“I thought you were dead!”

He patted me. “I thought you were
dead too, Piglet. This is unbelievable.” I wanted to cling to
him forever. Morgan – I’d have to tell him I couldn’t
go with him. After a minute David pulled away and held me by my
shoulders, looking down into my eyes. I’d forgotten his were
that particular shade of greenish khaki. I could have gazed for an
eternity. He said, “We’ll freeze. Let’s go inside.”

I led the way. He laid his skis on the
floor and sat on a stool, one leg swinging, looking round the flat.
“You’re nicely set up here. Very organized.” I
grasped his hand. He smiled and said, “It’s so good to
see you. You look just the same. You haven’t changed a bit.”

He had always had soft hands; they
still were, unlike mine which were now hard, with calluses. Or
Morgan’s hands … I rubbed his knuckles against my cheek,
unable to stop gazing at his face. “You’re thinner. I
missed you so much … I’ve imagined you turning up like
this, but never really thought you would.” With my free hand I
knuckled the tears from my eyes. “Did your parents get away?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Nor did my mother. Where
were you all this time?”

“For the last year I’ve
been living in a sort of commune – there’s over sixty of
us – in Strata, at the Elephant and Castle.”

“The Elephant and Castle?”
I stared at him. “But that’s only three miles away!”

“If I’d known you were here
I’d have come before.”

Three miles was a long way walking
through the snow. That’s why our group hadn’t made
contact with any others. “When did you get skis?”

“Six months or so ago.”

Six months. On skis, he could easily
have visited every nearby settlement, if he’d been determined
to find me. A lump formed in my throat. For a moment I couldn’t
speak. I dropped his hand, and he let me.

As if excusing himself he said, “I
fractured my fifth metatarsal, I couldn’t walk. I did come, as
soon as I got better and got the skis. Your flat was under the snow.
I thought you’d died or been evacuated.”

“You could have asked around,
tried all the places with smoke. I wasn’t far away. Anyone here
would have told you where I was.” My old flat was half a mile
from Bézier – he’d been so close. All that grief
he could have saved me … I’d prayed for David to be
alive, I’d longed to see him again, and now I had, my main
emotion was pain that he’d given up on me so easily –
with, I had to acknowledge, a side helping of resentment. I said, “If
you’d looked, you’d have found me. You didn’t
bother.”

“Tori, don’t be like that.”

“Have you
any idea
how
miserable I was over you?”

“I was miserable too.” He
sounded defensive. This wasn’t how I’d imagined our
reunion, or how it was supposed to be. This was the man I loved. It
was all going wrong. He said, “I came as soon as I knew you
were here.”