Ice Cold in Halifax

An affair that never happened.

"I shouldn't have come." Marcy pulled her sleeve over her hand and wiped some of the frost from the window.

"I suppose a pub on the high moor in the middle of winter wasn't my best idea." Fred tried to put his arm around her but she shrugged him off.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Tears pricked her eyes. "How am I going to explain to Brian where I've been all night?"

"I thought you didn't give a damn about Brian."

"Well you're wrong. I love my husband. Okay he can be a bit ... inattentive but ..."

"So why did you agree to meet me?"

"I suppose I was flattered."

An old lady in a thick cardigan appeared with a tray. She plonked on the table two mugs of tea and two bowls of porridge. Her mouth said nothing, her eyes said it all; disapproval.

Marcy pushed away the porridge but clung to the mug. Through the hole she had made in the frost she could see that the snow was deep. Their cars were buried up to their rooves. But at least it had stopped snowing.

The landlord had two shovels when he came out from the back. "When you've finished with that I'm gonna need a hand lad."

"I'm not really built for shovelling snow."

"Ye'll be stayin' 'til Spring then?"

Marcy jumped up. "I can shovel Sir." She took the shovel but then Fred had a change of heart and took it from her.

When the pub door was opened the snow was waist height. As Fred's shovel made contact it sprang back with a twang. "We'll be needing the pickaxe then," the landlord declared. Marcy grabbed the ice bucket from the bar and started scraping the loose powder from the top of the heap. She only cleared about an inch but anything was better than nothing. Her hands ached and were turning blue.

"We're trapped, we'll never get out. We'll starve to death if the cold doesn't kill us first." Hysteria took over. Marcy's heart raced.

"Nay lass, we're used to it," the landlord put another log on the fire, "We got plenty firewood, you'll not freeze. And plenty food for that matter, freezers full." With that his pickaxe flew and large chunks of frozen snow flew across the floor. "Mother, get the lady some gloves. You can pick up the big bits an' put 'em in the sink." Marcy nodded.

"I ... I need to ring Brian." She rummaged in her pocket for her mobile.

"No signal up here love."

"Landline then."

"Went down in t'night."

A low rumble was heard in the distance. "That'll be old John. Get a brew on Mother." An old grey Fergie appeared on the horizon, moving slowly, ploughing snow out of its path. "Won't be long now." He swung the pickaxe with renewed vigour.

"There you are, Marcy darling, the nightmare's nearly over."

"No Fred, it's only just beginning."