Chapter 10: Reality Sets in

I worked at one of the wedges holding the grill in place with the chisel, using the legs of the Angel as a fulcrum to lever the sharp edge of the chisel. It took me a while but I managed to loosen it and lever it out. This gave me heart that I could get the others out. Because of the positions of the wedges and the cramped area of the roof space, four of the eight wedges proved relatively easy, the last four really difficult.

It was as cold crouching in front of that grill as it was outside in the frozen snow and ice and most of the time I couldn’t feel my fingers. I persevered and got those damn wedges out but I suffered bouts of cramps and pins and needles and moments when I cried for the hopelessness of my situation. I was sick with worry about my husband and the many friends I’d made here, but was also bolstered by the fact that there was no evidence that they were looking for me, so maybe no-one among the invaders had realised yet that they’d missed me. I didn’t expect that omission would last for long if they were questioning North Pole inhabitants, surely someone would mention me at some point and even a cursory search would find the roof space.

I raised a silent cheer when I removed the inside screen, crossing my fingers that the wedges holding the outer screen would be on the inside. A quick feel revealed they were. I could also see better what I was doing because the light was coming through those slats. So at least I knew it was still daylight. This far north and the time of the year meant only about five and a bit hours of daylight, mid-to late morning through to mid-afternoon. But that didn’t tell me how much daylight I had left until dark, and once the daylight went it would be dark for 18 or 19 hours before dawn, so I wanted to attempt to get away during the night.

I started on the next set of wedges with the chisel and the Angel but was wriggling because, although I had been fighting the feeling for what seemed like hours, I was aware of my increasing desperation to wee. There was simply nowhere to go unless I risked going down into one of the bedrooms that had a toilet, and I was too afraid of getting caught by the soldiers and also feared the consequences of getting caught short.

It was more difficult levering out the second row wedges. They were further inside the tight cavity between the log walls and it was more awkward getting the angel’s legs in line and getting enough pressure on the wedges. I suspected too, that these wedges were more exposed to the outside and therefore absorbed water and were tighter. It took me twice as long to get the first easy one out than the last of the hard ones.

My fingers were blue with cold, arms and shoulders shaking with the physical effort and the skin of my legs numb but I also ached with muscle cramp that instinct wanted me to jump up and stamp and get the blood circulation going again, all of which I had to restrain myself from doing. I stretched as slowly and carefully as my protesting limbs and joints would allow, and was sure I must’ve chewed through my lower lip to take my mind off the agony as feeling returned to nerveless muscles. My face was frozen too, as it blocked the screen through which cold air was trying to push past me to ventilate the house. I was cold, tired, thirsty, hungry and still bursting for a piss. I wanted to lie down, but I couldn’t afford to stop. So I picked up the chisel and the Angel doll and worked on the next wedge as if my life depended on it.

By the time I’d removed half the wedges it was dark outside. This didn’t slow me down, my mind knew where everything was and even though I could barely feel my fingers, I could still work on the wedges. By the time I got the last one out and the screen was loose, although I was exhausted, I was driven by curiosity to look outside. The log wall was about two-thirds of a metre think I think, but I managed to just squeeze my head and shoulders through and be able to peer out.

The starlit sky is one of the wonders of the North Pole, the stars so bright and with all the white snow, it was never pitch black outside at night, even in the winter. Immediately below the ventilation panel was the wood shed, the peak of the pitched roof only a metre or so beneath me. I felt that if I went out feet first, I could try and straddle the ridge of the roof, then slide down the side of the roof and hopefully try and reduce my slipping speed in order to break my impetus before falling another two metres or so into the thick, soft snow on the ground.

I put the candle and chisel in the pocket of my dressing gown with the candle, stars and vibrator, and kissed the Angel goodbye. I pushed and wiggled my body with my bedroom slippered feet first until my lower half was through and then I felt with my feet until I found the roof ridge and lowered myself down. The ice cold wetness was a shock, even though I expected it, it was colder than I thought. I gripped the ridge with my hands as best I could while I dismounted the roof rather like getting off a horse and involuntarily slipped down the side of the wood shed roof. It was too slippery and my hands too cold and tired to hold onto the ridge once I reached full stretch, and I carried on sliding and landed on my butt and then back in a snow drift at least a metre deep, fortunately without hurting myself unduly. I got up quite gingerly, slipping and sliding in the drift, now absolutely covered head to foot in sticky, rapidly melting snow where it touched my body.

I fell down rather than climbed down and lost a slipper in the drift as I made my way to the front of the wood shed, and wasted time finding it again in the leg hole in the snow with frozen fingers. I was filled with joy when I located the errant slipper and pulled it out.

The woodshed was unlocked, as nothing was ever locked in the North Pole, and I got myself inside. The snow on the ground was only a few inches deep, with two steps up to the door, so access was never impeded by the snow.

I was wet and shivering and still holding onto my slipper with fingers that had lost all feeling. I couldn’t be any colder and still be alive I thought. Somehow, with frozen fingers that refused to work, I managed to ease my jeans and PJ bottoms down to my knees, hold my dressing gown out of the way, squatted and had the longest and steamiest blessed wee of my entire life.

I looked around but it was very dark inside. I knew there was a light switch in there somewhere, because Junior had been out here several times for fresh buckets of logs, even in the dark, but to my shame this was my first visit. Putting the light on was a non-starter, but I had a feel around and near to the door I found a huge axe that was too heavy for me to lift let alone wield, but next to it was a much smaller chopper presumably used for the production of kindling, and that was more useful as a possible weapon then my pointy wooden stars, chisel or my blunt vibrator.