Free The Ice Marathon by Rosen Trevithick Page A

but who knew how many might be lurking elsewhere
in the house?
    I couldn’t settle. A wisp of my red hair tickled my face. I
leapt. My skin prickled all over. I had a nasty vision of creepy crawlies
scuttling all over me. Seconds later, I turned the light on.
    Calling Simon would almost certainly be a mistake. It may be
a Saturday but he’d already lost enough sleep this week – there had been my
labour and then two nights staying over to help with Joseph.
    Maybe I could just text – a text would be unlikely to wake
him if he were fast asleep, and it sounded less demanding than a call. Yes, a
text would be just fine.
    But what could I say? ‘Help! Spider in the house’ sounded
insane. It might make him think I was in a dark place and although I was
jittery, I was far from clinically depressed.
    Eventually, I decided upon ‘Can’t sleep. Don’t suppose you
want to evict a spider for me?’ That was to-the-point without being demanding.
    As soon as I sent it, I felt stupid. It was just a silly
little spider and it was the middle of the night. I was a mother now. I had to
be mature.
    I was stunned when, thirty seconds later, Simon replied to
say, ‘I’ll be right over.’
    * * *
    By the time he arrived, I felt even more ridiculous. The
energy saving light bulb had fully warmed up and my surroundings were now
bright, cheerful and felt entirely harmless.
    “Where is it?” he asked, smiling. He appeared to be wearing
a pyjama top and jeans. His brown hair was scruffy, which I found I rather
liked – it looked much cuter than its ordinary orchestrated style.
    “In the hall – airing cupboard,” I told him. “It’s fine.
It’s probably gone out of the window now.”
    “What’s a spider doing in an airing cupboard? I thought they
liked damp.”
    “It likes tormenting me, that’s what!”
    “Would you like me to look for it?”
    “Would you?”
    Much scrambling and laundry churning later, we concluded
that the spider had moved on. This did disturb me – where had it moved to?
Still, at least if Simon were here, I’d have someone to call if it showed its
face and eye-stalks again.
    “Are you tired?” he asked.
    “Yes, in a way. But I don’t think I could sleep.” I was
going to add ‘my heart’s racing’ but thought it made me sound melodramatic.
    “I’ve brought over a DVD if you fancy watching that?”
    “What is it?”
    “ Coupling . The episode where Patrick visits Sally in
the middle of the night to save her from a spider,” he said with a mocking
chuckle.
    I laughed. “Would that be with or without Peter
Serafinowicz?”
    “Shut it!” he said, jabbing me in the ribs.
    Five minutes later, we were sitting together on the sofa
with mugs of hot chocolate.
    Simon flicked on the television. We were immediately greeted
by the orange tones of Larry the Lion. It appeared to be some form of premature
Christmas special. What was a kids’ show doing on at this time of night anyway?
    “Change the channel,” I commanded. I certainly did not want
to be reminded of the night we met – at least, not that part …
    “I want to watch it,” he said, defiantly.
    “Really?”
    “Okay, no, not really.”
    Before Simon could change the channel, Darko the Duck
waddled onto the screen carrying a rose.
    “That doesn’t mean he’s in love with him!” I cried.
    “I love you Larry the Lion,” quacked Darko.
    Oh crap, I’m never going to hear the end of this.
    Simon started laughing and jabbed me in the ribs. “See, what
did I tell you?” He started to tickle me.
    “All right, all right,” I conceded. “Maybe the duck is gay.”
    We laughed for a few moments. How trivial that argument
seemed now, in light of everything that had happened between us. Simon suddenly
looked serious. “I need to tell you something.”
    “What?” I asked, immediately concerned.
    “I’m not a Tory.”
    “You’re not?” I asked, privately delighted.
    “No. Never was, never will be.”
    “Oh.” This was good