by Karen Swan
She watched as London rolled past them – along Regent’s Park and down to Fitzrovia and Soho, over Piccadilly Circus and down the Strand, the distinctive humped arches and pillars of Somerset House cresting before them in under fifteen minutes, Jamie bringing the bike to an easy stop, his feet flat on the ground as he kicked the stand down.
Reluctantly, she loosened her grip and hopped off, handing him the helmet and quickly raking her fingers through her hair before pulling her beanie from her coat pocket and tugging it on, as though trying to hide.
He smiled, somehow sensing her anxieties and taking her by the hand again. ‘Are you nervous?’
She nodded.
‘You should be.’ His eyes danced with amusement as he saw the worry leap in her features again. He laughed, toying with her. ‘Relax, I’m joking. I won’t let anything happen to you.’
Nettie blinked, still wrong-footed and insecure. Since when had she become someone he protected?
He pulled his beanie down and his scarf up, so that only his eyes and nose could be seen, but even that was enough, and as he led her quickly through the arches towards the rink – a smile on his face and utter certainty in his steps, marching past people before they had a chance to process him – Nettie caught the frowns and puzzled stares on his back, before heads were shaken and the thought tossed away. No, it couldn’t be.
It was late now, but the rink was still half full. There was no queue at the entrance, thanks to a ‘Sold Out’ sign propped up in the window of the cash booth, and he walked straight up to the woman at the till. ‘I’m sorry, but we haven’t booked. Is that a problem?’
It took the girl only a moment to register the VIP standing before her.
‘Of course not, Mr Westlake,’ she said hurriedly, lifting the barrier for them and picking up the phone on her desk.
‘Unbelievable,’ Nettie said as they walked towards the desk where the skates were held in racks.
‘Hey, there are enough downsides, trust me,’ he said, glancing down at her. ‘I’d happily give this up to get my privacy back.’
He shook her hand, waggling her arm about. ‘Although, if it impresses you that I don’t have to pre-book, then maybe it’s a sacrifice worth making.’
She laughed, just as they arrived at the desk.
The assistant had clearly been notified of his arrival because she was standing with a manager behind her, ever-ready smiles on their faces, eyes gleaming as though they’d been waiting their entire lives for this moment.
‘Mr Westlake, it’s a pleasure to have you join us here tonight. What sizes would you like?’ the assistant asked.
Jamie gestured to Nettie to answer first.
‘Thirty-eight, please,’ she mumbled.
‘And I’ll have a forty-three,’ he replied, his eyes on her. ‘Stop looking so scared.’
‘But I’ve never done this.’ Oh God, what if she fell badly and broke a leg? Or a hip? Fell down and someone sliced over her fingers?
They walked over to the benches and changed their shoes in silence, Nettie tying double knots in the laces.
She stared down at the white boots, the flash of the sharp blade beneath the arch of her feet sliver-thin. She bit her lip, anxiously. This was a really bad idea.
Jamie was standing, waiting for her. ‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said with a grimace. She pushed herself to standing, walking with a peculiar knock-kneed gait over the rubber mats and reaching for the glass barricades that bordered the ice rink.
It was vast and beautiful, a huge Christmas tree bedecked in white lights at the far end, people sluicing past, the gentle crunch of the ice beneath their blades almost obscured by the music that blew out from the large speakers in every corner.
There weren’t many beginners there. No doubt they took the earlier slots, hiding among the toddlers, who didn’t have so far to fall. She watched as people glided by in smooth, repetitive laps, arms relaxed and swinging lightly by their sides, the more advanced skaters attempting pirouettes and turns, spraying arcs of ice flakes into the air, laughing when they occasionally got it wrong, slamming into the barricades or sliding into the backs of each other.
Only a couple of people were wobbling around, arms out like scarecrows, legs as stiff as forks. She saw one girl at the far end, almost bent double as she gripped a plastic penguin that appeared to be the skating equivalent of a buoyancy device.
Nettie looked around desperately, knowing salvation when she saw it and finding a rack of plastic penguins lined up by the gate.
‘Oh, I’ll get one of those!’ she said brightly, heading towards it.
But Jamie shook his head, his khaki eyes shimmering with amusement. ‘No need. I’ll be your penguin.’
She laughed. ‘You’ll be my penguin?’ It sounded so funny, ridiculous. It was ridiculous. But he was still standing by the gate, an arm outstretched to her.
Her laughter died in her throat. He could have been standing at the edge of the cliff, enticing her to jump, and she’d still take his hand. She stepped towards him and onto the ice, her fingers gripping the sleeves of his jacket in panic as she felt the perilous smoothness beneath her feet. The last time she’d felt this sensation, she’d been whizzing down it on a seventy-degree slope dressed as a bunny, and she suddenly wished she was in the costume again now. It had protected her then and she felt exposed and vulnerable without it now.
‘I’ve got you,’ he said quietly, his body relaxed and stable as she tried to settle to the feeling, trying not to wince as the other skaters flashed past, making her feel giddy in their backdraughts. ‘Ignore them. They’ll go round us. Just take a deep breath and look at me.’
She did as he told her to, trying to calm her breathing, but looking into his eyes had a stimulating, not sedative effect on her and she felt her pulse rocket again.
‘It’s OK. It’s just you and me.’
Strangely, it was. The world fell away like shards of glass in a broken window, revealing nothing but black space beyond so that just the two of them were left, the night air cool on their skin and the earth slipping slowly under their feet. Being on the ice, being in his arms was like being weightless, living in a world with no gravity – she didn’t know how to push against anything; she couldn’t start or stop; she could only slide, spin, drift, fall, float . . .
The first time she realized they were moving was when he began to turn, leaning in slightly to change their direction. Her grip tightened again, panic like a bullet, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink and she felt her muscles soften, letting him lead.
She even smiled, nervous little laughs escaping from her like whinnies as she began to adjust to the sensation, trusting in him.
‘You’re so good,’ she gasped, wondering how he could do this backwards.
He shrugged. ‘I learned as a kid. It helps.’
‘Where did you grow up?’ she asked, feeling shy, wondering if she was allowed to ask, to know. Or was that prying? Did he have to keep his life a secret from people like her? Normal people?
‘Kent. My parents still live there.’
‘Oh.’ She blanched as a girl did a fancy jump as she passed them, landing on one foot, her other leg outstretched. ‘Do you . . . do you get to see them much?’
‘Not as much as I’d like, but then, it’s been hard recently with the tour. They flew out for some of the Oz shows, though.’ He shifted position slightly so that his hands were underneath her elbows. ‘How about you? Where did you grow up?’
‘Primrose Hill.’
‘Really?’ He seemed impressed. ‘So you’re not part of the fashionable influx, then?’
‘No. I’ve lived there all my life.’
His eyes danced. ‘What do they call locals from there? “Primrosers”?’ His look became devilish. ‘Surely not “prim roses”?’
She laughed at the pun, wishing she could smack his shoulder, but she didn’t dare move her hands off his arms. ‘No!’
‘Very glad to
hear it,’ he murmured, making her laugh more.
The ornate embellishments of the neoclassical building slipped past in her peripheral vision, the white lights twinkling as though the stars had dipped down from the sky just for them, and she felt like Cinderella at the ball, dancing with the prince. Her eyes brightened with amusement as she remembered Jules’s excitement on the park bench only the weekend before, telling her she would have this, her Cinderella moment.
The colour in his eyes deepened as he watched her smile and laugh and panic and gasp and smile again. ‘And have you got any brothers or sisters?’
She swallowed. She had always hated that question. ‘No. You?’
It was his turn to pause. The silence dragged on so long she again wondered whether maybe she wasn’t allowed to know personal details about him. Maybe this wasn’t a two-way street. Perhaps, as a celebrity, he had to keep those details hidden from people like her: fans, the public.
‘Two little sisters,’ he said finally. ‘One’s a teacher; the other’s a quantity surveyor.’
She laughed. ‘Imagine how much more interesting it is for them when they get asked the same question. “Oh yes, my sister’s a surveyor, and my brother’s a global superstar.”’
Jamie smiled, but his eyes darted away, as though embarrassed and she felt like she’d trodden on a landmine, made a wrong move that had blown them into the sky.
She swallowed, hearing the slice of ice from his skates. Her legs weren’t moving at all. She was simply gliding along after him, being pulled like a cart.
There was another flash of colour and energy beside them and Nettie gasped, almost losing her balance, as a girl – the same one as before – leaped and pirouetted on her way past them. Nettie stared after her, wondering whether her timing was coincidental or deliberate. Had she recognized Jamie? Was she trying to impress him? Get his attention?
She felt Jamie’s grip tighten on her arms, a silent pulse of communication, and she looked back at him, his gaze a steady horizon she could cling to.
‘So, what about Dan?’ he asked.
‘Dan? What about him?’
‘You’re obviously close.’
‘Yeah,’ she smiled, groaning gently. ‘I guess you’d say he’s the nearest thing I’ve got to a brother.’
He paused. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t say that at all.’
She frowned. ‘Huh?’
‘Well, he clearly doesn’t see you as his little sister.’
Her lips parted as she got his meaning. ‘No, it’s not like that.’
His eyes scanned her. ‘For you, maybe.’
‘You’ve got a suspicious mind. We’re just friends.’
‘So nothing’s ever happened between you?’
She laughed. ‘Why? Are you jealous?’
‘Has it?’
‘Not really, no.’
He arched an eyebrow, effortlessly turning her as they approached the end of the rink. She realized she’d forgotten they were moving. ‘That isn’t a “no”.’
‘It was ages ago.’
‘When?’
‘I was fifteen, something like that. It was nothing. Just a kiss.’
Someone else skated past them close by, too close for her liking, and she saw Jamie’s eyes dart after the man, then the rest of the rink. He looked back at her. ‘Then maybe you should let him know that. Put him out of his misery.’
She laughed, but it wasn’t happily. ‘I don’t need to. He doesn’t think of me like that. We’re just friends. He’s like family.’
He sliced to a stop suddenly, but her skates didn’t work like his; she couldn’t work them at all and she slid straight into him, his chest a wall that she wanted to press into.
‘Oh!’ she gasped, not sure how to step back and away. She could only extricate herself from him if he stepped back, but he wasn’t moving, and his arms had closed behind her, penning her in.
She looked up at him.
‘So then, it’s not like this?’ His voice was quiet, a new tone of intensity in it that she hadn’t heard before. This wasn’t a tease or a joke; his light flirtatiousness of just a moment before had suddenly gone.
She swallowed, feeling the heat turn up. Because what was this? Was it the same for him as it was for her?
She shook her head in reply, not sure if her voice had fled too.
His eyes lifted from hers, the corners of his mouth turning up by a degree as he tucked a stray tendril of hair back from her face. ‘Good.’
Thank God he was holding her up. She’d never be able to stand on her own, even if she wasn’t on the ice. She could feel the press of his chest against hers, the weight of his eyes on her mouth, she knew what was coming next and her eyes closed in readiness. It was as inevitable as her next breath, the moment they’d been barrelling towards since he’d burst in on her yesterday. He had tracked her down, found her, chased her, brought her here and there was no turning off this road for either of them. Not yet.
Not . . .
She frowned as he stepped back. Opened her eyes.
Not now?
‘We should go.’
She blinked, feeling the world reassert its might, colour and noise intruding as he led her back to the gate. Her blades sank into the safety of the deep rubber mats and she watched as he walked to the bench and untied his laces, shame spreading like a bloom across her cheeks. What had happened? Had she . . . misread the signs? How could she have got it so wrong?
She looked around and caught the stares of every person on the ice, all of them watching. They all knew; they’d all seen. Tears bit as she saw their smirks, the heady exhilaration that had come from relinquishing control on the ice receding like a storm tide, gravity suddenly a crushing force on her chest as she plummeted back to earth with a thud.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Jules, you know that time I told you I was terrified of heights?’ Nettie called over her shoulder, although she didn’t need to shout too hard: the wind was doing a great job of carrying her voice.
‘Yeah!’
‘Do you remember it?’
‘Yeah! Remember it well, actually! You were frozen on the spot when we were doing that team-bonding course in the treetops.’
‘Exactly.’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, which bit of it did you think I was making up?’
Jules’s laugh carried over Nettie’s shoulder and out into space. Which wasn’t that far, given they were now almost at the top of the O2 and officially fifty-two metres above London’s pavements.
Nettie kept her eyes on the guide in front. They were all harnessed to the frame that ran alongside the walkway going over the top of the arena, and for the moment they were all dressed in matching blue suits. For the moment.
‘This is nothing compared to what you did on Tuesday,’ Jules called, just as the thirty-degree gradient flattened out and they arrived on the viewing platform.
‘Maybe let’s not revisit that particular memory just now, OK?’ Nettie asked, taking in the view and trying to feel the beauty, not the terror.
It was just after dawn and the sky was still warming up, tints of colour bleeding through the pale atmosphere and staining it peach. Below them, London looked blackened and bony, showing her there was nowhere to hide – there were no feathery treetops to shelter the birds, no flowerbeds to soften and brighten the streets. Instead, bare leaf canopies fanned against the horizon like hard corals; puddles were iced over on the flat roofs of tower blocks, the Thames sluggish and sandy on its run out to sea, the hesitant sun admiring its reflection in Canary Wharf’s tinted glass windows.
She should still have been in bed, trying to catch up on some of the sleep she hadn’t caught last night, but there had been no option about the timing of this adventure. The tours were booked out for months in advance and it was only yesterday’s starry publicity that had seen the management agree to a before-hours private tour that would tie them in to the Sixth Dare of Christmas. Only Mike was a no-show, proclaimin
g his Saturday mornings with his family as sacrosanct, which Jules translated as meaning he’d already paid his green fees.
‘Well done, everyone,’ the guide said, as they all tried to catch their breath. ‘Now, I know we ran through the drill on the ground, but I can’t stress enough how vital it is that you keep the harness attached to you at all times. If you were to unclip and slip, well . . . you’d come off a lot worse than James Bond did.’
‘Got it,’ Jules nodded firmly, like she was the one who was about to disrobe.
They turned at the sound of the puffing, just as two more members of staff – the poor juniors lumbered with carrying the suit up here – arrived. At least she could get the rabbit suit on over the climbing suit.
‘There’s quite a strong wind today,’ the guide said, as another strong gust circled them. ‘So keep low.’
‘That’s easier said than done when you’ve got the waist circumference of a ferry. If I get down, I’m not sure I’ll get back up again,’ Nettie quipped.
‘That’s why you’ve got me, babe,’ Jules said, unzipping the plastic hanging bag and pulling out the suit. ‘Shall we?’
Nettie sighed. ‘So, owling.’
‘You just crouch down on your haunches like this and hang your arms down like wings. You’re meant to look like an owl roosting,’ Caro said. And then seeing Nettie’s expression, she added, ‘It really is very funny when you see it. People have done this in the maddest places.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t want to photograph me on the top of Nelson’s Column,’ Nettie said, stepping into the suit, her feet sliding into the paws like they were outsized slippers.
‘Actually, that was a location we discussed,’ Daisy said, looking long and lean in her suit.
‘Oh my God! I was joking!’ Nettie gasped, momentarily taking her hands off the handrail and almost giving the guide a heart attack. ‘It’s fine, it’s fine,’ she muttered. ‘I’m still attached.’
‘But then Jamie came up with this yesterday afternoon. It is far more original, you’ve got to admit.’ She simpered slightly. ‘He’s got some great ideas.’