Snow Day

Snow Day

‘Hello Daddy. Guess what Daddy? I’ve got red boots.’

              ‘Red boots little one?’

‘Yes Daddy. Red ones.  Mummy bought them for me. I love them.’

              ‘That’s wonderful. Do you really love them.’ There’s silence, all I get is a vague crackle and hum but I know that Lilly’s vigorously nodding her head in assent. There’s Vicky’s voice, gentle, lilting.  I can see her leaning over Lily’s shoulder, whispering into her ear, ‘Tell Daddy why you’ve got red Wellies.’

              ‘My green one’s have got a hole in.’

              ‘That’s right but tell Daddy why you needed them.’

              Silence. I check the phone to make sure I’ve not lost signal. There’s rustling and I imagine the phone is being handed back and forward, Vicky will be trying to cajole Lily back into the conversation.  I can picture her staring at the boots in wonder. Finally, there’s the huff and puff of her breathing: ‘Daddy, it’s snowing!’

              ‘Is it little one?’ Silence again, but I know her little pony tail will be bouncing up and down. ‘Have you been outside in it?’

              Pause again.  I’m in the classic parental phone trap: ask a yes/no question you get a an unseen nod of the head.  Ask something more complicated and it’s not processed.

              Gently: ‘Darling, can I have the phone and speak to Daddy?’ There’s a rustle and suddenly I have all of Vicky, ‘Hello darling.’

              ‘Hello my love.’ And in that statement suddenly everything evaporates.  All I wanted to say – it’s like someone’s turned the tap and the water’s now trapped behind the dam.

              ‘Line’s good.’

              ‘Yeah, it is. Atmospherics must be right.’

              ‘What’s it like?’

              ‘Same as the last 10 days.’ And the silence descends again.  In all the world all I want to be able to is wrap my arms round Esther and tell her I love her. Simple words, which weigh like stone.

              ‘Mummy, Mummy can I speak. Phone please, phone.’ Lily. ‘Daddy, Daddy it’s snowing. Its snowed all day Daddy. I’ve not been to school.’

              ‘You’ve not little one? You been OK?’

              It’s Est.  They must be sitting on the stairs, huddled together. I close my eyes and can not almost feel the intimacy.

              ‘Don’t worry Tom.  Snow day.  Apparently, half the staff couldn’t make it in and the boiler’s broken.  So, they closed the school and sent the kids home. I was lucky, because of the snow I’d only just cleared the drive for the car. I’ve been ‘working from home’... (I can hear the air apostrophes).

              ‘Seriously?’

              ‘Seriously Tom!’ Indignant this. ‘I’ve had meetings, made calls, sorted stuff. As if...’ (See, what I’m doing isn’t work.  It’s a hobby. Though at the moment it does it feel like that.) ‘Hasn’t Mummy?’

Bad mistake. Rooky mistake. I know what comes next.

              ‘Nooo! Mummy’s been building snowmen with me!’

              ‘Lily,’ mock horror and shock. ‘You know that’s not true. Well it’s not what we agreed to tell Daddy!’  And there are shrieks off laughter. ‘No, Tom works not really been there; everything cancelled.  So, a true snow day.  I actually wonder if I could have got out the village. Glad I didn’t have to try.’

              ‘Snowed hard?’

              ‘Yeah came down hard last night. We stood on the porch watching it fall.’

              ‘We did Daddy. I had my red wellies on and my pyjamas and my big coat to keep me warm. They were really, really big snowflakes.  I tried to catch them but they melted. Daddy?’

              ‘Yes little one?’

              ‘They said at school every snowflake is different but when I tried to catch them they all looked the same. Why?’

              It’s as if I’m there.  I can see Lily poddoling over to me (a family word, half waddling, half plodding, can you see it?)  Arms outstretched, perhaps in one of this snow suits which make you move like a zombie. She’d reach up and swing her into the air.  We did it once and I managed to loose one of her boots.  They weren’t red then. Disney character I think. It sailed in a graceful ark to land with a bird scattering splash in the lake. 

We laughed. 

We bought a new pair. This time they’d got unicorns on them.

Sitting in my arms she’d push her face next to mine, the soft assurance of her hair catching my check and then she’d whisper in my ear. A question (Why are ducks called ducks and not flies? Bacause what would you call flies then?  Why don’t we call them swims? Because it would be strange to go for a duck!) or maybe just nonsense. And sometimes ‘Daddy?’ Yes. ‘Do you know what?’ No. ‘I love you.’ Then there would be a throttling squeeze around my neck.

‘Well, let one each snowflake is unique, honest.  You just need to look at it under a microscope and you will see how beautiful they are.’

There’s a pause on the line.  I can see her round face looking to the ceiling, then perhaps to Esther, then a thoughtful finger on the lips.  Round me the wind picks up again and I’m reminded of the gale that’s blowing.

‘Daddy, when you come home can we look?’

‘Sure sweetie.’

‘But Daddy, I still think they are beautiful when they are big and fluffy.’

              The snow where I am isn’t coming in mazy flurries it’s being driven.  Hard low. Even through the thermal clothes it stings.  It’s like being shot by air rifle pellets. Not that I’m going out. I’m quite happy to be buried here. I can see the village swathed in snow, snowmen growing in gardens;, snowmen growing in gardens; a gentle bonhomie forged from everybody suddenly getting a free pass of a day.

‘So you made snowmen?’

‘Yes Daddy, but they are snow-girls.’

‘Of course!. What else?’

This time it’s Esther, her lilting voice flowing while the storm rages outside: ‘We went for a walk.  The snow’s hanging from the trees. It’s magical. Can you remember the weekend after you proposed? We’d been to my parents and then we went for a walk – it was just like that. Snow falling. It being so quiet. The only sound being us crunching through the snow. Can you remember?’

‘Of course Est, of course. I’m not getting to forget.’ I can’t tell – there’s a sharp intake of breath, or maybe it’s a stifled sob. ‘I didn’t mean to be short. It’s just…’

‘You’re a long way away. What my love?’

‘Sorry?’ The wind is picking up intensity again, battering the tent.

‘What? Lilly? I’m talking to Daddy still.’

Lily again, obviously away from the phone, no doubt she’d got board with the adults. She’d have called it ‘mushy talk.’

‘Careful Lily.’ I can hear footsteps and Lily repeating ‘come and see, come and see’.  I imagine she’s got Esther by the hand, tugging her down the hall. There’s a long cry of ‘look.’ Here, hunkered down with the wind ripping over the razor edge I wedge myself lower into my sleeping bag.  My hat is pulled down well over my ears against the cold and my breathe hangs like fog in front of my eyes.

‘Look Mummy, look!’ I imagine Lily bouncing up and down.’

A real voice materialises from the shadows: ‘Yes, dear. Sorry Tom – it’s Lily, she’s dragged me to the back of the house. It’s snowing again. Do you want to go outside?’ (Me – no, not a chance.  For a start I’d barely get above horizontal).

‘Yes, Mummy, Yes.’

There’s pause and I can hear the back door being unlocked.  There’s a cheer as Lily rushes out into the garden. I long to be outside the confines of this tent. I’m setting less than 200 meters from the summit. In fact, when the storm relents and there are fragments of blue I can see it curling away. It’s barely an hour’s climb; an hour’s climb in good conditions but not now, not in this. A year planning, three months in country, days climbing from base camp; hours hacking through the ice and snow to be denied by minutes.

And I’m stuck, marooned in a canvas palace, stuck in a hollow that provides some shelter from the worst of it.  It came like a wolf, silent, all pent up violence, that explodes and rolls and toils, waiting, waiting, waiting. I’m almost within touching distance but know, looking at the dwindling supplies, the decision to go for the top gets ever easier.  What’s more pressing is will the storm relent to allow me back down.   

‘You should see her Tom.  She’s dancing with the snowflakes. She’s got her head up, mouth open, tongue out trying to catch them.  She’s doing ballet Tom, ballet.  The snowman’s her partner. I wish you could see this.’

I can. I close my eyes and I’m there with her – the three of us waltzing together whilst I wait for my snow day to end.

 

 

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