Ice Diaries Read Online Free PDF Page A

and the
rest to a fate I’d evaded might give me survivor’s guilt
for the rest of my life.
    I worry about the future. Surely the
others must too, but they hardly ever mention it. A month ago we ran
out of tinned raspberries. No big deal, you may say, we’ve
still got pineapple, pears and peaches. But what happens when we run
out of other things? What happens when we run out of everything?

    Our monthly meeting is always held at
Nina and Archie’s flat in Cromwell Tower, the next building
along from Claire and Paul, at ten o’clock on the last
Wednesday in the month – that is the last Thursday , if
like me you’ve kept correct track of time. (I’ve got to
stop thinking this, as we all operate on Nina Time these days;
henceforth I’ll use her, wrong, dates. Except for important
ones, like David’s birthday.)
    On impulse I popped in to see Claire on
my way there. Paul had already left for the meeting. Toby was asleep,
and Gemma was practising the recorder in a corner. Claire looked
bright-eyed and pretty and I told her so.
    “It’s the relief –
I’m just so happy it’s over and Toby’s fine, I feel
like dancing round the room. I hated being pregnant, quite apart from
knowing the birth was coming up. I never got that bloom you’re
supposed to. I feel much better now.”
    “Well, you look terrific.”
    “I put a bit of makeup on this
morning, and that helps. I look washed out without it. I’m not
like you, Tori. It’s so unfair.” Her eyes ran over me.
“Even when you’ve got straight out of bed and your hair
needs washing and your clothes are all baggy, you still look like a
model. It’s those cheekbones.”
    “I don’t, I look a mess.”
I twisted a neglected lock round my finger. “It’s such a
business washing my hair. I should do it more often, but I’m
lazy.”
    I stayed to chat longer than I meant.
Claire wanted to hear all about Morgan, not that there was much to
tell, then Gemma wanted to play me her latest tune. So I was the last
to arrive – I could see the others through the windows as I
climbed on to the terrace, a big space which must have been lovely
for eating outside in summer. The roof juts out so they aren’t
always having to sweep the snow from the tiles as I am at my place. I
took off my jacket in the warmth of the living room – Nina is
home more than me, so can keep their stove fed – and said hello
to everyone.
    The flat has a similar layout and
dimensions to Claire and Paul’s; a generously sized three
bedroom apartment with dining room and study, but tidier, with no
indication of the daily struggle to survive in hostile circumstances.
Nina is house-proud. The big round carpet is spotless, every surface
free of fingerprints and dust – though there is very little
dust these days. My theory is a lot of it used to come from car tyres
wearing away. Once inside, the place gives the illusion that
civilization is still going strong, and if you went and looked over
the terrace wall, far below you would see traffic and people hurrying
by on the pavements. They don’t have children, something which
is I think a regret to Archie, but just as well for the children.
(I’m being unkind, but I wouldn’t want Nina for a mother,
she’s far too bossy.)
    They sleep in one of the bedrooms, and
the firewood is stacked in another room, even though this arrangement
means a lot of fetching and carrying for Archie. He never complains.
Archie is probably the nicest person I’ve ever met, always
looking for the best in people, and finding it. He’s a Church
of England vicar, although this is not necessarily the secret of his
niceness. I don’t know what he’s doing married to Nina.
There’s a big carved crucifix on the wall Archie salvaged from
his church before it disappeared beneath the snow. On Sundays he
celebrates Holy Communion there. I’m afraid most of us don’t
attend, being unbelievers.
    Though I don’t share his beliefs,
I find his faith oddly comforting. I once asked him