Blades

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The familiar sounds of the rink hum all around me, a pick-and-mix which ranges from raucous laughter to concentration so intense it is almost audible, chart hits to flowing classical harmonies, that distinctive scratching of blades to a yelp as someone falls. The ice is filled with the usual Friday crowd, half still in school uniform and all in that strange end-of-the-week combination of hyper and utterly drained.

      All this only half registers to me, flitting across my conscience while I catch my breath at the barrier, the first drops of sweat trickling down my back. None of the surrounding activity can tear my gaze from the corridor in the corner of the rink down which I feel my lot is being drawn. In fact, in trying to distract myself, I have ploughed into deeper edges than ever, pressed forwards harder and harder until I'm speeding way beyond my normal pace, and only succeeded in prematurely exhausting myself just fifteen minutes into training. Still the thoughts voice themselves, toying with me from their perch in the back of my mind.

      With a sigh, I take a final gulp of water and push off again, accepting that they aren't going to simply evaporate. It's partly my own fault, of course, for waiting until the car journey here to broach the topic of skating more often to my Mum. I don't know whether I was scared, or felt bad, or what, but I couldn't find a way to start the conversation. The result was that she only got as far as asking whether it was something I actually wanted before we arrived, and then she disappeared somewhere with Sherrie as soon as we were through the door. Though my positivity seemed a shock to her she didn't immediately object to the idea, which I have to take as a good sign. What was strange was how unsurprised she was by your asking at all.

      She was so unsurprised, in fact, that I think she somehow knew I was going to bring it up. As hard as I try, I can't stop the cogs in my brain from whirring now. There's evidence everywhere: Seth's winks and teasing, Samuel's added nastiness, Sherrie watching you and Sandy do the Foxtrot so intently, her seeing exactly how hard she could work you, and then you add Mum's reaction...you know what I'm getting at. I do. Because for days now the wishful part of my brain has been fitting these puzzle pieces together into a world where I'm about to be partnered with Sandy, and the practical part has been simultaneously pulling them apart.

      More than anything, I'm trying not to let myself hope. In the real world anyone can see that I'm not the obvious choice for a partnership because I slacked off three years ago and shut myself in a pretty prickly shell. Until a week ago, I'll admit that I'd have run a mile if anyone had tried to put me in a pair. You have to see this as what it probably is: Sherrie asking you to do extra skating and nothing more.

      And don't start saying that's not what you want because it won't help anyone. Why has your view changed so suddenly anyway?

      I don't attempt an answer, although I'm sure that I know one. Instead, I turn to pour my anxiety into the start of my routine again until I'm unaware of the rest of the world.

      "Freddie!" The sound of my name pulls me back with a physical jolt. I know the voice well but can't remember the last time that it spoke to me; I right myself in time to see Katy skating towards me from the boards.

        Something about the way my name sounds from her mouth and the image of her dazzling smile directed straight at me freezes me. I am nine years old again and a six year old Katy, gawkily skinny but already overflowing with confidence, is racing round the ice at my side; with two coaches for a father and an aunt, she was already a fantastic skater. It's funny to think of her then compared to now. I don't know a single person who has changed in personality less, but as she grew up she became one of those people with an indestructible beauty, which kind of crept up on me. The peroxide blonde pixie cut I am now faced with would look hideous on most people, and yet it matches her elven features so well that it's only made her more stunning. I spend so much time positively ignoring her that it somehow hits me harder now, with a poignant note of 'you weren't always lonely here'.

      "Yeah?"  My reply is just too late to sound natural, making me cringe inwardly. Katy's smile never falters.

      "Sherrie's asking to see you." My eyes automatically flit about the ice, but I can't see even a flash of fiery hair anywhere. She must still be with my Mum, and the thought makes my stomach flutter slightly.

      "Where is she?"

      "Coaches' room." Her eyes glitter ice-blue as she adds, "She's got a suggestion for you." Knowing Katy's evasive playfulness, I don't bother to ask what it is. Don't get your hopes up.

      When I push open the door to the rink's little coaches' room, I find it abnormally overcrowded. First I see Sherrie and my Mum, as I expected, but then I see Sandy, too, and a woman whom I can only assume is his mum from her dark hair and eyes. His head shoots up as I enter and, while it's only two days since I last saw him, just those deep brown eyes of his make my day; for some reason, though, he looks straight back down at his hands. My heart has decided I am running a marathon, pounding for all its worth. Anxiety, hope, pure adrenaline? I don't know what it is. The atmosphere in here isn't exactly bad, but it's definitely strange. I enter cautiously, as if approaching an unpredictable dog, because I can't tell where I'll stand by the end of this conversation.

      "Freddie," Sherrie says, unnecessarily. With my throat choked by an invisible hand I don't know how to reply, so don't. Sherrie realises that I'm not going to barely in time to save an awkward silence, "You know how impressed I've been with your skating recently, and your work ethic, and I'm so glad that you've agreed to go back to skating more often." Feeling that it's appropriate, I nod, still cautious. Flattery isn't Sherrie's usual style. "You've always been a gifted skater and done well in competition, but I've never felt that we were using your potential to its full degree. You aren't really being stretched. Which is why I want to ask you to try something for me." I look to Sandy, wanting confirmation that this moment isn't a dream, only to find him already watching me. His eyes tell me everything I need to know. It's happening. Oh my god, you were right and it's happening. How is this happening?!

      "I want you to try training with Sandy. Now, I know that you made it very clear how you felt about going back to skating with a partner before, but I knew for sure that this would be the right thing to do, for both of you, when I saw the two of you dancing on Wednesday. It's an opportunity that you should take up..." Here she glances at my mum, who is giving her what could only be described as a warning glare. Sherrie glares back just as hard but adds, grudgingly, "Well, obviously, you don't have to - " though her tone and steely gaze could suggest nothing less " - but I think you should at least give it a trial period of, say, a month because this is exactly what you need."

      Here, Sandy picks up: "I don't want to force anything on you, Freddie, believe me," and there is such pleading anxiety in his eyes that I do, "but I'll say that I would feel genuinely privileged to have the opportunity to skate with you."

      There is an anticipation-filled silence as they wait for my reaction. I know, without consulting any of my conscience's voices, even those that rattle on about being manipulated, that my answer is yes. A thousand times, yes! He's a beautiful skater, a champion and a nice guy, and on top of that he wants to skate with you. How could it be anything else?

      It's not what they're all expecting though, clearly, if the tension in the room is anything to go by. I sense more than see that Sherrie is bracing herself for a fight. And all at once I realise that this is what I've become to everyone here: a challenge, a kind of fiery hermit, even a snob, perhaps, that must be manipulated to get her to do anything useful. You don't want to be that. You never wanted to be that.

      So, without a second thought, I turn to Sandy and say, "When do we start?"

      His smile could melt a glacier.