I hold my ground. ‘Whatever you do, you always have to do it in a way so you look down on everyone else.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’
The way he says it flatly, as if it’s the only opinion there is, and no one else’s is valid, completely backs up my point. My chest is tightening. ‘And do you always have to look so damned miserable? Here we are, everyone’s trying their damnedest to have a good time …’ I know that’s not completely true, and no one’s actually succeeding, but they might be ‘… but when you’re there like Grinchy McScrooge-face looking down on us all it’svery hardfor everyonenotto feel like shit.’ My voice has gone really high and a lot squeakier than I’d like, and I can sense that the skaters around the rink are sliding to a halt.
His nostrils flare as he blows out a breath. For a moment he looks really dark, then he turns to me. ‘Well, I may look miserable, but that’s way better than making a fool of myself like you were earlier.’
This is so far away from anything I was expecting, at least the shock has made my voice more low and normal. ‘ExCUSE me?’ I really have no idea what he’s talking about.
His eyes flash. ‘Running round, throwing yourself at a guy like Milo, I’d have thought you’d have more self-respect.’
If my chest was tight before, now it explodes. ‘AND WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN, BILL?’
His voice is low and steady. ‘Believe me, I know.’
‘Actually, you knowZILCH!’ As I look down I realise he’s still holding onto my hand, really tightly. So I tug my hand away from him, but he won’t let go at first. It’s only when I pull really, really hard and his grasp suddenly loosens that I get away. But the force of my jerk sends me lurching backwards which would be fine if we were on the harbourside. But here on the rink things are working against me. One, I’m on ice which when I think about it is the slipperiest surface known to man. And two, I’m wearing sodding great boots and if that wasn’t enough, there are also great bits of spikey metal attached to the bottom. One of those, I might have managed, all three to contend with, and I’m staggering backwards. My arms are flailing, I’ve almost got my balance back but my feet are all over the place. And then the end of my skate catches in the bow of my laces, and that’s it. I’m jumping backwards, arcing downwards, as my feet shoot forwards from under me, my back thumps down onto the ice.
One massive thud, and I’m horizontal. Gazing up at the pale grey clouds racing across other darker grey clouds.
Which actually is okay. Everyone’s been falling over. It’s what you do. It’s a bloody skating rink. That’s the metaphor, it’s the physical embodiment of slick and skiddy surface on which it’s impossible to stay upright. In which case, why the hell is there a circle of faces at the edge of the clouds all staring down at me with open mouths, their eyes wide, gasping.
Fliss is staggering towards me across the ice and the way her arms are out she looks a lot like Bill when he was at his most Olympic. ‘It’s absolutely okay, Ivy, you absolutely don’t need to worry, really,really,REALLY, nobody’s going to mind …’
And that’s when I put my hand to my head. And feel the back of my head and my hair resting on the soaking ice. My hat’s completely gone. And my long sideways fringe thing that I’ve grown so carefully to hide the left side of my face has flipped upwards and sideways. Anywhere except where it’s supposed to be in other words.
‘Shit, where’s my …’
I can see Tom’s face looking down at me from inside the comfort of his hoodie. ‘Sothat’swhy she gets to wear a hat inside. Okay, all good,nowI understand. A scar like that, she has to hide it.’
As I push myself up to sitting Fliss is rushing towards me holding out my bobble hat that’s soaking from the layer of water on top of the ice. ‘Here … put it on again … really, Ivy-leaf, no one minds … they just don’t …’
Willow’s there too. ‘It’ll all be fine, concealment issoconfining, exposure is very cleansing, no wonder your chakras are all over the place …’
Miranda’s voice is booming across the harbour as she hurries out onto the ice again. ‘Sweetheart, it’s only a scar … and it’s so much better than it used to be … no one minds, darling … you’ll always be beautiful … we really can’t see it now you’ve grown your hair …’
And Tiff’s there, her eyes flashing, her pink tulle skirt whirling, shouting as she turns on them. ‘Will you all stop being horrible, andLEAVE HER ALONE!!’
And it’s like magic. Suddenly they all shut up and just stare at her. And here’s this awful, awful child who I’ve spent the last few days completely despising. And suddenly I want to hug her.
She and Tarkie are gently helping me to my feet, then Tansy joins in too, but over their heads I can see Bill. As he moves towards me, his face is creased with concern and the way his arms are outstretched, I just know as soon as he reaches me he’s going to wrap those arms around me. And even though I also know that’s the last thing I wouldeverwant, part of me is already anticipating the warmth. His strong hands closing around my back. The whole wonderful scent of him as I bury my nose in that charcoal cashmere. The feeling I used to dream about for months after Chamonix, if not years. Of wanting to be wrapped in those arms forever.
And just for today, I’m not going to fight it. The back of my fur jacket is soaking, my jeans are stuck to my knees, my hair’s all damp and straggling out of my sodden hat. But just this once I’m not going to beat myself up, I’m going to lean in and let the wonderful happen. I’m going to drink it in, I’m going to soak up every bit of strength and wellbeing that hug is going to give me. I’m going tocarpethose effingdiems, abandon myself and enjoy the goddamn moment.
Somewhere in the midst of my mind ramblings I must have closed my eyes. When I open them again what I’m expecting is the sweet, blissful moment, the impact of my cheek against Bill’s jumper. But instead what I get comes careering across the ice out of left field and sends Bill flying out of the frame.
Suddenly, instead of the anticipated warmth of wool, my face is buried in the nylon folds of a brand new Barbour puffa jacket and I’m coughing as the Paco Rabane Million fumes hit the back of my throat. ‘Milo?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got this!’ Did I mention his beam? It’s wider than the bay and brighter than a thousand watt lighthouse bulb powered up with lenses.
And then as I push myself free, try to disentangle my hat from his zip, and come across a large lump of buttercream something else hits me. ‘Oh my, what the hell did you do with Harriet?’
He’s totally unconcerned. ‘She’s fine, I passed her across to my dad.’
Dumped her on him more like. ‘As if you’d trust Ambie with anything as breakable as a child – he has trouble hanging onto a stubbie beer bottle, let alone a squirming baby.’
As if on cue there’s a loud squawk. Except it’s not Harriet screaming, it’s Ambie. ‘Will someone come and get this bloomin’ kid off me …’
As Libby strides onto the ice, still in her white trainers, she’s clapping her hands and totally ignoring Ambie. ‘Okay, I think that’s enough ice for one day. Let’s all head off for lunch at the Fun Palace at the Crab and Pilchard.’
If we’re going there it’s like she’s totally given up on giving a damn. From what I’ve seen on the website, she couldn’t have picked anywhere more unstylish or less aspirational. All I can think is she has to be going for crass in an ironic way. Or possibly getting her own back on the Edmunson-Twiglets for showing her lot up on the ice with those perfect ten ice spins.
Fighting the fun suckers in a pit full of bright coloured plastic balls and lunch of turkey twizzlers served by people dressed as Disney characters? How is that going to go down with Willow’s save-the-earth vegan anti-materialistic multinational-hating pacifists? Worse still for me, there’s a sleigh pulled by not just one but eight animated reindeer.
If that’s not aversion therapy, I don’t know what is.
But as we pile into the cars and wind our way out to the Crab and Pilchard all I can think of is Bill’s face as he came towards me earlier. How desperately I wanted that hug. And how sick I feel that the moment’s gone, and I’ll never have that chance again.
