Dream Of The Ice Queen
Winter Romance
The child in the crib wasn’t hers. And yet, she had felt the awakening of it in her womb, those first moth-like flutterings. She had felt the gradual swell of her stomach, the milky heaviness of her breasts.
She had felt the agony of those final contractions; that last thrust of her body, then the slipping away of pain as a baby lustily cried.
She hadn’t held him. Not then…
The woman moved from the crib to the nursing chair angled beside, and took up the book. She read aloud, slowly, with expression; a voice to enrapture a child.
“Once upon a time, high up in the mountains, there was a huge castle. In the castle lived a King and a Queen. The King was tall, strong and handsome. His eyes were the tawny gold of a lion, his hair as black as midnight.
“The Queen’ s eyes were blue, as soft as the sky. Her hair was as fair as frost on the meadow. It hung down her back like rippling water. The Queen wore beautiful dresses of silk and velvet; purple dresses the colour of a stormy evening, white dresses the gleam of moonlight, and red dresses the she en of scarlet poppies. “One day, the King –” The woman turned, a finger to her lips, as the bedroom door whispered open. “You’ll wake him.”
There was a low chuckle as the man plumped onto the large double bed. “Wake him? You heard what Chrissie said, my sweet. When that baby’s asleep nothing short of an earthquake will wake him. And my sister, as you well know, is not one for exaggeration.”
“And neither is she one for a messy house. You’re creasing the duvet, Finn. Turn it back and mind the sheets.”
He obeyed, folding the duvet lengthways, exposing the pristine whiteness. “Shoes, Finn.” A pair of shiny black brogues tumbled to the floor. “Shush!” He settled back on the bed, languorous, silent invitation darkening the tawny eyes. She frowned. “It’s not our bed.” “But who’s to know?” “Your sister would know.”
“Chrissie wouldn’t care. We’re a married couple, my darling. Not an underage pair of teenagers.”
She rose, leaning over the crib, a finger to the petal cheek, not quite touching. There was the sigh of the bed, the pad of feet across the carpet, his arm across her breast. “Sinéad…” He tangled his fingers in her rowan hair, coiling it around his hand, drawing her back against him. His breath shivered across the bare skin of her neck.
“An earthquake. Remember, Sinéad? But even if he were to wake, if the whole world were to cave in, we’d be here for him. You and me.”
He turned her to him, trailing kisses at her throat. “We’ve only an hour or so. Chrissie said the film ends at ten.”
She closed her eyes and didn’t answer. When he let her loose she felt as if she’d abandoned the warmth of firelight for the cold snow outside. He reached for the book in her hand. “I heard you reading. It must be an enthralling story to send our little nephew off to the Land of Nod so quick.”
He stared down at the cover. “Nursery Rhymes? That’s strange. It sounded more like a fairytale.” “It is a fairytale. I’m making it up.” “But he’s asleep now. Anyway, he won’t understand a word. Hair the red of the rowan berry? He’s five months old.”
She was defensive. “He likes the sound of my voice. It soothes him, even if he is asleep.”
“Feminine logic, I suppose. Anyway, I like the sound of your voice, too. You can soothe me.” “I don’t want to soothe you.” “Tough.” She shrugged and settled back into the nursing chair, the book on her lap.
“The King and Queen loved each other very much. The Queen kept the castle shiny-clean and tidy. She wore one of her beautiful dresses everyday– the purple one, the colour of a stormy evening; the white one, the gleam of moonlight; and there done, the she en of scarlet pop pies. She brushed her fair
He TANGLED his fingers in her HAIR, drawing her back AGAINST HIM
hair until it gleamed like silk. And she cooked the King his favourite dinners to show how much she loved him .”
“And what did the King do to show the Queen how much he loved her? Sinéad…?”
She went to the window and drew aside the curtain. In the darkness, snowflakes were whirling like little ghosts.
“The King was rich. He had a great treasure chest of gold and precious jewels. He bought the Queen many costly presents–necklaces, bracelets, rings, diamonds, gold and silver .” A soft clapping came from the bed. “That’s a lovely story, darling. And they lived happily ever after. Isn’t that how fairytales end?”
He got up from the bed and moved over to her, brushing a finger down her cheek. She stared back, the blue eyes almost black.
“Not every fairytale has a happy ending, Finn. And this one isn’t finished yet.” Tawny eyes flashed a warning. “Don’t make the baby cry, my darling. And don’t make me cry.” The shadow of a smile. He moved across to the window seat and sat facing her, legs outstretched, waiting.
She took up the book, fluttering the pages, trembling a little.
“But the Queen wasn’ t happy. And because the Queen wasn’ t happy, the King wasn’ t happy. He bought the Queen a racing horse called Silver; a winter’ s coat the silky white of an Arctic fox. And he bought her a patch work colouredcat.” “I like cats.” “The King filled the castle with fine things. He bought a bed the size of a sailing ship; a giant bath shaped like a dolphin, with golden tap sand scented water; and chandeliers that glistened like tear drops. But the Queen still wasn’ t happy. She told the King she didn’ t want to live in the huge castle anymore. She wanted to live in a little cottage at the bottom of the mountain, at the edge of an enchanted forest .” “Are you going to leave me, Sinéad?” The words seemed to quiver across a great divide.
“And so, one day, the Queen left the castle and made her way down the long, snowy path to the cottage below. She took nothing with her but her patch work colouredcat.” “And what did the King do?” “The King was lonely all on his own in the greatcastle.”
“I expect the poor bloke missed all those lovely dinners.”
“Each evening the King visited the Queen in her little cottage. Each evening he asked her to return to the castle. But the Queen said‘ no ’. One night she set the King a riddle. There was only one thing which would make her happy. If the King could guess what it was, she would come back to him .”
“How many times must we do this, Sinéad? We’ve been over and over it.” “Shush! You’ll wake the baby.” “Baby! Baby! Baby!” He put his head in his hands.
She tossed the book onto the bed, and then took it up again.
“The King had an idea, maybe the answer to the riddle. He went to his treasure chest and filled his pockets with the most costly of his jewels: diamonds, emerald sand rubies. Next evening, he carried the jewels down the mountain, snowflakes spinning in the moonlight. It was so cold his foot steps froze over.
“In each frozen hollow the King placed a precious gem. That would bring her. But from the enchanted forest
came wolves, deer and bears. They gathered up each glittering jewel and disappeared back into the forest .”
“It’s not the King’s fault, Sinéad. He’s done all he can to make the Queen happy. She has a beautiful home, designer clothes, jewellery, and a lifestyle many would envy. Your fairytale King would give his life for his Queen. But a king is a man, Sinéad – not a god. If he has strived and strived, but there is still something he is unable to give his Queen, then maybe she has to accept that fact, and settle for the good life they have.”
“Then, from the magic forest came a great stag, his regal head held high. With an easy rhythm he moved towards the King. Dip ping his huge antlers, he formed three letters in the glisteningsnow…” There was a whimper from the crib. “The baby’s crying, Sinéad.” “He’ll settle.” “He’s not settling. What’s wrong with him? Chrissie said it would take…”
“…an earthquake, I know. But babies are sensitive to mood, Finn; happiness, sadness, frustration…”
“Pick him up, darling – that’ll calm him. Pick him up. For goodness’ sake, Sinéad!”
She turned then. “You pick him up.” She gave a short laugh. “But you never have held him, have you, my darling? Even when he was born… your own sister’s child…”
“And did you hold him? You were Chrissie’s birth partner. You were with her every step of those nine months.
“You were there, that night. You watched her son come into the world. And yet, that first time… “You’re a selfish woman, Sinéad.” “Selfish?”
“That’s what FRIGHTENS ME, Sinéad, that HUNGER. It’s my hunger TOO”
“Do you ever think how I feel? Do you think I could put you… us… through that again? Month after month after month… and nothing, except the tears and those damn awful tests. To know that it was me, my fault. Do you think just one tiny bit about that?” Another small whimper. “IVF, Sinéad. Three little letters. How many times do we try? And if it doesn’t work, what then? Adoption? Surrogacy? Each failure a crack in our marriage, until we don’t know each other again? Don’t know ourselves. Because we are lost.”
She stood at the window, gazing out at the darkness and the snow.
“You asked if I was going to leave you.” Her voice was flat. “The answer is no. I love you. We have a good marriage, and a good life – you’re right. I’ll settle for that.” A brush of sound. “Finn…?” He was reaching into the crib, lifting the child.
“Careful, Finn. There’s a special way to hold a baby. Give him to me – I’ll show you how.” He shook his head. “I know how to hold him. Do you think I haven’t watched you? Time after time. Do you think I haven’t seen the hunger in your eyes?”
He paused. “And that’s what frightens me, Sinéad, that hunger; because it’s my hunger, too.” She stood there, helpless. The baby was sleeping. “Put him back in the crib, Finn.” He shook his head and took up the book. He sat down in the nursing chair and began to read, the child cradled against his shoulder.
“The King looked down at the three letters the stag had written. The Queen came from her cottage and stood beside him. The King took a stick and drew a heart in the snow, with a Cup id’ s arrow, and the letters K and Q. The Queen sighed. Then beneath those letters formed by the stag, the King wrote three moreletters: YES.”
Yellow headlights washed across the dimly lit room.
“That’s Chrissie back, Sinéad. It’s time to go home.”
Gently, they settled the sleeping baby into his crib, smoothing his hair, arranging the covers.
“You didn’t finish the story, Finn. How did it end?” He held her close. “I don’t know, my love. The last page was missing. Perhaps it was a fairytale ending… they lived happily ever after.” She trembled in his arms. “We will, Finn – we will.”