Breaking the Ice

by Mandy Baggot

  She remembered vividly the moment when Thomas had asked her to go upstairs with him. Her heart had felt like it was going to burst right out of her chest it was hammering so hard. He had held her hand and pulled her towards him to kiss her and then, just as she started to think the moment had arrived, just as she could almost taste the sweetness of his lips, Cleo burst out of her bedroom, shirt undone, tears streaming down her face with Miles Jones hurrying after her.

  And so had ended her moment with Thomas Clancy. The rest of the night was spent consoling her sister about Miles Jones’ wife and two children. His family at home hadn’t bothered Cleo, it never did, she wasn’t looking for commitment, but when it came down to it something had pricked Miles’ conscience and Cleo’s birthday hadn’t gone with the bang she had hoped for.

  The only other time was a slightly closer brush with sex when she actually managed to get down to her underwear. The object of her affection had been Joe Phillips who used to work at one of the nearby independent bookshops. Bookshops did more for Samantha than boutiques, so if she did have to venture up West for groceries or something Cleo couldn’t possibly live without, she would inevitably end up browsing in a bookshop. Joe had ordered her a copy of a book she’d been waiting for that she believed to have gone out of print.

  She had returned to the bookshop a week after Joe had placed the order and it was then, as he was putting the book into a bag that he asked her on a date. She hadn’t known what to say at first. She was thrown at the suggestion as she didn’t look her best. Her hair hadn’t been washed in two days (thanks to Cleo’s inability to let her know that she had pinched her shampoo and used it all) and she was wearing a pastel pink tracksuit (Cleo having hand washed a scarf with the last liquitab). But Joe had been clever, he hadn’t worded the invite like he was asking her out, he had said it more like they were going to casually bump into one another at one of the nearby pizzerias. So, before she really knew it, she found herself accepting and meeting him for a meal.

  Cleo leant her the freshly washed scarf and helped her choose what to wear. She washed her hair, put on some perfume and felt excited about the prospect of going on a date. And to begin with it had gone well. Joe was interesting and amusing. He talked, but not too much, he asked her questions but she didn’t feel like she was being interrogated and he made her laugh. He also paid her compliments. That usually would have embarrassed her, but he had such an easy way about him she accepted what he said without thinking too hard about it.

  The evening went well and she invited him back for coffee. They listened to some music and talked some more and then he had kissed her. It had been nice, much nicer than most of the kisses she had had and without needing too much consideration, she let him lead her to her bedroom. And that was when it had all gone wrong.

  She had let him undress her, right down to her underwear, bought especially for the occasion (M&S, but the nice stuff, sexy with a bit of class but also sturdy and durable). And then she had helped him to unbutton his shirt. It was at that moment, in the half light, she had seen it. He had a pierced nipple.

  The breath had caught in her throat and it was all she could do to stop herself screaming. Instead she froze, for what seemed like forever, unable to take her eyes from the glittering, gold ring that was proudly protruding from Joe’s chest. And then, thawing from the momentary freeze, she fled. She leapt up from the bed, grabbed her clothes and ran for the sanctuary of the bathroom without saying a word.

  And there she stayed, sat on the toilet, clutching her clothes to her, the image of the piercing stuck in her mind. It wasn’t nice, it scared her, it reminded her of pirates and Peter Andre. She listened for a sound, some indication of Joe moving, or hopefully, leaving and eventually he knocked lightly on the bathroom door inquiring as to whether she was OK. She had muttered something hurriedly about food poisoning and quickly cited the pepperoni as the culprit. But predominantly she had made it clear she would not be coming out of the bathroom any time soon.

  Joe went and when she felt it was safe to return to her room she discovered he’d left her a note, suggesting another date and leaving his mobile number. She hadn’t called or been in the bookshop since. It was a shame because the bookshop had been one of her favourites.

  She knew, if she was honest, that the nipple ring wasn’t really the problem. It had just been a trigger. It was something in her subconscious that called a halt to proceedings. The trigger could have been too much body hair or not enough, a Celtic tattoo, gaily patterned underwear or bad breath. Something shocked her into realising the significance of the event and made her call time on the moment. She could only assume it meant she wasn’t ready but if she wasn’t ready at her age, when would she be?

  ‘I could always set you up with one of them. The blonde haired one, he’s called Connor, he’s about your age and he drives a Jaguar,’ Cleo informed her sister.

  ‘I remember the last time you set me up with someone,’ Samantha replied, sitting down at the table.

  ‘It was ages ago,’ Cleo responded.

  ‘His name was Gary and he took me to the speedway,’ Samantha reminded her.

  ‘I get your point, but Connor’s different. I mean he drives a Jaguar,’ Cleo repeated.

  ‘So did Inspector Morse,’ Samantha answered.

  ‘What are you doing tonight anyway? I thought we might go up West, you know the classy bit. There’s a new wine bar opening, half price drinks all night,’ Cleo spoke.

  ‘I’m working,’ Samantha informed her.

  ‘Again! How come? There’s no show tonight is there? I thought the skating didn’t start ‘til tomorrow. By the way I’ve invited Connor to the show, along with Jeremy. He’s really hot, and a couple of the girls whose names I don’t know yet, so you can see what you think of him,’ Cleo spoke.

  ‘One look at me in my Civic Hall sweater should scupper any ideas you might have of a beautiful romance. Tonight’s the committee meeting for the Pigeon Association, I’m working the bar,’ Samantha informed her.

  ‘Thrilling, I’m sure you’ll meet Mr Right there,’ Cleo responded.

  ‘Unlike you, I don’t treat every second of my day as an opportunity to meet a man,’ Samantha told her sister.

  ‘Well, perhaps you should. Well maybe not a pigeon fancier, but there’s no harm in giving Connor a chance,’ Cleo suggested.

  ‘I don’t think you realise how much hard work it is selling programmes. I doubt I’ll have a second to even look in his direction, let alone give him a chance,’ Samantha replied, sipping her tea.

  ‘Well the only person I’m going to be looking at is Jimmy Lloyd,’ Cleo announced, a smile spreading across her face.

  ‘Jimmy Lloyd. You’ve heard of him?’ Samantha said, unable to hide the surprise in her voice.

  ‘Are you kidding? Don’t you read those magazines I give you? He’s had more than his fair share of exposure in Star Life magazine,’ Cleo informed her.

  ‘He’s an ice skater. Ice skaters aren’t in magazines like Star Life,’ Samantha replied.

  ‘Ordinarily no, but let’s just say he isn’t just renowned for his skating abilities. He’s dated anyone who’s anyone,’ Cleo elaborated.

  ‘Really? Well he looked quite ordinary to me. I’m sure I haven’t seen him in any of your magazines, perhaps you’re getting him mixed up with someone else,’ Samantha suggested.

  ‘You’ve met him! My God, you’ve been in the house for over half an hour and you’ve held back this important information from me! What’s he like? What did he say? What was he wearing? Did he look cool?’ Cleo babbled excitedly.

  ‘I notice you’ve temporarily forgotten all about the boys in your office with the smart cars,’ Samantha remarked.

  ‘Come on Sam, Jimmy Lloyd has to be the biggest celebrity Woolston Civic Hall’s ever had appear there. If you’ve had a conversation with him then your sister deserves to know all the details,’ Cleo continued, her voice still retaining its excitement.

  ‘Actually the
lead singer of the Queen tribute band won Stars in Their Eyes and there’s a rumour that Jane McDonald might be coming to the hall next year.’

  ‘Sam what is wrong with you?!’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m not the one sounding like a groupie. He was very ordinary and we didn’t speak. I was on the phone and gave him brief written directions to the dressing rooms. The whole thing lasted less than a minute,’ Samantha explained and she picked Cleo’s abandoned plate from the table and sniffed at it.

  ‘My God, there are very few occasions in my life when I wish I was you but this is one of them. I would have killed to have been across a desk from him,’ Cleo remarked, her eyes glazing over as she daydreamed.

  ‘Don’t you mean across a desk with him! Is my corned beef in here?’ Samantha questioned, eyeing the leftover meal with suspicion.

  ‘You are unbelievable,’ Cleo replied, snatching the plate from her sister and standing up from her seat.

  Three

  That evening the bar was deathly quiet. There were no shows, there was no passing trade to speak of and the pigeon fanciers were ensconced in their meeting. Samantha had already polished all the glasses, rewashed those with hardened, seemingly irremovable lipstick marks and now she was reorganising the shelves. Still, it was almost 10.30pm and the meeting would soon be over which meant the members of the Pigeon Association would shortly be flocking to the bar for a nightcap before heading home.

  She was just about to move the crisps boxes into alphabetical order when the doors to the conference room swung open and people began to head towards the bar area. Samantha put down the crisps and hurriedly washed her hands. Any moment now she would have to attempt to make at least twenty coffees using the completely unreliable coffee machine.

  But no one seemed to be coming up to the bar at all. Then she saw Arnold Forester, dark hair, thick Brian Blessed beard, and her hopes were raised. He always had a whisky and lemonade after a meeting. However he hurriedly headed for the exit without even looking in her direction. Hot on Arnold’s heels was Michael Knowles, grey hair, moustache like Hercule Poirot, usually a double brandy. What was wrong with them tonight? Where were they going?

  As more and more people left the hall without so much as a glance her way, Samantha lost heart and again picked up the box of crisps. She bent down to put it back under the bar and when she stood up she jumped. Jimmy Lloyd was sat on one of the bar stools in front of her.

  ‘Hello again,’ he greeted.

  ‘Hello, sorry, I didn’t see you there,’ Samantha replied, hurriedly picking up a packet of filter coffee and crinkling it noisily in her hands.

  She then shook the box containing more packets of coffee, in the hope the sound would attract the pigeon fanciers to the bar facility.

  ‘Would you recommend the coffee?’ Jimmy enquired, watching her shaking the box up and down.

  ‘Sorry?’ Samantha asked, still looking at the exit and wondering why all her potential customers were going home.

  ‘The coffee you’re shaking up there, would you recommend it?’ Jimmy repeated.

  Mrs Danvers, the treasurer of the Pigeon Association caught Samantha’s attention. The buxom lady, Fern Britton before the gastric band, had her trademark, Millets tent-style dress on, in fuchsia. Samantha offered a smile but tonight she wasn’t acknowledged. Mrs Danvers swished towards the door. She was a sweet sherry and a packet of pistachios. Now all hope of significant takings was truly gone.

  Jimmy cleared his throat. This brought home the fact she had practically ignored him and he was a customer she could do with.

  ‘Oh I’m sorry. What can I get you?’ Samantha asked him, putting down the coffee she had been drumming against her hand.

  ‘Coffee seems like a good choice,’ Jimmy responded, smiling at her.

  He had white teeth. Very white teeth. The kind of teeth that could advertise the after affects of Pearl Drops.

  ‘Well, you’re very welcome to have a coffee, but I have to admit the machine is temperamental and they had the training course for the temperamental machine when I was on holiday so…’ Samantha began to babble.

  ‘Instant coffee will be fine, or tea. Black, no sugar,’ Jimmy responded, again smiling at her.

  He had a small scar, no more than half an inch long, leading from his bottom lip. It was barely noticeable, probably because of the beautiful teeth.

  ‘Which would you prefer? Coffee or tea? I mean we have a choice of teas. There’s fruit tea, green tea, Earl Grey,’ Samantha spoke, digging into the box of bags under the bar and producing several different packets.

  ‘Which would you recommend?’ Jimmy enquired, resting one elbow on the bar and looking directly at her, a smile still on his lips.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t say I was a tea connoisseur or anything but I quite like the blackberry. Although the mint tea is our best seller,’ Samantha responded, holding up the appropriate bags.

  ‘Then I’ll go with your recommendation and have the blackberry,’ Jimmy answered.

  ‘OK,’ Samantha replied and she hurried along the bar to where the kettle was kept.

  ‘So you were expecting it to be busy tonight,’ Jimmy commented as he watched her prepare a cup and saucer.

  ‘No, no, not really,’ Samantha answered.

  ‘So you were going to fill up the temperamental coffee machine and risk using it just for yourself? You should’ve said, if you were going to take a chance I night have been persuaded to try it,’ Jimmy told her.

  Samantha felt her cheeks turning crimson and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She saw a grin play on his lips. She wished she had paid attention to more than the agony aunt columns of Star Life magazine, perhaps there would have been an article about his cosmetic teeth whitening.

  ‘Pigeon fanciers,’ Samantha blurted out, the words tumbling forth before she had gained control of her mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The Woolston Pigeon Fanciers Association meets here on a monthly basis. We were expecting them to want some drinks after their meeting,’ Samantha elaborated.

  ‘I see. So you don’t work the bar every night?’ Jimmy enquired.

  ‘No! Goodness no! I mean I do have a life you know! I wouldn’t want to spend all day and all night here,’ Samantha exclaimed with a nervous laugh.

  What was the matter with her? She was starting to perspire and she had goose bumps on her arms. She didn’t feel at all well. Could you catch viruses from Brylcream?

  ‘Well, that’s what I’ll be doing for the next few weeks,’ Jimmy replied.

  The kettle came to the boil and Samantha was able to hide her blushes in the steam. She poured in the water and put the tea bag into the cup to infuse.

  ‘I didn’t mean that spending all day and night here was awful, just that it isn’t for me,’ Samantha told him as she came back along the bar and placed the tea in front of him.

  ‘I’m glad for you. I was beginning to think you didn’t have a home, seeing that you eat your lunch in the sound booth,’ Jimmy spoke, toying with the tea bag and looking up at her.

  Samantha let out a loud nervous laugh. It was something she always did when she felt backed into a corner. It was an affliction she had had since childhood when Mary Kennedy once suggested in maths class that Samantha didn’t know how to do long division. Of course Samantha had no idea how to do long division at the time but she couldn’t let Mary Kennedy know that. So she had done the only thing she could do, she had let out the loudest laugh she could manage and shook her head at Mary Kennedy as if the very idea of her being unable to accomplish anything was utterly ridiculous.

  Jimmy was just looking at her, watching her laugh, seeing her hold her sides and bend forward onto the bar in a fit of hysterics. After what seemed like an age Samantha took a deep breath, wheezed, and raised her head, facing him.

  ‘Eat my lunch in the sound booth! I’m sorry, that’s just so funny. It’s ninety five pence for the tea by the way,’ Samantha replied, still smilin
g with laughter.

  ‘I have to say I’ve told much better jokes and had less of a reaction,’ Jimmy responded as he reached into his jacket for his wallet.

  ‘Oh if only you knew how amusing that was. I mean if I ate my lunch in the sound booth that would imply I have nothing better to do with my lunch hour than sit in the sound booth and goodness that is so not true. I mean who would want to sit in a dark, dingy, sound booth on their own?’ Samantha exclaimed, rolling her eyes.

  ‘I don’t know, I presumed it was a quiet place away from everything. I don’t think there’s anything wrong in wanting a little quiet now and then,’ Jimmy told her.

  ‘No, for some people that’s just fine, but not me. I’m not one for quiet,’ Samantha stated, the words almost catching in her throat as she spoke them.

  ‘No? So does that mean you’re a woman who knows how to party?’ Jimmy enquired, taking a sip of his tea.

  ‘Party was going to be my middle name until my dad suggested Margaret. Not that my middle name is Margaret, it was just his suggestion, at the time,’ Samantha said, wishing she had never started this conversation.

  ‘I see,’ Jimmy replied with a nod.

  Samantha had never felt so much of a fool as she did now. What was she saying? It was like some horrid Harry Potter style goblin had taken control of her mouth and planted random things in it. Any second now she would be talking about owls and broomsticks.

  ‘I don’t have a middle name,’ she blurted out, still having no control over her voice.

  ‘No? That seems a shame, since your dad had his heart set on Margaret,’ Jimmy enquired.

  ‘My sister has a middle name, it’s Charlotte. Cleo Charlotte Smith. She had a spate of making people call her CC for a while, when she was younger, but now it’s just Cleo,’ Samantha continued to talk.