Read Online The Ice is Singing by Jane Rogers - Free Book Online

forgotten something or was late. My head ached
badly. I needed to get moving as quickly as possible, to feel the smooth steering wheel turning in my hands and see the scenery slipping by. As I opened the front door the landlady called me back.
I had forgotten to pay her. Standing at the desk trying to count out the money, I was afraid I might be sick; the floor and desk seemed to be moving slightly, as if on a sea swell, and I could not
prevent myself from breathing quickly and shallowly. I needed to get into the car.
    The woman moved slowly, looking in different boxes for change, talking lugubriously about the weather. I snatched my receipt from her and ran to the door without managing so much as a
goodbye.
    Outside it had snowed again, and the clouds looked heavy with more. I crossed the road to the car park on the other side, and for a moment I couldn’t tell which was my car, under the layer
of fresh snow. When I started the engine, the windscreen wipers wouldn’t work – there was too much snow on the screen. My head was racing again as I got out. The cold made my fingers
ache. I cleared the front and side windows – some snow got stuck under my cuffs and melted before I had time to get it out.
    I revved the engine. Only a few cars had driven in the car park since last night – the snow in front of me was unmarked. But as the car started to move it went into a peculiar bumping
motion. It would not steer straight. Already knowing the worst I got out and looked at it. The front left tyre was completely flat.
    I had never changed a tyre, although I must have watched Gareth two or three times. I forced myself to look in the boot. There was a spare tyre, and a long plastic case containing a spanner, an
iron rod, and a contraption which I took to be a jack. I lifted the tyre out and laid it beside the car. It sank to its full thickness in the snow. I began to scoop away the snow from around the
flat wheel. A car slowly entered the car park, drove past me and stopped. A woman who got out came up to me.
    ‘Are you having trouble?’ I didn’t reply. She bent over me and repeated her question insistently.
    ‘No, it’s all right. A flat tyre.’
    ‘Oh, what a mess. Can I help at all?’ I didn’t reply. When I turned to get the jack, I saw that she was crouching in the snow, fiddling with it. She set it beside me and knelt
down to look under the car.
    ‘Yes – you’re better putting it under the front than the side, I think, with this sort of car.’ She slid the jack under the front of the car and cranked it up. I stood
watching her uselessly. Then she took off the hubcap and wheelnuts, removed the old tyre and put on the new one.
    She knelt in the snow to force the new wheel on, and when she stood up I saw that there was a hole in her tights, and a little smear of blood where she must have cut herself through kneeling on
a sharp stone.
    ‘I’m so sorry – your knees –’ I was not able to finish my sentence, and she stood awkwardly for a moment before slamming the boot on the old tyre and smiling at
me.
    ‘It’s no trouble. I’m glad I was able to help. Goodbye now.’ She walked quickly away across the car park, brushing her hands against her skirt as she walked, to dry
them.
    When I got into the car I burst into tears. It was a silly thing to cry about. She had been so kind. Helping me, kneeling down in the snow on her bare knees. I hadn’t cried since I came
away.

Wed. Feb. 19
    I’ve been ill.
    She’s brought me a paper. The date says I’ve been here five days now, it feels longer. Or – I don’t know. Maybe not. It’s been so fast and slow, so black and lurid,
so hot and cold I can’t really tell. She wanted to get the doctor in but apparently I told her I wouldn’t see him. I told her it was only the flu, and not to bother him. I thought
I’d said that, but then I remembered it as intending to but forgetting, so it stuck in my head as another irritation.
    I don’t know what