‘Thank you,’ I mutter.
‘Not a problem. I’ve got you, okay? I’m going to let go of one of your hands so I can steer Bea, too, and we’ll go for a little walk, the three of us. All right?’
He drops my right hand and grips my left one harder. ‘Come on, Bea.’
And we’re off. Yikes. Instantly, I can feel my weight is too far forward. I’m constantly on the brink of stumbling over my own feet.
‘Try to keep your back straighter,’ Miles tells me. He’s completely straight-backed.
He’s a pro.
I straighten up and allow myself to relax. Just a bit.Last Christmasbelts out from the speakers and my fellow skaters stream past us in a haze of colour and laughter and movement. I throw Miles a non-smirky, genuinely happy, grateful smile and lift my face up to the cool air. The dark sky is lit in a pinky haze above us and, although we’re moving far more slowly than the people streaking past us, this is invigorating. And festive. And surprisingly intimate. And?—
We’re down.
My feet shoot out to the right, and I crash, my bum hitting freezing, soggy ice. Ugh. And ouch. Miles may be heavier and more competent than me, but he’s no match for my particular brand of clumsiness on this ridiculous surface, and he’s totally taken by surprise. I bring him down, and he lands on his knees with anoofsound, crouching sideways over my body. It’s like Twister gone horribly wrong.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I gasp. ‘Oh my God, Miles—I’m sorry. Bea? You okay?’
Miles thankfully released his grip on the penguin as he went down and Bea stands over us, her hand plastered over her mouth, trying in vain to hide her laughter at the car crash in front of her.
He turns his head to me. His face is so close to mine. ‘I’mfine. Bea’s fine. How are you?’ He’s trying to catch his breath. His eyes roam over me. ‘Anything hurt?’
‘Just my bum.’ I groan. ‘And my pride.’
His mouth twists in amusement. ‘You’ll live. Come on.’
And he drags me to my feet.
God. My quads are burning, just from trying to get up and stay upright. This is the worst activity ever. It’s—oh.
He’s spun around, so he’s facing me, and he takes hold of both my hands. Tight. ‘Let’s try again, Bambi. It’s your only chance of getting out of here with your pride intact.’ He turns to Bea. ‘You okay to give it a go on your own, princess? We’ll go super slowly.’
‘But won’t you crash? You can’t go backwards.’
‘Everyone’s skating in the same direction,’ he points out. ‘There’s no one to crash into unless someone falls. But you can be my eyes.’
I look up into his face for confirmation that this is really happening, and he nods at me, but it’s not curt like his usual nods. His eyes are soft. Kind. And his fingers are tight on my hands. We move off cautiously, with Bea valiantly pushing herself along beside us, and the three of us make slow but deliberate progress around the rink with our fellow revellers.
There’s a genuine risk that I’ll let my feet get out of sync with his. I look down at my feet for the millionth time. Nope, they’re still miraculously moving forward of their own accord. Left, right. Left, right. Miles is mirroring my movements backwards.
‘Eyes up,’ he says. ‘Eyes on me.’
I look up at him, and he’s watching me, his eyes flicking over my face, the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. And then it’s as though it’s just the two of us, floating on the ice, as I give my entire focus over to the miracle that is having permission to drown in his brown eyes, which are currently warm and encouraging and… something.
And not just that, but there’s the glorious security of my hands in his determined grip, and the sensation of being perfectly in sync with him.
‘You’ve got it. See, you’re doing brilliantly.’ He gives me a smile then. A proper smile. With dimples. And heat rushes through my body, from my head to my toes.
I take it back.
Skating isn’t stupid.
It’sfantastic.
After an acceptable period has passed (probably fifteen minutes), Bea and I put Miles out of his misery and quit the rink so he can enjoy himself. And what a sight it is to see him enjoying himself. As I predicted, he’s transformed. He glides gracefully around the rink as fast as the crowd will allow, while I stand with Bea in my arms for a good view and soak up the glorious sight of his tall figure cutting a dash through the ice.
‘Ha!’ I point. ‘Look, Bea! Your Daddy just did a spin!’
