He shrugs. What kind of person hasn’t watchedBig Brother? The show was a phenomenon for its time.
‘Well, you’re not missing much,’ I mutter as I glance back at my phone. The past few seasons were pretty dire. ‘Oh, balls.’ The screen is blank but for a white apple that flashes for a second or two before the disappearing, rendering the screen black. ‘My phone’s gone flat. I’ll just grab my charger from the car.’
‘About that—’
‘No, I’ll get it,’ I say, already at the front door. ‘I left the wire plugged into the outlet thingy.’ I turn the key, slide the bolt, and open the door to find a lot of white stuff pouring in and onto my toes.
‘What the fluff!’ I look at Greg, then at my toes, shock robbing me of my senses.
‘I tried to tell you,’ he says, coming to stand next to me, though not so close thathisfeet get wet as he glances out to where my rental car was last seen.
‘Where... what?’ I gesture to the snow the likes of which I’ve never seen. ‘I can’t even see my car!’
‘Sure you can. There’s a wee bit of the red roof,’ he says, pointing oh, so helpfully.
‘That isn’t snow. It’s an act of God!’
‘Storm Eimear or Una or something, so the radio said earlier. The weather forecast yesterday said snow, but they weren’t expecting this amount.’
‘It . . . I . . . what?’ What the fucking fuck! ‘This can’t be happening right now—not here. Not to me! And my laptop’s in there, too. There’s nothing for it—I’ll have to dig it out.’
‘You can, but you’d need to use a spoon.’
‘You don’t have a shovel?’ I almost screech,
‘I’m a Scotsman, and it’s winter. Of course I have a bloody shovel. But it’s in my car, which is parked around back and also happens to be snowed in.’
‘There must be something we can do, for goodness’ sakes.’
‘I can’t think what. Besides, even if you had your laptop, there’s no internet.’ I turn my head from the snow to him. ‘Lookin’ at me like that isn’t going to help. The internet isn’t great up here at the best of times.’
The work I have to do,hell, the reports I said I’d have done by tomorrow.
I’m screwed.
The touch of Greg’s fingers on my shoulder pulls me and my catatonic state away from the door.
‘Jesus, it’s brassic out there,’ he says, pushing it closed. He shivers, his nipples taut and visible under the pale cotton of his T-shirt, though I manage to lift my gaze before he notices me staring. Apparently, I can appreciate the sight of a handsome man despite the thought of losing my job.Don’t be ridiculous, my mind whispers. The department would fall apart without you.
‘I don’t understand.’ What the hell is going on right now? I can’t be stranded with a stranger—stuck in the snow for God knows how long.
‘What’s not to get? The storm blew in from Ireland overnight. And there’s more snow in the forecast.’
‘There can’t be!’ My cry is plaintive. I might even stamp my soggy foot.
‘Do you want to have a second look to be sure that’s not soap suds but actually four feet of snow out there?’
‘When will they clear it?’ I ask, ignoring his tone.
‘They?’
‘The council or the local... borough or whatever.’ I make a trifling motion with my hand, trying to think of the appropriate governmental body. I mean, it snows in London, too, but usually only a dusting of the stuff, and that’s bad enough. ‘Whoever’s responsible for these things.’
‘God, didn’t you say?’
‘Come on!’ Yes, I am aware I’m behaving like a teenager in the middle of a strop, but I can’t seem to stop the full-blown arm wheeling, tone wheedling, full extent of the thing. ‘This can’t be happening. Someone must be responsible for clearing the roads.’
‘Aye, Mother Nature. You’re not in the big city now.’
