Icefire (21 page)

It was David this time who lost his temper. “What have I told you about bursting in like that?”

“But, but, but …” Lucy could barely keep her feet on the ground.

“If it’s a squirrel or a hedgehog, you picked the wrong time.”

“It’s not a hedgehog,” said a gentle voice, and a tall, slim figure brushed into the room.

The world began to swim in David’s head.

The caller was his girlfriend, Sophie.

35
D
EPARTURES

 

I
t was like some kind of autumnal time warp. Out came the best plates, the cakes, the cookies, and everyone was ushered into the kitchen to listen to Sophie’s homecoming news — everyone except Suzanna Martindale. Despite Liz’s best attempts to make her stay and David’s stutteringly awkward introductions, she smiled, made suitably polite excuses, and left before Sophie had removed her coat. Sophie, watching patiently from the wings, asked no questions and made no remarks. When the front door closed she put her arms around David and drew him into a gentle hug. “I missed you,” she whispered, and pecked him on the cheek. He told her the same, without the peck. He could still taste Zanna’s lipstick on his mouth.

Looking tanned and healthy, with her copper-blond hair bleached even further by the African sun, Sophie chattered nonstop for an hour. She brought out photographs: elephants, zebras, hippos, water holes, stunning scenes of the African bush, the wildlife park, the hut she had slept in where the beetles were as long as the teacups were high and she hadn’t dared to go barefoot for at least a week, sunsets, sunrises, cloud-covered mountains, the people she worked with, the jeep they got around in, and last but not least, the only one of her — in a pair of shorts and a khaki shirt, feeding leaves to a baby elephant that she had personally helped to rescue.

“They’re lovely,” said Liz.

“I want to go,” said Lucy.

“Why are you back so soon?” said David. The question had been on his lips from the start.

“Later,” she said to him, rubbing his hand. “Anyway, come on, that’s tons about me. What’s the Pennykettle clan been up to? Is this a new line?” She pointed at Grockle, and everything went quiet.

“He’s one of a kind,” Liz said, smiling gamely. “Grace has missed you. David, can you pass her?”

David took her off the countertop and handed her to Sophie.

“Hello, Grace,” she whispered. “You look radiant. Did you hear me sending my love to you from Africa?”

“Excuse me, I’m going upstairs for a second.” David could take no more. He stood up, pushing back his chair so hard that Bonnington jumped and landed in his water bowl, soaking his bandage and making Liz sigh. David muttered an apology and hurried away.

He did go up the stairs, but not very far. Halfway, he turned and sat down on the step, staring into space for what seemed like an age before lowering his head into the cradle of his hands. Gwillan, snuffling dust higher up on the landing, fluttered down to ask if he might be of help. David asked him to go and find Gretel. But before the little dragon could move away, Sophie appeared at the foot of the stairs. She didn’t seem surprised to see him there.

“Is this a private moment or can anyone join in?”

David put Gwillan on the box window shelf. “Oh, hi, I don’t mean to seem rude. I’ve been decorating all day. Feeling a bit tired.”

“It’s OK,” she said quietly. “No offense taken. Maybe all you need is a breath of fresh air?” She was reaching for his overcoat before he could refuse. “I like walking in the snow. Let’s go out.”

“So, what
have
you been up to?” she asked, looping his arm as they ambled down the crescent.

David looked up at the snow-laden roofs, at the wind dislodging crystals from the icicles hanging off the amber streetlights, at the moon, very big and very round and very present. At the stars. At the center of the northern stars. “Oh, you know, college. The usual stuff.”

That made her laugh, as much as any far-flung tale about dragons. “Nothing’s ever usual with you, David. What about your stories? Written anything new?”

The free hand in his pocket touched the tooth. What would he give to tell what he knew? And what would
it mean to her if he did? “I’ve started one — about polar bears.”

“I didn’t know you knew about polar bears?”

“I don’t, not much. But in eight days’ time I’m going to the Arctic … to do some research.”

She stopped walking and pulled him around. “My God, you’re serious.” She shook herself, stunned. The pom-pom on her knitted hat swung across her shoulders.

“Geography field trip — to Chamberlain, in Canada. I’m paying for it from the proceeds for
Snigger.”

Now her eyebrows arched and her mouth fell open. “You sold
Snigger?”

“I got a two-book deal with a publisher, yes.”

“David, that’s
fantastic.
Wow. I don’t know what to say.” A car sluiced past, throwing slush onto the pavement, making them dodge and walk again.

“I was going to write — or call you,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d mind — about the Arctic, I mean, as you were s’posed to be away in Africa. Why
are
you home?”

They turned a corner, brushing chunks of snow off an overhanging holly. Sophie ringed his arm and the space between them narrowed. “Well, this sort of pales in comparison to your achievements, but I have to say it all the same. The post I was offered is below my potential — according to the director of the wildlife program. They want me to take on something new, in one of their big reserves in Kenya. It’s a three-year post, with a degree attached. If I take it, I won’t be coming home much.”

David nodded in time with his steps. “Hmm. Sounds good.”

“Yes,” she said, softening the word with a quiet sigh. “In career terms it is, very good.” They went two more paces, then she stopped him again. “That girl tonight, the one in your room —”

“She’s just a friend from college. She’s —”

“David, it’s OK. It’s not an attack. If she’s someone special, I’m pleased for you.” Sophie paused and rubbed a mitten under one eye. A tear dallied on the edge of her lashes. “I came around here tonight to tell
you that … I’m releasing you from any obligation to me.”

“Sophie —?”

“No, listen to me. Please. I practiced on the plane, don’t spoil it for me.” She did her best to laugh and lightly thumped his chest. “I’m very fond of you, you know I am — but for now, it has to be over between us. I wanted to tell you this in person so you wouldn’t feel dumped from a distance. I’m really pleased about your writing. You’re so lovely and caring; you deserve success. I’ll buy all your books, I promise, every one. I just won’t be around to see them being written. Hold me and say you don’t hate me. Please.”

“I don’t hate you,” he whispered, and pulled her in close until her head was on his shoulder and her tears were on his neck. They stayed like this until a snow shower fell. Then he walked her home.

That night, when he told the story to Liz, she was almost in tears herself. “Oh dear. This is all so terribly romantic. I’m pleased she had the courage to tell you
to your face. She’s a good girl, Sophie. Very thoughtful. Very kind. I’m glad she took Grace this time as well. That will keep a bond of sorts between you. You’ll always be friends. Always. She loves you. And if nothing else, I suppose it uncomplicates the other matter.”

David looked up over his hot chocolate.

“I can’t bear to see those paint scrapers side by side, abandoned.”

“It’s not funny,” David muttered, trying to keep a straight face.

Liz dropped the kitchen blind and locked the back door. “If you think you’re hurt, imagine what Zanna must be going through now. If you want my advice, you’ll call her — tonight.”

“Tonight? It’s half past twelve.”

“So? You’re a student. Act like one.”

He tried four times, including once the next morning. Her answering machine spoke back every time. He sent e-mail. That was dead as well. At lunch, he abandoned his scrapers and stripper and went to college, searching
for her. In the coffee bar he found her best friend, Liddy. “Gone home,” she said, with a look that suggested that David had not only bought the ticket but driven the train as well. Even so, he stole Zanna’s home number from her (and sneaked the address while Liddy wasn’t looking).

“You’re history, Rain. She won’t talk. Zanna’s strong.”

“Will you give her a message, then?” Liddy rolled a cheese and onion chip around her mouth.

“Tell her Gretel misses her.”

Liddy clicked her tongue. “And who’s that from, Hansel or the gingerbread man?”

“Funn-ee,” said David, and rose to leave. “Just tell her to call me, OK? What’s she doing about the field trip, do you know?”

Liddy popped another potato chip and waved bye-bye.

In the office, David checked the list of applicants.
His name was there, approved by Bergstrom. By the name S. Martindale was an ugly blank.

The next morning, he went to Gretel in the den. She was sitting over Grockle as she often did, dropping flower petals over his petrified body, as if she was hoping they would break his spell.

“I know you can reach her,” David said in dragontongue. “Gadzooks and G’reth … they always come to me. I just want her to know I wasn’t two-timing her.”

Hrrff,
went Gretel, turning her back. She blew a smoke ring and spiked it once with her tail.

“Right,” said David. “In that case, there’s only one thing for it….”

He went to G’reth. “I want to make a wish.”

The wishing dragon reeled back, crunkling his snout.

Hrrr?
went Gadzooks, knitting his ridges.

“It’s not like the other one,” David assured them. “It’s about Zanna and me.”

The two dragons exchanged a wary glance.

“Come on,” said David. “I’ve got to find her.”

“Not through wishing, you don’t,” said Liz. She came in, looking extremely stern. In her hands was a wide brown envelope. She slapped it against his chest. “This just came by special delivery. It’s from Apple Tree Publishing. It feels as if it might be a contract or something. I suggest you sit down and read it thoroughly, and forget about making dubious wishes. Remember: if they’re not beneficial, they’ll turn.”

“But—?”

“Kitchen or Henry’s. Take your pick. Go.”

He picked Henry’s, but he didn’t read the contract fully. Twelve legal-sized pages of gobbledygook. The second page promised him money on signature. The last had a dotted line for just that purpose. He picked up a pen … and put it down again. His signature could wait. Zanna couldn’t.

He went to the address he’d stolen from Liddy.

An hour on the train had left him plenty of time to practice his speech, but when he got there, a neat little cottage in Brookline, her sister answered the door. She looked older than Zanna by a couple of years. She
wore tight blue jeans and a turtleneck sweater. She was pretty — in a green-eyed, savage kind of way. Savage just about described her mood.

“Oh, dragon boy. I’ve heard about you. Straying a bit far from Scrubbley, aren’t you?”

“Is she in? I’d like to talk to her.” They were on the step and it was freezing cold.

The sister put a tan leather coat around her shoulders. “Nope. Gone to see her ex, I think.”

“Ex?”

The sister made kissy-kissy sounds. “Oh dear, that didn’t go down well, did it?”

David changed his sour face for something more manly. “I don’t care who she’s with —”

“Ahh, brave soldier.”

“— I just want to give her a message, that’s all.”

The sister checked her watch. “Fifty-three seconds. Then I’m going out. So you’d better make it quick. Unless you’d like to sit on the step and freeze? She could be quite some time. She was always very fond of her ex, as I recall. Thirty-eight seconds.”

David paused for thought. “Thirty-five.”

“Tell her, whatever she thinks of me, the trip to Chamberlain is too good to miss. She won the competition fair and square. She should go. Bergstrom wants her there. I know, I can feel it in the tooth.”

“In your
teeth?”

“Tooth. Singular. Just tell her.”

“Tooth, right. Nineteen seconds.”

“And tell her … Sophie’s out of the picture.”

The sister took a sharp breath.

“OK, scrub that. Tell her Gretel misses her … and so do I.”

This time, the sister softened her stance. “That it?” she asked quietly.

David looked away. The seconds ticked down. “Say … I finished the wall, but I used her scraper.”

“Oh good, I can see the attraction of that!”

“Just tell her,” David said despondently, and he turned and walked away without another word.

Halfway down the path, she called out to him: “Hey, lover boy!”

David stopped and let his shoulders droop.

“I’ll do my best, OK? She’s touchy. Takes time. Don’t hold your breath.”

I won’t,
thought David, and went to catch his train.

It was a good thing he didn’t — hold his breath. As the days went by and the time for his departure to Chamberlain drew close, there was still no contact at all from Zanna. David immersed himself in his room — papering, painting (he drew an arrowed heart on the wall with his roller), and singing along, badly and loudly, to the radio.

“He’s in love,” Liz explained to Lucy one night. “This is what happens when someone spurns you.”

“Well, I wish he’d be in love in tune,” Lucy grumbled, a sentiment shared by David’s dragons, who were both seen stuffing cotton into their ears.

But still Zanna didn’t come back.

In the evenings, David spent a lot of time at Henry’s, reading what he could about the Arctic. Mr. Bacon, not surprisingly, was terribly enthusiastic (and secretly very proud) about his tenant’s field trip, supplying text after text from his personal library, and even showing David parched old letters handwritten by his grandfather from a tent pitched on pack ice off the coast of Svalbard. They grew a lot closer in those last few days, so much so that on the night before David was set to leave, he chose to show Henry the polar bear tooth, saying it was a gift from his tutor, Dr. Bergstrom, who he thought might be “related” to the man in the photograph with Henry’s grandfather. Henry held the tooth and a wisp of emotion passed across his face. He felt strangely aware of the old man, he said. David patted his shoulder and took the tooth back.

“Rule forty-one, boy,” Henry said stiffly.

David looked confused. He knew the rules now, and there were only forty.

Henry wiped a handkerchief under his nose. “ ‘Look after yourself,’ “ he said.