by Holly Webb
Sara nodded. That explained why everything looked so strange. She hadn’t thought about the wind, she’d just expected that snow fell straight down. But of course it didn’t. It flurried about. “The wall looks like a ski-ramp,” she said, giggling. “Can I go out in it, Grandad? I’ve got my big coat and my boots.”
Grandad nodded. “Sure you don’t want breakfast first? It might warm you up.”
Sara shook her head. There was something about the perfect glittering whiteness outside – she wanted to go and run about in it, and see her footprints. “I’ll come back for breakfast in a little while. Is that OK? I just want to see what it’s like.”
Grandad nodded. “I think I’ll make scrambled eggs. You’ll need something hot. I feel cold enough just looking at all that snow.”
“But it can’t be as cold as it was in the Arctic,” Sara reminded him.
“Mmm. I’m sixty years older than I was then, Sara. The cold seems to seep into my bones now. Still, maybe later on, when I’ve had some breakfast, I’ll come out in it with you.”
Sara hurried to get dressed, putting on her warmest jumper and trousers, and a pair of thick socks to go under her boots. If she hadn’t promised her mum that she really would clean her teeth every morning, she would have skipped that, but she felt too guilty.
Teeth brushed, she rushed down the stairs and opened the back door. The wind had dropped, and the air was very still. It made walking out into the garden seem dreamlike, it was so quiet. The snow had hushed everything. Even the sea, which Sara could always hear beating against the rocks when she stayed with Grandad. It was just a soft whisper in the background.
The garden looked like an illustration from a fairy tale. Sara had seen snow before, of course, but this was so deep, and so clean and new, that everything shimmered and sparkled in the thin, clear sunlight.
“I hope it doesn’t melt,” Sara said to herself, glancing up at the sky. But it didn’t feel like it would. The sunshine hardly had any warmth in it, and she was cold, even wrapped up in her coat and long scarf. She stepped out on to the grass. At least, she thought it was the grass. She had to step carefully – she could have been standing on anything. Sara held out her hands to steady herself. She was glad that Grandad didn’t have a pond – she might walk out into the middle of it in this.
“This is definitely the bit of grass between the roses and the wall,” Sara muttered to herself, frowning and trying to remember the layout of the garden. She knew exactly what it looked like, almost as well as she knew her garden at home! But she’d never tried to walk round it blindfolded, and that was what it felt like.
The snow crunched and squeaked under her boots as she tracked across the lawn, admiring her footprints. It was about twenty centimetres deep, she thought. Not quite high enough to go over the top of her boots. But not far off.
Sara turned and looked back at her trail. The prints were really crisp, as though she’d shaped them with a knife. The snow was calling for her to build something in it. But not just a snowman. Somehow that wasn’t right for the magical feel of the morning. Sara moulded a snowball thoughtfully, pressing it together between her gloved hands, and enjoying the feel of the snow under her fingers.
Then she smiled. Of course. Grandad’s story last night. She was going to make a snow bear.
Once she had the idea, it came easily. The snow was a little powdery, but it held together well enough, and the shape she had in mind wasn’t very complicated. Sara loved polar bears and she had lots of toy ones at home, of all sizes, and a little notebook with a polar bear photo on the cover. The bear was sitting up, almost like a boy slouching against a wall, with his hind paws stuck out in front of him. So it was easy enough to heap up a mound of snow to be his back, stretching it out into two fat back paws. The head was harder – when she tried to build the snow out into a pointed bear face, it just fell off. In the end she rolled a sort of triangular snowball, and balanced it on the top, with little snowballs for ears. Then she shaped some of the body into front paws, hanging down at the sides.
Sara stood back, admiring her bear. He was almost finished, but there was something missing. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, and then sighed. The eyes. She needed some little stones, or something like that – but everything was buried under the snow. She glanced around, and managed to find a couple of dark, withered rose leaves, still just about visible under the snow covering the bushes. She pushed them into place on either side of the long white muzzle, but they didn’t look quite right.
Someone laughed behind her, and she turned to see Grandad standing in the doorway.
“He’s fantastic, Sara!”
She grinned at him. “He is nice,” she agreed. “But he isn’t finished, Grandad. His face looks wrong. It’s mostly the eyes. I can’t find anything to make them out of.”
Grandad nodded, and then rubbed his hands together. “I know. Give me just a minute.” He hurried indoors, and came back, smiling, holding out a hand to her.
Sara tramped to the door, feeling the cold now that she’d stopped building. “Oh, they’re perfect,” she said delightedly, picking the bits of green sea glass from Grandad’s hand. “I should have thought of that. Can I really borrow them? Won’t they get lost in the snow?”
Grandad had a jar of sea glass on the kitchen windowsill, all shades of green, and even a couple of tiny blue pieces. He picked it up when he went walking on the beach, and now, when the sun shone through it on the windowsill, it looked like a tiny jarful of the sea inside the house.
“Of course you can. You’ll just have to go hunting on the beach for some more if they disappear when your bear melts. I’m sure we’ll spot them in the grass, though.”
Sara ran back to the bear, taking out the leaves and pressing the green glass into the snow. She smiled at the difference they made to the long white face. He was suddenly real, a snow bear sitting in the garden.
She couldn’t help glancing back at him, as she hurried in to eat breakfast. She had the strangest feeling that he was waiting for her to return.
So what are you going to do now?” Grandad asked, as they finished breakfast, both wiping toast crusts round their plates to catch the last of the scrambled egg. “I might be up to a snowball fight, if you’re brave enough…”
Sara giggled. “Maybe.”
“Or you could make a whole family of bears.”
Sara shook her head. “No. One’s enough.” She looked hopefully at Grandad. “I’d really like to build an igloo…” She’d been thinking about it while she was eating breakfast – that she needed an igloo to live in next to the bear. It was all part of the story.
Grandad blinked. “I’ve never built one, Sara,” he admitted. “I’ve watched it done, but it’s very complicated, making a proper igloo. You have to stamp the snow down and then leave it to freeze before you cut the blocks out and build with them.”
“Oh.” Sara nodded sadly.
“But actually…” Grandad got up to look out of the kitchen window. “That snow that’s been blown against the wall might be hard enough. Because the wind squashed it all against the bricks, you see.”
“Really?” Sara asked hopefully, coming to stand on tiptoe beside him, peering out to look.
“Mmm. It wouldn’t be a very long-lasting one,” Grandad warned. “More of a quick shelter, the kind that Inuit hunters would build if they were away overnight.”
“Any sort of igloo – I don’t mind,” Sara told him.
Grandad nodded, and put their plates in the sink. “I might even have something that would help,” he murmured, and Sara followed him into his study. Grandad stood by the desk, looking at the collection of strange objects mounted on the wall behind it. Sara loved to look at them and try to work out what the faded old labels said – her great-grandad had very spidery writing.
“There it is!” Grandad said triumphantly, taking down a long, toothed knife, not metal, but made of something strange, hard and yellowish.
“What is it?” Sa
ra asked.
“It’s a snow knife,” Grandad explained. “See if you can guess what it’s made out of.”
Sara stroked the smooth surface of the knife. It reminded her of teeth, and she frowned worriedly. “It isn’t made out of elephant tusks, is it, Grandad? We were learning about ivory at school, and how people kill elephants, just for their tusks.”
“Not quite. It isn’t from an elephant, but it is a sort of ivory. Do you remember me telling you about walruses? They’re a bit like seals, with big tusks.”
“And that’s what this is made from?” Sara said. She didn’t like the idea of a knife made out of teeth.
“A long time ago. Your great-grandad brought this home, and it would have been very old even then. Walruses are protected now, but back then, hunters and their families used their bones and tusks after they’d eaten the walrus meat. They didn’t waste anything. And this knife was for cutting out the blocks of snow to make an igloo.”
Sara nodded. It looked a bit like the sort of plastic knife she used to have to cut her playdough with. She could see it would work on snow. “I wonder how many igloos it’s made?” she said thoughtfully.
“Maybe hundreds. Let’s make one more with it, shall we?” Grandad suggested, going out into the hall and slipping it into the pocket of his thick, padded coat. “I should think your great-grandad would be delighted. And whoever it was who made the knife.”
They went out into the garden, and Sara patted the head of her snow bear, still sitting solemnly in the middle of the snowy lawn.
Grandad examined the bank of snow by the wall and nodded. “Good and solid, like I thought. Now we have to try and cut it into blocks with the knife.”
Sara watched Grandad with the walrus-ivory knife – she still wasn’t quite sure about it. She stamped around the snow they were going to build on, flattening it down, while Grandad started to cut out fat blocks of solid snow. It looked quite tricky to do, and Sara was glad they weren’t trying to build a big igloo.
When they had the first few blocks, they laid them in a semicircle behind the snow bear, so that he would be sitting in front of the igloo.
“And now we just keep stacking them up…” Sara said, looking doubtfully at their ring of blocks.
“Yes, and they’ll press in on each other as we curve them – that’s the plan, anyway,” Grandad agreed. He was looking excited about the project now, Sara realized.
Sara nodded. She had a feeling the igloo was going to be a lot of hard work. But it would be so amazing if they could really make one big enough to sit in.
After the first ring of blocks, they edged them in a tiny bit, so that the igloo would be dome-shaped, and then the next row a little more. By the third row, the wall was up to Sara’s waist, and it was starting to feel like a real little house.
“Wouldn’t it be really dark inside if we were making one with just a tiny tunnel to get in?” Sara asked Grandad, panting a little as she helped him heave a block up to the height of her shoulders.
“Mmm,” Grandad agreed. “They’d have an oil lamp, usually – burning oil made from seal fat. That made the igloo work better too, oddly enough. The heat from the lamp melted the snow on the inside just a little, and then it froze again harder, and that thin layer of ice stuck all the blocks together.” He grinned at Sara. “We could try shining a torch on the inside of ours, but I’m not sure it would work. The Inuit would have used a seal’s tummy to make a window. Stomachs are see-through, when you stretch them out! But I haven’t got one of those, sorry.”
“Uuughhh!” Sara gave him a disgusted look.
“We might be able to get some ice off the top of the water butt, if we feel like being clever. Some igloo-builders used ice for windows,” Grandad explained.
Sara nodded excitedly. “I know we don’t really need one, but it would make it even better.” She swallowed, trying not to sound upset. “We ought to take some pictures of it, and email them to Mum and Dad.”
Grandad put his arm round her. “Good idea. Your dad would have loved this – we did try building an igloo together once, but the snow was a bit too squashy.” He chuckled to himself. “It collapsed all over me, and your dad couldn’t stop laughing. We just had a snowball fight after that.” He sighed. “You’re really missing them, aren’t you?”
“Sorry,” Sara whispered. “It just feels funny here without them.”
Grandad nodded. “I know. Sara, love, this snow…” He stopped, looking at her worriedly, and Sara stared back at him.
“What?”
“I’m not sure I’m going to be able to take you home tomorrow.”
Sara gasped. She hadn’t even thought about that. But of course the roads would all be blocked by snow – the track up to Grandad’s house was so narrow, and even the proper road wasn’t very wide.
“What about Christmas?” she whispered. “It’s only two more days…”
“Well, maybe it’ll thaw,” Grandad said, hugging her tighter. “Hopefully. But I can’t promise that it will, Sara, even though I wish I could.”
Sara nodded, rubbing her hand over her eyes. It was horrible, crying when it was so cold. The hot tears burned her eyes, and then felt like they were freezing on to her cheeks. “Can I go in?” she gulped, not looking up at him. The igloo wasn’t done yet, but she couldn’t finish it now.
“Of course you can! I’ll come and make you some hot chocolate.” Grandad sounded so upset, and that only made Sara feel worse. She bolted into the house, took off her coat and hat, scarf and boots as fast as she could with frozen fingers, and ran upstairs. She was really cold, but she didn’t want a drink. She looked around her room uncertainly, and then dived back into bed, hiding herself under the duvet.
She heard Grandad opening her bedroom door a few minutes later, but he didn’t say anything, and then the floorboards creaked as he slowly went away again.
“Sara?”
Sara yawned, and half hiccupped. And then realized that she’d been crying, and remembered why. She wriggled out J1
of the duvet, and sat up blearily. “Hi, Grandad.”
“Are you all right?” Grandad asked her anxiously.
Sara sniffed, and nodded sadly. She was, just about. She was still miserable, but she didn’t want to cry any more.
“You’ve been asleep a long while, and your mum’s on the phone.” Grandad passed it to her. “Come down when you’ve finished talking to her, all right?”
Sara nodded again. “Hi, Mum,” she said huskily.
“Oh, Sara. You sound awful.”
“You don’t sound very happy, either.” Sara laughed sadly.
Mum sighed. “Silly, aren’t we? Your grandad said he explained that you’re going to have to stay for now. He doesn’t think it’s going to thaw out any time soon.”
Sara shook her head, and then remembered her mum couldn’t see her, and whispered, “No.”
“But try not to get upset. We’ll wait and have Christmas with you, Sara. We’ll put it off until you’re back. I’ll make your dad eat pasta and salad on Christmas Day.”
Sara giggled. “That’s mean!”
“Maybe sausages, then. Oh, sweetheart, I really miss you! Promise me you’ll try and enjoy the snow with your grandad. He says he’ll get you home as soon as it’s safe. But I wouldn’t want him to do anything silly.”
“Is it snowy there, too?”
“A bit, but nothing like what you’ve got. I’d better go, sweetheart, I’ve got to see the midwife. I just wanted to ring and say hello.”
“Thanks,” Sara sniffed. “I hope it goes OK. Love you, Mum…”
“Love you, too.”
Sara pressed the end call button, and sniffed hard a couple more times, trying not to start crying again. It helped that Mum hated it when Sara sniffed – she always told her to blow her nose. Sara could just about manage to laugh at that.
She still felt sad as she walked downstairs, and put the phone back in its cradle in Grandad’s study.
He poppe
d out of the kitchen, eyeing her anxiously. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Mmm. Mum says she’s going to save Christmas until I’m there, if she has to.”
“What about something to eat? You missed lunch. Sandwich? Toast?”
Sara shook her head. She wasn’t hungry at all. She didn’t really know what to do with herself – she’d promised Mum she wouldn’t be miserable, but it wasn’t easy. In the end, she got a book and curled up in the armchair in the study, watching Grandad work and trying to read. She didn’t get very far. Most of the time she just stared at the strange things all over the walls. They were covered in photographs of her grandad and great-grandad on their travels, and the things they’d brought back, like the ivory knife. There was even a canoe hanging from the ceiling.
Sara only picked at her tea – even though Grandad had made her favourite, eggy bread and bacon. Then she went up to bed early, but she couldn’t sleep – she’d slept too much earlier in the day, and now she felt jumpy and tired at the same time. In the end she got out of bed, and sat on the wide windowsill, staring into the garden.
The igloo was glowing in the winter moonlight, and Sara smiled sadly. It was finished – Grandad must have finished it for her while she was asleep. The entrance was an arch, and at the back of the igloo she could just about see that he had made her a window – he must have found some ice.
Her snow bear looked strangely real, sitting by the igloo with his fat paws dangling sleepily in front of him. Sara wondered if he would move, if she sat still and watched for long enough. Then she shook her head crossly. Now she was just being silly. She’d go downstairs and get a drink, she decided. Some milk. Maybe that would help her sleep. She pattered down the stairs and into the kitchen, glad she’d put her dressing gown on. It was freezing.
Grandad was standing by the kettle, making himself a hot drink. “You can’t sleep either?”