And right at the front, shiny black and silver, was a snowmobile.
I put my hood down, staring, and walked round the machine. It resembled a two-seater motorbike, but with short ski-type runners at the front and a caterpillar track at the back. I got on the saddle to see what it felt like. On the dashboard were LCD display panels; a speedometer, rev counter, mileometer, engine thermometer, and compass. I’ve never ridden a motorbike. How difficult was a snowmobile to learn? At least you wouldn’t need to keep your balance. I clicked an inviting red rocker switch on the handle, searched around for what to do next and noticed an ignition like a car’s. No key.
Feeling it beneath me, gleaming and raring to go, I had a sudden doubt my powerkite idea would ever come to anything. I ran my hand over the glossy paintwork. This was what I needed – a snowmobile would get me to the south, no problem. This snowmobile, if I stole the key while Morgan was asleep. Not that I’d do something so … unethical.
A change in the light made me look up. Morgan stood between me and the view, unsmiling. For such a powerfully built man, he moved quietly.
I said, “You didn’t tell me you’d got a snowmobile.” He said nothing, just stared at me. “Why not? What’s so top secret about it?”
“You followed me here.” His surprise was giving way to righteous anger. To my mind, Morgan had no business to be righteous about anything.
“That’s right. So, are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”
His eyes narrowed. “And I should do that because … ?”
“Because you are living in my flat, sleeping on my sofa and eating my food. And because you don’t want to sleep in the Gherkin tonight.”
There was a pause while he thought this over. Then the tension went out of him. He drew up the chair and sat down. “What do you want to know?”
“Where the snowmobile came from, for one thing.” Perhaps he had found a snowmobile shop beneath the snow, and there would be one each for all of us and we could go south together … or perhaps the Snowmobile Fairy gave it to him.
“I was travelling on it. I ran out of petrol and had to walk, that’s when you found me. I collected it yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you bring it to Bézier? Why hide it here?”
“In case I was followed.” I raised my eyebrows. “By Mike and the gang. I didn’t want to leave a trail to your door.”
“Why would they follow you?”
“It’s kind of involved. I guess there’s no reason not to tell you. Mike threw me out. He gave me a clapped out Lynx with a full tank and told me not to come back. I didn’t go quietly.”
“Why did Mike throw you out?”
Morgan paused before saying, “We had a disagreement.”
“Is that how you got the knife cut?”
Morgan’s eyes became opaque for a moment. “Yes. After that, two of his goons went with me for a couple of hours, to make sure I left. I was mad as hell. When they’d gone I waited till dark and turned around – I had enough petrol to get most of the way back. I took Mike’s snow machine.”
“This one?”
“Yeah. It’s a 600 ACE Ski-doo, the best one we had. And I drained the petrol out of the other machines, and emptied the spare cans on to the snow. We were in the middle of nowhere, camped in a church bell tower. They’d have had to go on foot back to the last place we found petrol to fetch more. I figured by the time they’d done that, my tracks would have been covered by fresh snow.”
I was getting a bad feeling about this. “It’s hardly snowed for the past week, till last night.”
“No. Unlucky, that.”
“But even if you took his best snowmobile, is that worth Mike chasing you to get it back? He’s presumably found the Lynx where you left it. Okay, I can see you gave them a lot of trouble with the petrol and he wouldn’t be pleased, but the sensible thing for him to do would be to say good riddance, cut his losses and move on.”
Uneasily, I remembered Morgan saying Mike was a psycho. Maybe he didn’t do sensible. Maybe he had really, really liked his 600 ACE Ski-doo. It was a nice machine. Morgan sat there, silent, and I had a disagreeable feeling there was more, and it was worse, and he was deciding whether to tell me. I waited, unreasonably apprehensive, reminding myself it wasn’t my problem. Finally he spoke, avoiding my eyes.
“It’s not just the sled. I took the gold too. All of it.”
Silence fell while the significance of this information sank in. “So – there were eight of you … and you’d all worked for the best part of a year amassing this gold. Digging down to jewellers, blowing up safes. And you stole the lot.” I stared at him. “Were you insane?”
He darted a look at me. “I was angry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“That has to be the understatement of the century. Because those seven men –”
“Six men and a woman.”
“– whatever, those seven are going to be in total agreement about tracking you down to get back the stolen gold. They’ll probably agree about beating you to a pulp afterwards, too. If you’d just taken your share, okay, Mike might have wanted to get his Ski-doo back, but he’d have had trouble getting the others to care. As it is, they’ll all be thirsting for your blood. And any minute now, they could be here.”
I looked out of the window to the north, half expecting to see seven ominous and growing black dots on the horizon. I didn’t want any of us to get caught up in a showdown between Morgan and Mike’s gang, and that seemed a real possibility if – when – they turned up in a London with no law. I didn’t want them to know we’d been harbouring him for fear they got nasty with us. Morgan appeared to guess my thoughts.
“I was going to leave tomorrow. But I’m nearly ready, I’ll go today – this afternoon. Get out of your way. I’ve just got to find one or two other things I need, rope up the trailer and I’ll be off. Okay, it’s bad luck about the snow, they’d have been able to follow my tracks until the blizzard, but there’s no reason for them to bother you. If they pick up my trail they’ll follow me out of London.”
“I bloody hope so.” I had an idea to defuse the situation. “Why don’t you count out the gold and leave seventh eighths with me? If Mike turns up I can give it to him, and then he probably won’t chase you.”
He laughed, as if I’d made a pathetically transparent attempt to trick him that he wasn’t going to fall for. “I don’t think so.”
“Honestly, Morgan, you are a fool. Not everyone is as venal as you and your mates. I’m not after your beastly gold. You can’t eat gold, or warm your hands at it, or ride south on it. I think the whole scheme you and Mike had is stupid. For all you know, it’ll be worthless where you’re going, like it’s worthless here. You lot had snowmobiles, you could have got out of this country and spent the last year in the warm, somewhere where there’s a future. I think you’re all crazy. Still, it’s up to you.” I swung my leg over the Ski-doo and stood. “I’ll be going. Things to do.”
Morgan got to his feet and came close, pale blue eyes meeting mine. “You were thinking of stealing the ACE, weren’t you, when I turned up? I could see it in your face. You’re not as different from me as you’d like to think.”
He’d read my mind. How did he do that?
“It’s been nice knowing you, Tori. Shame we couldn’t have got to know each other better. I’ll miss you telling me off.” He put a hand on my arm, bent forward and kissed my cheek, his beard softly scratchy on my skin. My body did the electric shock thing again. He smiled. “I’ll miss you.”
I walked back to Bézier in Morgan’s footprints. To my surprise, I felt sorry he was going. I would miss him, too. Nothing to do with my meaningless physical frisson – but I suppose our group is so small, any addition makes a welcome change, and he was certainly different. Though from the point of view of not wanting to tangle with vengeful psychos it was all for the best.
Ice Diaries ~ Lexi Revellian
CHAPTER 9
Expect the unexpected
&nbs
p; Back at the flat, I tidied up and swept the snow off the balcony. Slightly grumpily, I put away Morgan’s duvets and beer bottles. Then I went up five flights of stairs to the top of Bézier, traversed dark corridors, and climbed to the roof garden. The curved walls are filled with snow blown level by the wind, and I didn’t go too near the edge. The view offers a panorama of London, an edited version where only the tallest buildings exist. I got out my binoculars and trained them on the broken window of the Gherkin, which was ridiculous, nothing to see, because he wouldn’t be leaving for hours.
I’m foolish about partings and find them unduly poignant; they are like a mini form of death which is the final and irrevocable parting. I’d never see Morgan again, and this must be why I was up on a snowy roof hoping to get a last glimpse of him. I wondered how he would cross the Channel, and how long it would take him to reach the point where the snow stopped, and what it would be like when he got there. I imagined warm sun on bare skin, a balmy breeze, a seashore, greenery … I pulled myself together. For once, I decided, I’d take a day off; mess around, achieve nothing. I’d go and see Claire.
Claire was pleased to have an excuse to stop the half-hearted tidying she’d been engaged on while Toby was asleep, and have a cup of coffee with me. She put water to boil. Gemma was doing a jigsaw at the table with great concentration, watched by a row of toy ponies. She looked up as I took off my jacket and said,
“Tori, why have you got a knife stuck with tape to your belt?”
“In case I have to suddenly peel a lot of potatoes unexpectedly.”
“There aren’t any potatoes except in tins, and they’re already peeled.”
“Course I realize that now, but I’d already made the sheath and didn’t want to waste it. Good, 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 subsiding somewhat.
“Mike Shand. Nice to meet you, Tori. Is that short for Victoria?” His voice was deep and pleasant, the sort that made you think he’d have a good singing tenor; his manner was engaging. I nodded. “Sorry to barge in on you like this. Greg said you wouldn’t mind.”
“No, that’s … er, fine. Would you like a tea or coffee?”
“No, it’s okay. The others are setting up the generator. I just thought I’d better introduce myself to the neighbours.”
“Are you moving in to Bézier?” I wasn’t keen on this. I regard it as mine.
“Just for a little while, then we’ll be moving on. We’re in a flat on the other corner this side.”
I was still recovering from Mike not being at all what I’d expected, finding it difficult to adjust. From the little Morgan had let drop, I’d picked up a vivid mental image of an overweight middle-aged white guy with mean shifty eyes, a shaved head and a Northern accent; a villain straight out of a run-of-the-mill cop series on TV. The only thing that fitted with my preconception was the presence of the two muscular men who, by the way they stayed in the background and said nothing, seemed to be bodyguards.
Mike picked up a solar tulip, smiled and put it back in its jar. “I was hoping to have a word with Morgan. He’s living here, Greg said.”
“He was.” Amiable as this man seemed, I’d only just met him, and was not going to tell him anything till I’d worked out what was going on and who to trust. “He left this morning.”
“On a sled? A snowmobile?”
I paused. “No. He hasn’t got a snowmobile. He arrived on foot.” I’d mentioned the snowmobile to Claire. I must go back and tell her to keep quiet about it.
Greg said, “We all have to walk everywhere. It’s all right, though, because we’ve got trailers for moving supplies.”
“He left us on a sled.” Mike frowned slightly. The smile had vanished from his eyes. He was suddenly dead serious. “My sled, to be precise. Maybe he didn’t tell you about it. He plays his cards close to his chest. I’d like it back. That’s one of the things I want to talk to him about.”
“He was heading south,” I said. “I expect you’ll overtake him easily enough.”
“I expect so.” He stood, his pleasant smile in place once more. “We’d better go and give the others a hand. I’ll be seeing you.”
He got a pair
of dark glasses from an inner pocket, unfolded them and put them on. The two men rose and followed him. Perhaps they were the men who’d escorted Morgan when Mike threw him out, to make sure he didn’t come back. Greg and I watched them walk to the door and out to the balcony, swing their legs over the rail and head away to the left.
“What did they say to you, Greg?”
“Big Mac and Eddie didn’t say much. Mike was asking about Morgan, because they’re friends and he wants to see him. And I told him about you and the others, and he was interested. He wasn’t interested in Doctor Who, though.”
“Did you meet the other people with him?”
“No, but I saw a woman. She was being cross about something, I don’t know what. When they’ve settled in they might want to trade with me.”
A loud revving noise penetrated the double glazing, and two snowmobiles ripped past the windows, spraying snow.
Greg watched them out of sight. “I wish I could have a go.”
Greg stayed for ten minutes more, before going to call on Charlie and Sam in their office block above Liverpool Street Station. I made myself wait another five minutes, as long as I could bear, then left, pulling my trailer and not looking behind me. I went to the Old Street shops and as quickly as possible raced down and brought up four big packs of disposable nappies. I didn’t see anyone hanging around when I came up. When I got to the Barbican, Claire thanked me for the nappies, rather surprised.
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