Ice Diaries by Lexi Revellian Page B

isn’t it?”
    Gemma contemplated it, then said
critically, “It’s a bit black, with the black handle as
well. You could stick on gold stars. Or sequins.”
    “I’ll consider your
suggestion.”
    Claire and I flopped on opposite ends
of the sofa and put our feet up. They had made fridge cakes, which
were delicious. I told her about Morgan’s snowmobile, and that
he’d be leaving today. I didn’t tell her about the gold –
I didn’t want to alarm her about Mike the Psych. He’d
probably never turn up.
    “You’ll miss Morgan.”
    “He’s only been here a
week! It’ll be nice to have the flat to myself again.”
    “He’s quite good looking,
didn’t you think? I thought you made a nice couple, sitting
together at the ceilidh.”
    I laughed. Claire was way off beam.
Morgan was not the sort of man I go for. Of course, I hadn’t
told her about David; she had no idea what my taste in men was. “You
old romantic, trying to pair me off. We’ve got nothing in
common.”
    Claire said shrewdly, “As if that
ever made any difference.”
    “If he’d been interested,
he wouldn’t have gone home early from the ceilidh.” For
some reason I didn’t tell her about him making a pass
afterwards. His last year might well have been as monastic as mine.
No doubt he’d jump with gusto on any female; he hadn’t
chosen me for my niceness, wit and beauty, I just happened to be
around. I remembered how his eyes had lit up at the sight of Sam, and
how he’d sat by her last night before being moved on by
Charlie. And he hadn’t told me he’d got a snowmobile,
which meant he didn’t trust me any more than I trusted him. I
like a man you can trust. “Anyway, I’m not interested in
Morgan. He’s not my type.”
    After the coffee, while Claire fed the
baby, Gemma and I went outside and had a snowman building contest.
She won, because I over-reached myself and made a snow sculpture of a
tooth which, though topical, turned out completely unrecognizable.
Claire brought Toby outside to see.
    “Okay, I’ve finished. What
d’you think?”
    Claire walked in a circle to view it
from all angles. “What’s it supposed to be?”
    “Can’t you tell? I’ll
give you a clue; the real thing is that colour, or nearly.”
    “It’s a snow Ku Klux Klan
member?”
    “No! Gemma, I bet you can guess.
It’s to do with you.”
    Gemma stopped putting finishing touches
to her snowman, and stared thoughtfully at mine. “It’s a
snow ghost.”
    “Huh.”
    After I told them what it was, Gemma
said it looked much more like a snow ghost than a tooth, and I should
give it eyes. Then she and I played snowball-bowling with wine
bottles, which is a good game with flexible and inventive rules.

    I got back to Bézier thinking
about lunch and intending to spend the afternoon curled up on the
sofa by the stove, reading. As I approached, I saw Greg at the
window. He must have had something particular he wanted me for, to
wait for me when I was out. He waved. I stepped over the threshold
removing my sunglasses, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the
dimness of the flat after the brightness outside. A movement in the
shadows startled me. Greg was not alone; there were two men sitting
on stools at the kitchen counter. They were built like Morgan, on a
large scale. I guessed they were cage fighters too. A third man
standing by my bookshelves put the book he’d been looking at
back on its shelf and came forward.
    Greg said, “Tori, this is Mike.
He’s friends with Morgan. And the others are Big Mac and
Eddie.”
    Mike did not look remotely as I’d
imagined him. A tall slim black man with shrewd eyes and a sunny
smile that showed perfect teeth. His hair was cut short to his scalp,
and he was clean-shaven. Young – at a guess a year or two
younger than Morgan, but with a certain natural authority. He looked
as if he’d be more at home in a suit than the parka he wore. He
held out his hand and I shook it, my initial alarm