Joseph chewed a mouthful of tepid poached egg. There was no one else down this end of the room, and he gazed out the long windows to sunny grasslands and the mountains of Vatnajökull National Park.
‘Well, hi again! Joe, right?’
It was that American woman, in another lurid tracksuit.
She huffed into the chair opposite, her plate piled with eggs and bacon, topped with two slices of thickly-buttered toast.
He nodded. ‘Joseph.’
‘I knew it was Joe! I’ve got a good memory for names; tell me once and I remember forever.’ She batted her mascaraed lashes. ‘Remember mine?’
He picked up his knife and fork.
‘Sorry, I don’t.’ Joseph sliced the second poached egg sharply through the middle. It was firm, like cheese.
‘I’m Kimberly! Remember now?’
He forced his face into what he hoped was a friendly expression. ‘Oh, right. Yes. Kimberly.’
‘But you can call me Kimmy.’ The woman lifted the salt shaker, her hand rising and falling as she circled the plate, a blizzard falling softly on her food.
Joseph thought of the low-salt, high-fibre foods Dylan always bought before he got sick. How Dylan cooked most nights, though both of them worked. How he’d sit on the benchtop with a tea towel, drying up as Joseph washed the pots and pans in their Sydney flat.
Joseph pushed the cold egg away. ‘Well, have a good day.’
‘Thanks Joe, you too. Now don’t forget—it’s Kimmy!’ She waved with her fork.
He blinked. ‘Kimmy. Got it.’ He strode out and down the hallway to his faux-wood-panelled room. Crawling across crumpled sheets, he pushed his head beneath the pillow. There was a roar in his throat, a raving scream. He gulped and breathed until the moment passed and all that remained was the same coiled tightness that had been there for months.

He’d mentioned travel to a few select people as they picked at mini-sliders and sipped Riesling at the wake. Friends with furrowed brows told him yes, of course—he should go somewhere warm, what about Fiji? His sister Winnie smiled vaguely as she counted hired glassware. Later that night, on the phone from Brisbane, his father cleared his throat and asked ‘What about the firm?’. Joseph hauled his temper back, told his father that the firm could cope for two weeks, or they could find another lawyer.
Winnie had tried to stay over, but he’d sent her away and slumped on the couch, finally alone. He’d opened a bottle of Glenfiddich given to Dylan by an old boyfriend way too late, when Dylan’s swallow was no longer ‘safe’ as the speech pathologist said—as if Dylan’s throat might be hiding a tiny weapon, a gun or a knife. By then the motor neurone disease was in its final stages, and Dylan could drink only thickened fluids—viscous slime that would slide down without choking him.
That night, Joseph sipped scotch and watched TV, ads and all, something he hadn’t done for years—not since he and Dylan started on box sets and Netflix. His mind glazed over, and his lips buzzed against the glass and it was the best he’d felt since that sickening moment when Dylan hadn’t breathed in.
At eleven o’clock, a late movie came on—The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. Ben Stiller was chasing Sean Penn for reasons Joseph couldn’t discern, but the scenery was stunning. Snow-capped mountains swept down to green meadows, fishing villages and pebbly beaches. It was like nothing he’d seen before. He sat forward, his heart huge in his chest. He would go to Iceland.

Joseph stepped from foot to foot, watching through the foyer windows for the minibus. The Explore Iceland website promised the four-hour hike along the Svínafellsjökull glacier would be the experience of a lifetime. At least he’d be outdoors, there’d be fresh air. The disinfectant smell would clear from his nostrils. And the ball of wire in his neck might finally unwind.
A white van with grit-covered panels rolled to a stop in front of the hotel and Joseph headed into the chill morning air.
‘Wait for me!’ Kimmy rushed up in a pink puffer vest, her cheeks bright with rouge and her mouth freshly painted since breakfast. Joseph froze, holding the door as she hustled by.
‘This is gonna be awesome!’ She smiled as she hoisted herself into the bus, waving long-nailed fingers at the other passengers. ‘Hi y’all! I’m Kimmy and this is Joe.’
A few gave muted greetings, eyeing them both. A blond woman next to the driver began to speak.
‘Hi Kimmy, hi Joe, welcome to the Glacier Quest tour. I’m Birta and I’ll be your guide today.’ Her spiel had the plastic sound of repetition. ‘Take a seat and we’ll head up to the ice fields.’
Kimmy settled herself by a window and Joseph surveyed his options—a seat beside Kimmy, or next to a scowling teen. He edged in beside the American woman, careful not to touch any part of her, his leg propped in the aisle.
‘Well this is cosy.’ Kimmy nudged him. He stared past her, out the window. The summer tundra was a rich green, dotted with tiny wildflowers.
‘Ain’t it beautiful?’ She pulled out a piece of gum, popped it in her mouth.
His nerves twanged. ‘Mm.’ He kept his gaze trained on the landscape as her large, inquisitive eyes swivelled his way.
Birta’s patter about the region kept Kimmy quiet until they reached the Explore Iceland hut at Skaftafell.
‘Well I’m real excited. I’ve never seen a glacier. Never been outside Texas, truth be told.’ She followed Joseph from the minivan, lining up with the others as Birta handed out crampons.
Kimmy sat down next to Joseph as they tried their spikes on for size. ‘How ‘bout you Joe? You excited?’
He kicked off his crampons and zipped up his wind cheater. It was a fine morning, but the breeze was cool. ‘Oh yeah,’ he muttered.
‘What’s that?’ Kimmy leant closer, her perfume wafting up his nose, pungent and sweet.
Birta clapped her hands together and all chatter died away.
‘Here, it is possible to see the effect of climate change. In just twenty years, the glacier has retreated nine hundred metres. So now we must walk further from the car park. We’ll stop before the ice.’ The group followed her, crampons clanking like cutlery.
Joseph fell in behind. A bird flitted past and the sun warmed his hair. The sparkling glacier lay just ahead, pouring down from mountain to valley. His irritation began to dissipate. This was what he had hoped for—to walk in another land, to forget himself, to forget everything.
But not far in front, a pink figure waited.
‘Joe! So sorry, I just went chargin’ ahead.’ Kimmy tucked a hand around his arm and he glanced at her sharply, but the next instant she’d released him, listening to Birta, who was handing out ice picks from her backpack.
‘So now we are at Svinafellsjökull glacier. Put on your spikes and take a pick to keep your balance. Then please follow me and walk where I walk.’ The guide looked intently at each of them. ‘If you take another way, you may fall into a crack, or in a stream, or even down the mountain. You must follow our tracks, yes?’
There were murmurs of obedience as they bent to their boots, then the group trailed after Birta in single file, hiking in the high-stepping style she demonstrated. Joseph dropped behind Kimmy, concentrating on placing his feet. His new hiking boots were rubbing his heels.
‘Well ain’t this just spectacular!’ Kimmy breathed. She kept stopping and commenting, and he was forced to halt abruptly. He hoped that by not answering her, she might give up, but she was undeterred. Blood pounded in his ears and he stabbed at raised knolls of ice with his ice pick as they passed.
The gradient of their climb was gentle, zigzagging across, but Birta set a brisk pace. Though Kimmy seemed unaffected, churning uphill whilst offering random thoughts, Joseph grew breathless. He recalled the ‘moderate’ rating of the climb with unease. He hadn’t exercised for months.
The sun glinted off every surface and even through sunglasses the light hurt his eyes. The mountain peak grew closer.
‘Sweet Jesus, look at that!’ Kimmy planted her feet wide without warning and Joseph pulled up sharply. She pointed to a crack in the ice a few metres from the path. The dark depth of it sent a cold finger down his back. He imagined tumbling into the void, not knowing how far he’d fall.
‘Yep. A crevasse.’
He said nothing more. Kimmy moved on.
The wind had died down and he was boiling in his jacket. He stopped to peel it off and Kimmy waited.
‘If you tie it ‘round your waist…’ She reached around his body and he twitched away.
‘It’s ok, I can fix my own clothes.’
Kimmy nodded, took a step back. ‘You know who you remind me of? My husband Terry. I drove him nuts sometimes, but he was a good man.’ Her eyes seemed shinier than before.
Joseph was aware he should feel some sympathy for Kimmy; maybe even a kinship. It seemed Terry was no longer on the scene, probably a heart attack, all that bacon. But he felt nothing. He was just hot, and his heels were throbbing.
They rose higher. The vista opened to the wide expanse of mountain, split by the tongue of blue-white ice. Above the crunch of boots on snow, he heard the rush of water, deep within the glacier. Clear mountain rivulets trickled between folds and shallow puddles pooled on the ice. He wondered if the glacier was stable. It seemed to be melting before his eyes.
Even without his jacket he was too warm, and sweat prickled the back of his neck. He stopped to unwind his scarf and shove it in his pocket.
When he looked up, the rest of the group was a long way ahead. He felt less puffed, but when he tried to pick up the pace, Kimmy was right there.
‘We should catch up to the others.’
‘What’s that, Joe?’
‘We should hurry up.’
Kimmy looked back. ‘Aw, honey. It’s gonna be just fine. They won’t leave us behind.’ Her smile made him livid.
He began to edge around her, but their course had narrowed. To the right, there was a long narrow puddle and a dip in the ice before the glacier rose up again. To their left, the glacier sloped steeply away.
He walked at her right elbow, waiting for her to pause so he could safely overtake.
‘There’s no rush. They’ll wait for us.’ Kimmy kept walking at her same, infuriating pace.
Maybe Terry wasn’t dead after all; maybe poor old Terry had just made a run for it.
Watching her over-sprayed hair bob up and down was making his jaw clench.
‘Move – out – of – my – way.’ He growled the words at Kimmy’s broad back.
‘What?’ She turned at last, her eyes wide.
‘Let. Me. Past.’ His arms shook with rage, the ice pick trembling by his side.
Kimmy’s face was white, her eyes glazed. ‘Joe. Please don’t.’ She stumbled backwards along the path.
Joseph followed her. ‘Stop!’ She was acting ridiculous; he just wanted to go by. He raised his arms high, yelled ‘Just stop!’
But already she was falling.

Kimmy lay still. A cavern like a small room had cracked open where the puddle had been. Her body splayed across the icy floor, one leg twisted awkwardly beneath her.
Joseph’s ice pick dropped beside him. ‘Kimmy! Are you alright?’
He knelt at the edge, his stomach like a stone. He could see no movement—no rise and fall of breathing. His neck was clammy where the sweat had chilled.
Then Kimmy whimpered, and shifted. She rose slowly to her knees, her clothing darkly sodden.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘I just…’ He broke off.
Kimmy struggled to her feet, then fell back in the slush with a cry, clutching her ankle. He began to clamber down but she held up her hand. ‘No! Don’t come near me!’
He stopped. ‘I won’t hurt you. I was never going to hurt you.’
The sun had dimmed, a bank of dirty clouds spread across the sky. A cold breeze ruffled Joseph’s hair. Kimmy sat in the hollow, her leg straightened in front. She wiped her nose, her eyes ringed with mascara. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
He had no answer, there was nothing that truly made sense.
‘I don’t know.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘I’ve been pretty angry.’
Joseph stood, his gaze following the group’s scuffed tracks across the glacier until he snagged on the blue of Birta’s jacket.
Birta waved from across the ice and he made large scooping gestures, summoning her back. Birta stopped waving, but the group didn’t move.
Kimmy dug out a tissue and blew her nose. ‘Sure seems that way.’
Without sunshine, the temperature was dropping. Joseph pocketed his Ray-Bans and wound his scarf around his neck. He climbed backwards down the sloped wall of the cavern until he stood beside Kimmy. This time she made no objection as he helped her to the path, then lowered her gently. She shivered in violent waves, her face pinched. ‘My ankle’s bad. I think it might be broken.’
Joseph offered his hand. ‘Lean on me. I’ll take you to the others.’
Kimmy big dark eyes snapped onto his. ‘Well bless your heart Joe, I thought you were smart.’ She ignored his outstretched arm. ‘I’m not goin’ anywhere ‘cept back the way we came.’
The sky was steely grey. The wind was picking up, hunting across the frozen surface. Birta and the others weren’t any closer, but they’d gathered in a cluster.
‘Well alright then.’ He sat with his back to hers, facing the wind, protecting her from the brunt of it. ‘We can wait for them here.’ His eyes stung and his toes were icy.
Kimmy shifted so their shoulders pressed together. Her shaking eased.
‘You know, I never used to talk so much, before Terry died.’ She sighed. ‘It’s like I need to get all the words out.’
‘Yeah. I understand.’ And he did, and he felt like a shit for being so mean. But who was he kidding? He was like that sometimes. His mind jumped back to a night at the pub, right after Dylan moved in. Joseph had yelled at an old man for spilling beer down his new white shirt. He could still picture the old guy’s face, crumpling at the blast. When the man lurched away, Dylan had touched Joseph’s hand. ‘Joey? Don’t be a fuckwit, okay?’
And he’d tried; every year he was better. But Dylan was gone now, and he was no good without him.
‘It’s gonna snow.’ Kimmy was calm and resigned. Joseph glanced back. She’d wrapped her arms around her uninjured leg, drawing it close to her chest. ‘We don’t get much snow in Lubbock, but I know a snowy sky.’
The clouds pressed closer, blotting out the daylight. The mountain loomed darker. It really did look like snow.
Joseph pulled the zip of his wind cheater to his chin. The whole trip had been a disaster. The worst thing was, he knew it was because of him. If Dylan was here, they’d be friends with half the hotel guests and Dylan would be thrilled by summer snow. Joseph had a flash of their ski holiday years ago in New Zealand—Dylan grinning, sticking his tongue out to catch snowflakes as they rode the lift, poles balanced on their laps. The clamp around Joseph’s throat grew vicelike and he coughed to release it.
Then he was crying, at first a silent shaking, and though he tried to stop, he gasped and wept.
‘Joe?’ Kimmy turned.
He felt her palm on his back, the small, kind heat of it.
The first cold flake landed on his cheek.
‘Never mind. Never mind.’ Kimmy rubbed his back as the snow fell faster. ‘Whatever it is, you’ll be okay.’ He wanted so much to believe her.
The voices of Birta and the others were closer. He wiped his face with his scarf.
Snow swirled down, blew across the ice, gathered softly on the laces of his boots.

Photo by Fiona Reilly