Melt

by Ele Fountain

  I lie on my bed and listen to Mum and Dad talking in low voices in the hall. I wonder if the top-secret rule applies to Mum, too.

  At dinner time Dad is still in serious mode.

  ‘I’m sorry, Bea,’ he says in-between mouthfuls of pasta, ‘I’m going to have to work this weekend.’ I feel myself deflate. ‘I’ve ordered a map and a hiking guide to some of the best routes round here. They might arrive tomorrow. You can look through and plan our first adventure.’

  I don’t mention that I’ve already discovered most of them.

  ‘I’m sure we can find something to do together.’ Mum turns to smile at me, the kettle in her hand. I really don’t want to go shopping. ‘Someone told me there’s a bookshop in town.’ She pauses, perhaps to allow this sensational news to sink in. ‘It has kittens for adoption. They have free range of the shop. You can browse for books, or for a kitten. Oh, it also has a café.’

  I stare at Mum’s back while she makes tea.

  ‘That sounds cool,’ I say. ‘That sounds very cool.’

  ‘Good,’ says Mum.

  ‘Is this the same café you mentioned the other day?’

  ‘Yes. You didn’t seem very keen, but I thought I’d try again.’

  ‘You didn’t say there would be kittens,’ I answer, feeling guilty that I just assumed all Mum wanted to do was shop. ‘Don’t tell Hester.’

  Mum gives me an ‘as if I would be that stupid’ expression, which makes me giggle.

  ‘If the kittens seem well cared for then perhaps we can think about adopting one.’

  ‘Seriously?!’ I rush over and give Mum a hug.

  My gloomy feeling lifts a little, as I think about what kind of kitten Hester might find acceptable company. Probably one which lives in the garden and doesn’t come inside. She would never actually make friends with another cat. I start to wonder if I’m a little bit like Hester.

  Yutu 4

  Sunrise casts a soft light around the wooden walls of my room. I love this time of day. Everything feels possible. I know Grandma’s up, even though I can’t hear her. She rises with the sun. I run through the packing list in my head. Spare clothes and mittens, torch, matches, flask, harpoon, hunting knife, rope. Some of the basic things I need will be in the cabin already. Grandma lets Petur use it as a stopover when he’s hunting caribou.

  I dress carefully, choosing my warmest top, and socks with no holes. I stuff my spare clothes into a watertight bag.

  Grandma is sitting in an armchair sipping from a steaming cup of tea. Bannock bread sizzles gently in a pan. The doughy smell makes my stomach rumble.

  ‘The bread should be ready. A small piece for me, and some akutaq, please,’ Grandma says.

  I lift the hot bannock bread onto a board and slice it into chunks, giving myself twice as much as Grandma, with a large spoonful of the berry mix.

  ‘Hungry today?’ Grandma asks. ‘You’re growing again,’ she smiles. A good appetite makes Grandma happy.

  ‘I’m going to see Sami this morning, then we’ll go to Tom’s together later. I’ll be back tomorrow, maybe in the evening, if that’s OK.’ I can’t look at Grandma while I’m lying, so I stare at the bread instead, tearing it into chunks.

  I can tell Grandma is watching me. My mouth feels dry and for a second I feel sure she knows I’m lying. If she asks me what I’m really doing, I will have to tell her.

  ‘That sounds like fun. Tomorrow evening is fine.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. A wave of guilt washes away the fear. I don’t feel guilty because I’m going to the cabin alone. I feel guilty because I’m lying.

  I tidy up the breakfast things, then when Grandma heads off to the bathroom, I seize my chance. I take the bag from my bedroom, my harpoon and an extra chunk of bread.

  ‘See you tomorrow, Grandma!’ I call, then pull the front door shut behind me. I crunch round to the back of the house and pick up the plastic box of food. I stuff the bread on top, then walk as quickly as I can with a bag, box and harpoon towards Sami’s house. There aren’t many people around to see me. They’re either at work, or not up yet. Sami’s in the second category.

  I dump my stuff in a heap on the ground outside the back of his house, then scoop up some snow. The first ball thuds right in the middle of Sami’s window. Nothing happens. I make two more to throw, but Sami has pulled up the blind. He’s clearly just woken up. His eyes are half open and his hair is at right angles. He pushes the window ajar. I stand underneath so that he can drop the key into my hands.

  ‘Look after it,’ he says sleepily. ‘Spare fuel is on the back. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks, Sami. I owe you,’ I say.

  ‘No worries,’ he replies, pulling the window shut and drawing the blind down again.

  I strap my stuff to the back of the snowmobile with a few bungees, then climb on and turn the key. Gently, I pull the starter cord and the engine growls into life. I glide away from Sami’s house, towards the edge of town. I feel light, like powdery snow which lifts in the wind.

  Sun sparkles across the lumpy sea ice in the bay. Dark patches of rock stain the tops of the hills which line the coast. I point the nose of the snowmobile towards the flat ground which lies between the hills and the sea ice. Cold wind rushes over my face. This is the route Petur has taken me on before. Just for day trips. This time, there is no one in front of me. No one to follow.

  After about an hour, I slow to a stop, my hands tingling from the vibration of the engine. I take some bannock bread from the plastic box and lean my elbows on the saddle while I eat. Apart from the gentle creaking of the sea ice, and the swish of wind on the tundra, it is completely silent. Pale blue sky stretches across the horizon. There are no buildings in sight. No people. I try to imagine having a proper sledge with a team of dogs to pull it, like the one Grandma used when she was little. Grandma says the dogs were part of the family. It must have felt amazing to glide along without an engine buzzing in the background. Just the crunching of paws in the snow, and the hiss of the runners.

  I rev the engine and slowly gather speed, heading inland for the last stretch. The cabin is in a hollow, tucked away from the stormiest weather.

  A low hill comes into view. It has a wide natural overhang, like the crest of a rocky wave. It’s not until I’m almost level with the overhang that the cabin appears. Although man-made, it blends into the landscape. The wood has weathered to a pale grey, and there is nothing shiny or sharply angled to make it stand out. The door is bolted shut to keep out any animals. There is no lock. The only people who pass this way, know who the cabin belongs to.

  I slide the bolt and the door creaks open to reveal a neat, cosy space. A raised platform at the back is covered in caribou skins for sleeping. Various tools and equipment are stored in one corner. The other side is left clear for cooking and sitting. I sling my bag on the caribou skins and breathe in the earthy smell, somewhere between animal skins and smouldering fire.

  I eat, sip some water, then pick up the harpoon and head outside.

  It takes me half an hour to reach the shore on foot. It feels good to walk, like I’m really in the tundra, not just passing through.

  Most people wouldn’t know where the land stops and the sea ice begins, but I know. I can read the different patterns in the ice, the shapes and textures.

  Using one arm to shield my eyes from the sinking sun, I move slowly and quietly, looking for signs of a seal’s blowhole, or a lair. If the shapes look promising, I use my harpoon like a probe, testing the ice for a hollow spot or a hole.

  After an hour, I am about a hundred metres from the shore. The sun glows orange in its final descent. It’s time to head back to the cabin. I don’t want to be on the sea ice after dark. It will be impossible to tell whether the patches of water are safe or not. There has been no sign of seals. Nothing. Not even the splashing sound as one slips beneath the ice before you spot it. No dark shapes squirming across the ice in the distance.

  I feel frustrated. I didn’t even have a
chance to hunt.

  As I crunch back through the snow, Grandma’s words run through my head, about the seals and caribou disappearing. About how the things which made our people great, are disappearing one by one.

  Perhaps she need never know that the bay was empty. My frustration is turning into a plan. There is another bay close by. It’s just a little further north. Petur has told me about it. I will follow the shoreline round. If I leave at sunrise, I should have time to hunt and make it back home before dark.

  No one will be disappointed.

  Bea 4

  My alarm goes off. I can’t believe the weekend is over. Again. Dad barely emerged from his office. Before I get out of bed, I hear the front door gently closing. He’s left for work already. I guess I’ll have to tell him about the kitten-bookshop-café some other time.

  It’s OK, because I have a plan. I’m going to work hard too. There are only so many hiking routes I can plan. I need to focus on something else before Mum signs me up for ballet or cross-stitch somewhere.

  Everyone seems to have forgotten about me over the weekend. Even Stella and the constellation seem to have lost interest. Or so I thought. No one mentions the honey or my visit to the Principal, but everyone knows. I catch whispered words and curious glances. Not just from Stella and the gang. I am becoming ‘one to watch’, and not in a good way.

  I spend a lot of time in the library, or a bench in the corner of the playground where no one bothers to go because it’s always in the shade. I barely speak to any other students until Wednesday morning. Then in chemistry we are assigned partners for the lab work. The teacher pairs me with a blond boy called Will. Will picks up his bag and walks over to join me. He doesn’t look thrilled about being my partner, but he doesn’t look upset either, which is good because we’re going to be partners for the rest of term.

  ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Are you the new girl?’

  ‘Newish. I’m Bea.’

  ‘I’m Will.’

  So far, so good. No buzzing noises or insect references. I’m not sure the conversation is going to develop much, though.

  He stares at the instruction sheet we’ve been given for today’s experiment. ‘Do you know what we have to do?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s simple organic chemistry.’

  Will looks at me, confused.

  I start setting up the equipment, and he realizes I wasn’t joking about the ‘simple’ part.

  ‘Cool,’ he says.

  We finish first and the teacher is impressed. We also get correct results for each part of the experiment.

  ‘Are you some kind of science genius?’ Will asks, as we pack our things away.

  ‘I just read the instructions,’ I say, which is basically true.

  As we walk out of class, Will heads off with some friends. Stella walks past with Lauren.

  ‘Watching you flirt is disgusting,’ Lauren hisses.

  I wait until they’ve disappeared down the corridor, before walking to my next lesson.

  At lunchtime the buzzing noises start again. This time Stella joins in with the others. They are sitting two tables away from me, so plenty of people can hear. They look around, smiling, wondering what the joke is. I finish my lunch as quickly as possible, then go to the library to start an English assignment.

  I have chemistry again on Friday. I head to my locker, which I’ve finally had time to clean. Inside are all my textbooks, except the big red one I need for chemistry. I know I put it back on Wednesday. Someone has been in my locker again.

  The bell rings so I head to class.

  ‘Hey,’ says Will, ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’

  ‘I was looking for my textbook,’ I say.

  ‘You can share mine,’ he says, pushing his chair closer. There is a waft of whatever he uses to make his hair stick up. It smells of bubblegum. It seems weird that he smells like a sweet.

  We sail through our experiment again. When the teacher comes over to find out why we’re doing nothing, Will shows her the write-up which he’s already completed.

  ‘Great teamwork,’ she says. ‘You’ve set the bar for everyone else.’

  Will grins at me. I get the impression this is an improvement on his usual feedback for chemistry.

  I look around the class to see who else has finished, and spot Stella staring at me with an expression of pure hatred. It seems that having someone to talk to twice a week comes at a price. An icy wave passes through my stomach, as an awful thought finally dawns on me.

  Stella likes Will.

  Yutu 5

  For a split second I forget where I am. My face is cold, but I am warm beneath layers of heavy caribou skin. I push them to the side and reach for my boots which are at the other end of the bed. Everything on the raised sleeping platform stays warmer than on the floor. I slept in my clothes but slip my coat on straight away. I mustn’t let my body heat escape. I eat the seal meat which I saved from the night before and have a sip of water, then pull on my mittens.

  I push open the cabin door and gather up my bag, box and harpoon. Outside the air is fresh but freezing. I strap my things to the back of the snowmobile and brush a few flakes of snow from the seat before climbing on. To my right, the horizon glows pale orange below thin dark clouds. Straight ahead is a wide natural path between two small hills. I know the land around here, the shape of the bays beyond. I’ve looked at maps, I’ve listened to Petur, but I’ve never actually been.

  I pull the starter cord and the engine growls. I steer away from the cabin, northwards. As I leave the shelter of the rocky overhang, a fierce wind presses against me, blowing in from the sea. It’s hard to keep a straight course, so I drive a bit faster. The snowmobile bumps and jerks over uneven ground.

  After an hour or so, the sky is barely any lighter. The sun has risen above the horizon, now obscured by a band of cloud, spreading out across the frozen bay. I pass between the two small hills and head down towards the shore. Before I reach the sea ice, there is a patch of spruce, their branches crusted in snow. I slow down and steer the snowmobile through a narrow gap, into the cluster of trees. At least here my stuff will be sheltered from the wind until I’m ready to leave.

  I estimate that I have two hours before I need to head back. I can’t risk travelling in the dark. Anyway, Grandma will be waiting for me.

  I slide my harpoon from underneath the bungee and walk down to the sea ice. The bank of grey cloud has crept closer. There’s enough light to distinguish the types of ice and snow, but the wind is making it harder to see. It’s stronger than when I left the cabin. I follow the shoreline, heading north. I probe the ice before stepping onto patches of seawater. There is almost always solid ice beneath, but I don’t want to take any chances.

  Perhaps half a kilometre ahead, I see a dark shape on the ice. It might be a seal. I feel a surge of excitement. I head towards it, slowly. Seals have very bad eyesight, and the wind is in my favour. Even if it does spot me, there may be others nearby, and blowholes where they might surface. I picture myself dragging a seal back to Grandma’s house. In this daydream I only have one seal, but one is enough.

  A few flakes of snow begin to fall. I should turn back soon, but I’ve almost arrived at the sheet of ice where I saw the seal. It’s wide and mostly flat, with a few bumps towards the centre. Placing each foot with care, I move towards the middle. I stop to probe the ice, checking for a possible lair. There is a long, high-pitched, creaking sound. The ground beneath my feet feels suddenly soft. I look down as seawater creeps up around the edges of my boots. I plunge down with the harpoon and there is nothing solid beneath, only freezing seawater. My heart starts to thump. I turn and take two quick strides in the direction of the shore. The ice doesn’t give way, but I daren’t stop. Perhaps this whole section of the bay is unstable.

  I want to take the shortest route to the shore, but it’s safer to retrace my steps. I know that route is solid. I try to work out which way I came, but the light is fading so fast I can’t see my footprints. I feel m
yself begin to panic. I need to get off the sea ice now, but if I move too quickly, there’s more chance I won’t spot the weaker patches, or that my foot will press down too hard. I cannot go under. There is no one here to help me get back out.

  I’m unable to retrace my steps. I have no choice. I will have to take the shorter route. The shore is only ten metres away.

  The wind whips against my hood. I take a few more steps towards another ice sheet. I test the edge and it feels solid. I move slowly towards the centre then glance up. I’m five metres from the shore. Almost close enough to jump. I step again, and my foot disappears beneath the white crust. I throw myself forwards and sprawl onto my stomach as my right leg sinks into the freezing water. My left knee rests just above, on the edge of the ice which caved. Pain sears through the submerged leg, as water seeps beneath my layers of clothing. I use my arms to haul myself out in a commando crawl, but the water is weighing me down, pulling me under. The ice beneath my arms is sinking too. I push forwards again, my shoulders burning. I manage to get my right knee on top of the ice. It’s numb with cold; I can barely move it, but I keep pushing until my whole body is on what’s left of the ice sheet. Slowly, I drag my knees towards my chest and stagger to my feet.

  I am gasping for breath but all I can hear is the wind, pressing against me, forcing me sideways. In front is a ridge of lumpy snow-covered ice. I slide my left foot forwards, then my right, and step over the ridge. My right leg is heavy with water. With the next step I reach the shore. My leg gives way and I stumble to the ground.

  Snow whips through the air. I look across the sea ice trying to locate the cluster of spruce trees sheltering the snowmobile. Grey-white snow clouds merge with the grey-white land. I can barely see more than ten metres. The trees must be a kilometre away. I’m no longer even certain in which direction I should be looking. With a bolt of panic, I realize that I am disorientated. My clothes are wet. Soon, the damp will seep through from the outer layers and then my whole body will start to feel as cold and numb as my leg. I must keep moving.