As Ambrose wanders over I dip into my bag for the last of Libby’s scarves. ‘Here, take this, Ambie, you’ll feel warmer if you wrap up.’
He coils the scarf around his neck as he sits down. ‘Lucky for me, I have other warming strategies.’ He pulls out a hip flask, takes a swig. As he offers it to me there’s a blast of whisky on the breeze.
‘Fabulous, but I’ll pass thanks.’ I’m toying with letting him into the secret of avoiding alcohol to keep your body temperature up when Keef arrives, towering over us in his skates.
‘Morning, campers!’ He shakes back his braids, gives Ambrose a gentle fist bump on his shoulder that almost knocks him sideways out of his plastic chair, then turns to Miranda. ‘Naughty, naughty! You promised me you’dcarpethosediems, remember – how exactly is settling in as a spectator seizing the day?’
‘Er …’ Miranda opens her mouth, and manages to make her eyes sparkle, but unusually for someone so vocal, nothing else comes out.
Keef’s already got hold of her hand and pulled her out of her chair. ‘You can sit down every day for the rest of your life. But right now we have ice, wehave toskate!’
Ambrose and I watch as he takes her over to swap her silver doccies for some skates, and a few minutes later he’s leading her towards the rink.
Miranda shouts as she passes, ‘Won’t be long, Ambie.’
I think we all know she will be. I can’t help feeling sorry for Ambie, the way the stripy scarf is so incongruous on top of his camel wool overcoat. I smile as I mentally namecheck his shoes. ‘Nice loafers, Ambrose.’ Then I put my hand on his arm. ‘Don’t worry, she’ll be back.’
Whatever moment Miranda’s seizing now this second, later on it’s going to come down to a choice between six hundred quid’s worth of Horsebit Guccis, or beaten up Animal boarding trainers that look like they could possibly be third hand. Miranda’s heart might be momentarily lightened by the whoosh across the ice and Bill’s dad’s bollock talk of wild moments and free spirits blowing across endless oceans. But with her track record of desperately seeking security, it’s no secret where she’ll finally end up. Even if her men invariably fall by the wayside, if ever it comes to a choice of two, her head and their bank balance win out over her heart every time. Which is how we all know, however much she’s giggling and gazing up at the stars in Keef’s eyes as he steers her around, Ambrose will be laughing all the way to the hot tub in the end. I just hope poor Ambrose knows that, because with every circuit of the rink Miranda makes his face is getting longer.
As he takes another swig he lets out a sigh. ‘The trouble is, I’m just not used to roughing it. Betty and I always went to places with more stars and a hell of a lot more luxury, I’ve got wall to wall Axminster at home with double deluxe underlay.’
‘Betty?’ My heart goes out to how far out of his comfort zone he sounds.
He gives a shrug. ‘Betty was my late wife, we were great cruise fans. Once you’ve had Christmas in a platinum suite with butler service and black tie dining every night at the Captain’s table – well, anything less feels like second best.’ And a castle with stone walls inside as well as out instead of a stateroom must be about as comfortable as rubbing rough sandpaper on his sun tanned skin. Only made bearable by drinking every last drop of whatever comes his way.
I reach over and give his arm a squeeze. ‘I’m sure once Miranda tries a cruise you’ll convert her.’ I’m actually less convinced than I sound. I suspect Miranda’s a little too naughty to rub shoulders with captains any more than once and if I remember rightly she gets very seasick. She’s much more of a boundary pusher and militant protester than someone who rises to expectations. If Ambrose only knew she’d been arrested for a pie in the face incident involving a Tory councillor at the library closure demonstrations in Brighton, we probably wouldn’t see his Gucci loafers for dust.
Ambrose hugs his arms and shivers. ‘I think we’ll definitely head out to Barbados for next Christmas.’
‘Lovely.’ Even though I’m beaming at him, as a measure of how uncomfortableI’mfeeling here, I’d actually rather be joining in with Tom and Tarkie at the next table, deciding how likely it is they’ll fall over and get their fingers sliced off by a passing ice skate.
Then as I watch Oscar and Fliss wobbling off the ice towards us, a hand closes on my shoulder. I don’t have to look. Merwyn jumping up and down, snuffling and even barking – little traitor – is the give-away. I turn around into a Paco Rabane cloud, and a beam the width of St Aidan bay and twice as warm as a summery day. ‘Milo, you’ve made it, and you’ve already got your skates on.’
If he was Merwyn, the way Milo wrinkles his nose would be adorable. Seeing he’s human, it’s slightly less cute and frankly a teensy bit unnerving in a ‘stomach withering like a prune’ kind of way. He’s holding out his hand to me. ‘Coming for a twirl?’
It’s very bad timing. I was ready to stagger on and do a few wobbly rounds on my own, but as I’d rather not join in the pairs skating I’m floundering for excuses. ‘Thanks but I think it’s time for hot chocolate and Christmas cupcakes.’ Not very original, but I’m desperate. ‘The skate lady was telling me … they’re home baked from the Little Cornish Kitchen … that’s out beyond the harbour towards the dunes … they’re baked by Clemmie, the receptionist from the solicitors … they’ve got every flavour you can imagine … and they do singles events there too …’
Milo’s looking bemused. ‘But we only just had breakfast, I only just finished washing up!’ Reminding us all what an angel he is in the kitchen too. ‘Come on, twice round, then I’ll treateveryoneto drinks and snacks.’ Not that he’s manipulating, but now it seems like everyone’s elevenses are hanging on me going with him.
Fliss perks up as she arrives. ‘Oooo, yes, off you go quickly, Ivy-star, then we’ll all have mid-morning cakes.’ With besties like this, who needs enemies?
‘Fine.’ It isn’t, but I stand up, pull the edge of my pompom hat down as far as it will go, and grab hold of the barrier side. I used to have all kinds of trouble on roller skates, so how I’m going to attempt to balance on anything as thin as a blade I have no idea. As I begin to haul my way hand over hand around to the gap that leads to the ice I’m regretting all the times I chickened out of theDaniels’ staff club trips to the ice rink. I’m also watching the guys hanging up the lights and putting the finishing touches to the stalls they’re building around the harbour edge, the line of higgledy pastel painted cottages behind them. Thanking my lucky stars that apart from the stall builders who are busy and the odd dog walker making their way down to the beach, the harbour’s deserted, and we’re doing this without an audience.
I’m determined to do this on my own. Girls Aloud singingJingle Bell Rockis comingout of the speakers, that has to be a good sign. I mean, how hard can it be? Tom and Tarkie have decided to risk their fingers and are staggering around upright more than they’re falling over, and the Twiglets are already pirouetting. As I step down onto the ice, Libby strides past on the harbourside cobbles. I nod at Willow’s daughter, Scout, who’s whizzing round so fast on the spot she’s gone all blurry.
‘That might be good to upload?’ I’m no expert, but from where I’m standing, for a ten year old it’s pretty damned impressive. I just hope her scarf doesn’t tighten and strangle her due to the sideways gravity forces.
‘I don’t think so, Ivy, it looks a lot more like showing off than true interpretive free-style skating to me.’ Libby lets out a snort. ‘That’s home schooling in a nutshell – they’re outshining Jane Torville with their stupendous spins, they could talk Spanish for bloody Mexico, but their social skills are a total disaster. You must have noticed they havezerointeraction withanyoneand looktotallyobjectionableallof the time.’
I’m too busy thinking she could be talking about her own lot to answer immediately, but she’s obviously not expecting one because she’s already off across the quay.
So I take it that’s a ‘no’ to the Instagram post then. If she’d said that earlier she’d have saved me forcing the issue with the Twiglets and the hat and scarf sets. I’m concentrating so hard on Libby as I step down onto the rink, my skate hits the ice before I’m ready, and I’m slithering, waving my arms madly, trying to get back to the safety of the barrier when some fingers close around mine.
‘No need to panic there, Ivy – just push one foot forwards, let yourself glide, then do the same with the other. You can relax now, I’m here, I’ve got you.’ It’s Milo, and his hand is so warm I can feel the heat through my glove. As his other arm extends out across my back I’m suddenly steadier.
‘Okay.’ It’s not. I’m still jerking forwards, trying to divert and make a lunge for the side.
‘Keep going, you’re completely safe with me.’ His voice is calm and encouraging beside me and somehow – don’t ask me how – we make juddering progress forwards and we’re still standing up. ‘Skating’s new to you, nowyouknow howIfeel in my ridiculous new country clothes.’
