The Snow Angel Read online

  THE BOY WHO LIVED WITH FISHES

  Inside the bothy she found water and a kettle. There was no firewood but she did find plenty of bedding and a solar lamp. She set the lamp on the window ledge and its bloom of yellow brought a homely light to the freezing bothy. With bloodless fingers, she struggled to make herself a cup of tea. She was shaking so hard she kept spilling it. Everything hurt, her heart most of all.

  Outside, the storm was intensifying. Was it her imagination or was the wind calling her name? Wrapped in a duvet and three blankets, she huddled in a dilapidated armchair. Her eyelids drooped. She wanted to sleep, but knew that if she had hypothermia there was a real chance she might never wake up.

  Then again, would that be such a terrible thing?

  If she could rewind the clock, she’d go back to Christmas Eve when she and Helen were making mince pies in the warm kitchen, laughing at the ones that went wrong. She’d spent almost the whole day smiling.

  Now it was over. She’d burned her bridges. She had no home and no family. She was unloved. Unwanted.

  Her eyes slid shut.

  Then they snapped open. No, she refused to give up. Snow would never have let go of life. If one breath of air had remained in her lungs, she would use it to dance and convince everyone around her to do the same. That’s what made Makena so sure that her best friend was alive and only missing.

  ‘Climbing is like life,’ her father had said. ‘You start slowly. You try one way and if it doesn’t work out or you meet some obstacles, you keep searching until you find another trail. There is always a second chance.’

  Makena had tried numerous trails and she’d had second chances and third, fourth and tenth ones. She’d also given plenty of chances to others. And yet here she was, stuck in a stone bothy in a country far from her own.

  But if she used Snow’s magic moment principle, things were far from hopeless. On Christmas Eve she’d had more magic moments than she could count, and today, one of the worst days of her life, she’d already had five.

  1) She’d woken safe and warm in a cloud-soft bed, two things she’d have given her right arm for in Mathare Valley. That counted as at least one magic moment. 2) The fox cubs had fallen upon her with squeals of appreciation and joy when she’d gone to the shed to feed them. 3) The sun had shown up and bathed the snowy mountains in peach light as she set out on her journey. 4) The silver fox had stopped her from plunging to her death. 5) It had led her to shelter.

  So although the outlook was bleak, five special things had happened and she was only halfway through Christmas Day.

  How could she give up on life when there were mountains to climb and books to read? Some mountains would be friendlier than others, and some would be downright hostile, but she wanted to climb them anyway or rescue people who got into trouble climbing them (like her).

  The fox hadn’t saved her by accident. It had saved her for a reason. Helen had done the same thing. If she’d later changed her mind, then it was up to Makena to convince her she was wrong. First, though, she had to survive until she was found. That could be days.

  Makena couldn’t get warm. Shivers ran through her as if she’d taken a dip in a Highland stream. She was well aware that she should get up, make more tea and do star jumps to get the blood pumping through her veins, but she’d done that once and it hadn’t helped. She was drowsy.

  All … she … wanted … was … to … s-l-e-e-p.

  ‘No!’ Makena slapped her own cheeks and pummelled her arms. She had to stay awake.

  A memory came rushing back. She and her mother sitting on the banks of the dam at the rose farm. Makena had pleaded again for Mama to tell the story of her mysterious childhood friend, Lucas, the boy who’d ‘lived among fishes’. To her surprise, her mother relented.

  The tale began with them growing up in South Africa, where Betty’s father had worked for ten years as headmaster of a school in Maputo. They were inseparable. Among other things, they shared a passion for physics.

  ‘Lucas was brilliant – almost a prodigy.’

  ‘But you’re brilliant, Mama.’

  ‘Not like he was. He was the type of boy you just knew would change the world.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘Depends on your point of view. One day he didn’t turn up at school. I went to his house and he and his family had disappeared. Nobody knew where. It was as if they’d been beamed up to space by aliens.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t believe in aliens.’

  ‘Do you want to hear the story or not?’

  Makena nodded eagerly.

  ‘The loss of Lucas left a huge hole in my life. I was haunted by the not knowing. Why? Where? How? It was two years before I saw him again, in the last place I could ever have imagined – at a healing ceremony performed by a famous traditional healer, a sangoma, from South Africa. Now you know me. I love tradition but have little time for superstition. Even as a teenager, I considered myself a scientist through and through. But I have the greatest respect for those sangomas who use their gifts and skills to help others. Their knowledge of illness and disease and of the healing powers of plants can equal, and even far exceed, that of Western doctors.’

  ‘Did you talk to Lucas? What had he been doing?’

  Her mama refused to be hurried. ‘He was sitting apart from everyone in the shadows. I’d have missed him except that he had a habit of pushing his glasses up his nose. I noticed someone do that and I hesitated. He jumped up and ran to me. We both wept.’

  ‘Did you ask him why he never said goodbye? Why was he there? Was he sick?’

  Betty took a moment to compose herself. ‘He was the sangoma’s apprentice.’

  Whatever Makena was expecting it wasn’t that. ‘What happened to physics and studying the universe?’

  ‘The ones who came to tell him he’d been chosen to assist the sangoma were not interested in his career. They thought they were doing him a great honour. All he had to do was agree and he and his family would never want for anything ever again. Lucas’s parents were desperately poor. He did what he thought best for them and his sisters. Besides, he was flattered that the sangoma considered him so special. He wasn’t to know that the first challenge of his apprenticeship would be to spend six months underwater with fishes.’

  Makena was wide-eyed. ‘But that’s impossible.’

  ‘That’s what I said. But Lucas insisted he’d lived in a cave beneath a lake the entire time. He described it as cold, green and lonely. Before I could question him further, he was called away. I’ll never forget his face as we parted. He said: “Betty, I didn’t choose this life. All I ever wanted was to be an ordinary schoolboy.”’

  ‘Did you believe it, Mama? That he’d lived for six months under the lake?’

  ‘No, but he did. So I had to ask myself why. This was a boy who dealt only in fact. He was incapable of lying. I came to the conclusion that there were three possibilities. Number one: he’d been trained to spend a long time – not months but maybe hours – underwater using reeds to breathe, as the old hunters did. Two: he’d spent six months underwater in a parallel universe.’

  Makena laughed, but her mother was serious. ‘Many physicists, including Stephen Hawking, are open to the possibility that parallel universes or even multiverses exist. They’ve never been disproved.’

  ‘And what’s the third explanation?’

  ‘That Lucas’s heart was broken and he couldn’t think straight.’

  ‘But what if it was true?’ pressed Makena. ‘What if he really did live underwater?’

  ‘Honey, please. You know that’s not possible.’

  Makena disagreed. ‘You told Uncle Samson that everything can be explained by physics in the end and if it can’t be explained, it’s not the end. So maybe it’s not the end. Maybe one day it will be explained.’

  Her mama laughed and admitted she had a point. ‘It was Einstein’s belief that there are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as
though everything is a miracle.’

  ‘I believe in miracles,’ said Makena.

  Her mother hugged her. ‘And so do I.’

  Shivering in the bothy armchair, Makena understood why the story had come back to her. She too had spent six months slipping in and out of parallel universes. She too hadn’t asked for it. All she’d ever wanted was to be an ordinary schoolgirl with one or two extraordinary dreams.

  Unfortunately, in this universe, ice was chugging through her veins. Her head tipped forward. Sleep swooped down.

  ‘Makena! MAKENA!’

  The door flew open. Ray stood swaying in the light of his torch, more snowman than human. He rushed to her and lifted her into his arms. His cheeks were wet and she couldn’t tell if it was because the icicles in his hair were melting. When he spoke, his voice was deep and strong, the voice of a man half his age.

  ‘Makena, sweet child, oh, thank goodness you’re alive. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. If it hadn’t been for the fox … Makena, Helen is in pieces. She needs you. We both need you, hen. If it’s all right, I’ve come to take you home.’

  THE FOX ANGEL

  ‘The secret to toasting marshmallows is to hold them over the embers and twist for about thirty seconds,’ said Helen. She and Makena were sitting side by side in front of the fire, forks outstretched. ‘Timing is everything. Too close to the flames and they’re burned to a crisp. But with patience and a touch of daring, this is the result: honeycomb-brown on the outside, gooey in the middle. How’s that? Any good?’

  Mouth full, Makena nodded approval. It was Christmas night. Toasted coconut marshmallows were the final item on the menu of Helen’s long-delayed Christmas feast. Makena could barely fit them in but they were worth the effort.

  ‘Nothing quite like a stroll on the mountain in a wee blizzard to make you appreciate the simple things in life,’ commented Ray, who was sitting on the sofa putting the finishing touches to a wood carving. ‘Show me the man who thinks that a posh London restaurant can produce anything superior to a toasted marshmallow and I’ll show him.’

  He glanced over at Makena, who was twirling a marshmallow as instructed. When it was just the right side of crispy, squishy and burned, she popped it into her mouth. Her eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. ‘My face right now?’ she suggested, opening them again.

  Ray grinned. ‘As I was saying, the simple things beat the finer things every time.’

  To Makena, the events of the day had taken on a surreal quality, especially the part where she’d been put on a stretcher and flown over the snowy mountains in an orange helicopter. Ray had summoned it soon after finding her. It had swooped in out of the storm, blades thumping, and plucked them both to safety. Within the hour, Makena had been thawing out in a hot bath.

  It would be a while before she stopped feeling guilty for causing so many people so much anguish. She’d tried to apologise to the rescue pilot for dragging him out on Christmas Day, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

  ‘Ach, away with you. It’s nae bother. This is what I signed up for – something more thrilling than Agatha Christie on the telly. Besides, you’ve returned the favour already. I’ve been spared lunch with the mother-in-law.’

  Seeing Helen again had been a lot harder.

  ‘As long as I live, I don’t ever want to feel this way again,’ she’d told Makena after they’d had a good cry and a cuddle. ‘When I saw your empty bed and footsteps in the snow, I thought I was going to have a heart attack on the spot.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want me. I thought you’d only been pretending to care and that you’d send me away as soon as Christmas was over.’

  ‘Well, now you know that nothing could have been further from my mind,’ said Helen. ‘I was writing to the adoption agency to ask if you could stay longer. As soon as you stepped off the plane, all I could think was how silly I’d been to suggest fostering you for four short weeks. I knew right then that I wanted you to stay for a lifetime.

  ‘I was determined to give you a perfect Scottish Christmas in the hope that I could convince you – and the authorities, of course – to allow me to adopt you, but everything kept going wrong. Your flight was delayed, I nearly scalded you with hot chocolate, then the weather was foul, then Dad fell ill and … oh, you know the rest.’

  Makena was sheepish. ‘Yes, I do. I read an email that was private, got the wrong idea, ran away, nearly fell over a cliff, got hypothermia and ruined everyone’s Christmas.’

  Helen laughed. ‘That’s a version of events, but it won’t be the one I remember. Makena, don’t you understand what a blessing you’ve been? I have a chance of adopting the daughter I’ve always dreamed of. More than that, you’ve given me back my dad. Whatever the challenges going forward, this will always be the best Christmas of my life. Which reminds me …’

  She stood and went over to the mantelpiece. She handed Makena a purple envelope. ‘DO NOT OPEN UNTIL CHRISTMAS DAY! THAT’S AN ORDER!’ was scrawled across the top in silver ink.

  Makena stared at the postmark. ‘I don’t know anyone in Chicago.’

  Helen smiled. ‘Why don’t you open it and find out who it’s from?’

  As soon as Makena saw the poppy card inside, she knew.

  Happy Kissmass, Kissmass!

  My new mom wanted me to spell it properly but I said it had to be this way. You’d understand.

  They tell me you’re in Scotland. You can probably fill a jar or two with snow over there. I could fill a few million here in Chicago. Everyone here calls me Diana because there’s so much actual snow it got confusing. That’s cool with me. After all, I am named after the Queen of the Supremes.

  You probably want to know how I fell off the earth. I thought the same about you. You’re getting the short version because I can’t fit much on the card.

  Remember me telling you that life sometimes springs a nasty surprise, and that’s why we get at least three magic moments every day - to make up for it? Well, it’s all true.

  I don’t remember the part where the bulldozer ran over me. When I finally woke up in hospital, I didn’t know my own name. They said it was amnesia caused by shock. The doctors and nurses were all depressed-looking and they started going on about my future in a wheelchair. I told them to put that thought in the rubbish bin where it belonged because this girl is going to dance and have her name in lights like Michaela DePrince. Funny, I didn’t remember much but I remembered Michaelaand you.

  You’re wondering where the magic moment is, aren’t you? I went on about Michaela so much that word got to a surgeon who volunteers for a charity that works in war zones. He’d seen her dance with the Dance Theatre of Harlem. Long story short, he operated on me for free. It helped a lot. I also got glasses. Who knew that words and pictures could be so clear?! Eventually, my memory came back and I got adopted by an African American family. They’re the best. I’m their third and last (maybe) adopted kid. The others are from Japan and Burundi. My new sister, May, says that the twenty-second Emperor of Japan was an albino!

  ’Course, life is no fairy tale, so I’m a little way from joining the Dutch National Ballet, like Michaela. About three operations and a decade of practice away. Meanwhile, I’ve started ballet classes. I sit in my chair and watch but I’m plotting the moves for when it’s my time.

  Sorry I didn’t get you a Christmas present. You gave me one and you didn’t even know it! I used to have three magic moments every day. Now I’m guaranteed four. Sunrise, sunset and a random one. The fourth moment is a memory. You and me dancing Slum Lake while Innocent and his crew played their hearts out. We nailed it, girl, didn’t we?

  Keep dancing and climbing those mountains.

  Love,

  Diana (Snow to you) xx

  Your best friend (I hope!) xx

  The words blurred before Makena’s eyes. She was incapable of speech. Helen did it for her.

  ‘Friendships like yours and Snow’s, they’re for life. I’ll do everything in my power to see that the two
of you are reunited soon. The same goes for Africa. It’ll always be home to both of us. Whether we’re in Scotland, thinking about ways to help Hearts4Africa, or in Nairobi with Edna at the Home for Girls, you’ll always be connected to your country. But in time I hope you come to love Scotland too.’

  Makena speared another marshmallow and looked over at Ray. She couldn’t get over the change in him. Neither could Dr Brodie.

  ‘If Ray were an ordinary mortal, a mountain rescue operation in a blizzard so soon after near-pneumonia would have killed him,’ he’d told Makena when he came to check her over. ‘Ironically, it seems to have been the exact tonic he needed. Makena, you’ve reminded him of his purpose in life – to help people and teach them to enjoy the mountains safely. He’s a man reborn.’

  They’d done a great deal of talking, Makena and Ray. Helen was right. They did have a lot in common. But the subject to which they kept returning was the silver fox.

  When it came flying out of the snowstorm like a silver bullet, yelping at him to follow it, he’d doubted the evidence of his own eyes. In all his years in the mountains, he’d never seen an Arctic fox. ‘We don’t have silver foxes in the wild in Scotland, Makena, only red ones. If I’d encountered one before I’d have remembered, I can assure you.’

  ‘So the night I saw an Arctic fox standing beside you in the garden, you had no clue it was there?’

  Ray shook his head. ‘I did not. I do recall a powerful sense of peace coming over me as I looked up at the mountain. In all honesty, I hadn’t felt that way since before I lost my wife. I stayed longer than I should have because I didn’t want to break the spell. But no, I didn’t see any silver fox – not that night and not until it appeared out of the blizzard.’

  ‘What do you think it was, then, the fox on the mountain?’ persisted Makena. ‘An escaped Arctic fox that’s super-smart and likes saving humans who like saving animals? Or was it a ghost? Or maybe an angel?’