Breaking the Ice

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘Oh I can’t really skate, not properly - not any more,’ Samantha responded, swallowing the lump that was forming in her throat.

  Jimmy wasn’t coming.

  As soon as Milo left the auditorium Samantha sat down and practically ripped the ice skates from her feet. She slipped her shoes back on, ran around the arena turning all the lights off and hurried from the hall to begin checking all the other rooms.

  Twenty minutes later she was in the repaired elevator of the Metropole, waiting for it to stop at the appropriate floor. Her heart was beating so hard she almost couldn’t breathe. She had run all the way there, it was almost a mile. A hundred different thoughts were going through her head. She didn’t know what she was going to say to him, perhaps he wouldn’t even want to see her, but she needed to see him. She had to look into the Minstrel coloured eyes, even if it was for the last time and tell him how much he meant to her.

  The elevator doors opened and she hurriedly walked down the corridor until she got to Jimmy’s room. She stood outside, just looking at the room number, trying to compose herself and wondering what was going to come out of her mouth when she saw him. She raised her hand and knocked firmly on the door. Holding her breath she waited. There was the sound of movement inside and then the door opened.

  Samantha opened her mouth to speak and then stopped herself. Her mouth was left hanging open like a jowly hound.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the woman asked.

  She was about forty five, had curlers in her hair and was dressed in a Metropole Hotel dressing gown. Samantha had worn one only that morning after her shower. It had been Jimmy’s and far too big for her but it had felt nice being wrapped up in something of his. She had sat on the sofa, curled her legs up under her, eaten the tuna bagel and drank the blackberry tea. For a second all her worries about the hall and reporters had evaporated. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  ‘I, er, um, I’m looking for Jimmy Lloyd, is he there?’ Samantha spoke, the words only just escaping.

  Who was this woman? What was she doing in Jimmy’s room? Why did she look like Robin Williams in Mrs Doubtfire?

  ‘I’m sorry you must have the wrong room,’ the woman responded.

  ‘No, this is his room, it’s definitely this room. I was here, only this morning, it was this room. I don’t forget anything, you see I have a great memory. It’s a curse but there you go and it was this room. Is he there?’ Samantha questioned as she tried to look past the woman into the room.

  ‘No! There’s no one here, except me, trying to get some sleep. Do you know what time it is?’ the woman enquired.

  ‘Yes, I do, I know. Could I just come in and look? I mean he should be here, this is his room,’ Samantha said still straining to see if she could look around the woman and into the room.

  She couldn’t see anything, she could see the edge of the bed and that was all. She had been in that bed - with Jimmy.

  ‘I’ve told you, there’s no one in this room but me, now please leave,’ the woman spoke, stepping back into the room and preparing to close the door.

  ‘Please, I’m sorry, you don’t understand, I have to see him. I have to tell him…’ Samantha began as she started getting emotional.

  She could feel the laughter coming and she tried to breathe out to stop it escaping. She puffed out long breaths of air and the woman looked at her in horror, wondering what was going to happen next.

  ‘Are you alright?’ the woman enquired as Samantha breathed out and then let out a laugh she was unable to stop.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I just need to see Jimmy. Are you sure he isn’t in there? Could I look? Please, just to make sure,’ Samantha asked as she coughed.

  ‘If I let you look will you leave?’ the woman enquired, sounding very irritated.

  ‘Yes, of course - absolutely,’ Samantha responded gratefully.

  The woman stepped aside and Samantha hurried into the bedroom.

  It looked different somehow. Bare. There was nothing of Jimmy’s there. The dressing table was full of face creams and make-up products and there were three wigs on stands. Samantha turned around and looked at the bed. She had been in that bed, just last night - with Jimmy. Now it had an extra blanket on and there were more face creams on the night stand. How many face products did one person need?

  ‘See, I told you. No one here but me,’ the woman spoke, folding her arms across her chest and staring at Samantha with an ‘I told you so’ look on her face.

  ‘Could I just check the bathroom?’ Samantha asked.

  ‘No you can’t! Come on, out!’ the woman ordered and she shooed Samantha towards the door.

  ‘But, you don’t understand, this is important. He must have had to change rooms, could you…’ Samantha began as the woman ushered her out into the corridor.

  The room door was shut in her face and Samantha didn’t know what to do. For a moment she just stared at the door, remembering standing there the previous night, recalling how Jimmy had come to the door looking worn down. Then she had drunk the vodka, then they had talked and then they’d made love.

  There had to be some mistake. He must have switched rooms, he had to be here somewhere.

  She ran. She ran down the corridor, and down the stairs. He had to be here, he couldn’t be gone - it was just a case of finding him. The receptionist would know.

  By the time she got into the reception area she was crying, she was sweating and she was gasping for air. She rang the bell on the reception desk and no one came. She banged it up and down, over and over, until it came apart. A piece fell onto the marble floor making a loud clatter.

  Finally, hearing the commotion, a dark haired woman in her twenties wearing a maroon Metropole hotel uniform approached the desk.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the receptionist asked politely.

  ‘I need to see Jimmy Lloyd. He’s staying here, he was here last night. I went to his room but he isn’t there and I need to see him. So could you tell me which room he’s moved to please,’ Samantha babbled, becoming more agitated by the moment.

  ‘I’m sorry Madam, I’m not at liberty to give out that information,’ the receptionist responded with a smile that was somewhat smug.

  ‘But I know him, he knows me - we know each other. I need to see him and he would want you to tell me which room he’s in,’ Samantha tried to explain.

  ‘I’m sorry but we have strict privacy rules,’ the receptionist told her.

  ‘Um, er, OK, yes. OK, hang on, I know his code word. I know the code word he used to book in here, it’s “Toronto”. “Toronto”, because that’s where he’s from – “Toronto”,’ Samantha stated loudly, banging her hands on the desk as enthusiastically as if she had just successfully answered the final question on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.

  ‘In that case Madam I can tell you he checked out this afternoon,’ the receptionist informed, looking at the computer screen.

  ‘Checked out,’ Samantha said in no more than a whisper.

  ‘Yes Madam,’ the receptionist affirmed.

  ‘No, there must be some mistake. He can’t have checked out, he isn’t leaving until tomorrow,’ Samantha spoke as she began to sway, feeling dizzy.

  ‘I can assure you he checked out, this afternoon at three twenty. Now is that all Madam? Or can I help you with anything else?’ the receptionist wanted to know.

  ‘He can’t have checked out, he can’t have. I need to see him, I need to - I need to…’ Samantha said, her words slowing up as her body began to shut down.

  She gasped for air and she looked for something to hold on to as the coughing started.

  The chandelier on the ceiling above her head began to spin around as she looked up at it and the last thing she saw before she hit the marble floor was the receptionist’s name badge. ‘Tiffany’.

  Twenty Four

  Tiffany had called an ambulance. The ambulance had taken Samantha to the hospital despite her gasped protestations. Then, such was her incoherent speech about trying to find some
one who had to be at the Metropole hotel and her relentless repetition that there was a conspiracy to keep him hidden from her, they had called the psychiatric doctor. He had phoned Cleo and she and Jeremy had turned up within minutes. Cleo didn’t even have make-up on and she was wearing her Hello Kitty pyjamas.

  On the drive home in Jeremy’s Jaguar, Cleo had bombarded Samantha with questions, none of which she had answered. She had completely lost the power of speech. She just sat in the back of the car, looking out the window, feeling like her life was over. She didn’t want to talk, what was the point? Talking wasn’t going to bring Jimmy back. She couldn’t do any more, he had gone and she had no way of contacting him. His last memories of her would be her telling him ‘Drink/don’t drink, I don’t care’.

  Now she was led in bed, listening to Cleo and Jeremy discussing their action plan for dealing with her, right outside her bedroom door.

  ‘No, she hasn’t been like this before. I don’t know what’s happened. When she left here tonight she wasn’t in this state, she was going to meet this Darren and sort things out. He’s going away or something,’ Samantha heard Cleo speak.

  ‘They said she had some sort of panic attack and blacked out. Has she done that before?’ she heard Jeremy inquire.

  ‘She does that sometimes. She’s a bit nervy, a bit cautious about things. Sometimes situations get on top of her,’ Cleo responded.

  ‘Isn’t there medication for it?’ Jeremy asked.

  ‘Jeremy! It isn’t an illness like that. She just doesn’t have much confidence, particularly with men. I don’t know why, I mean she’s not ugly or anything. But it’s worse this time, I think she really fell for this Darren,’ Cleo spoke.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Jeremy asked.

  ‘I’m going to talk to her and see if I can find out exactly what’s happened and exactly what she was doing at that hotel,’ Cleo told him.

  Cleo knocked on Samantha’s bedroom door and Samantha immediately snapped her eyes shut and pulled the duvet up around her neck. Cleo didn’t wait to be invited in before she entered the room and walked up to the bed. Samantha could feel her sister looking at her and a reflex reaction made her swallow.

  ‘I know you’re not asleep so there’s no use pretending. We need to talk,’ Cleo spoke, plonking herself down on the edge of the bed.

  Samantha didn’t respond, keeping her eyes as tightly shut as she could.

  ‘Sam, come on, we’re worried about you. What happened?’ Cleo questioned and she stroked Samantha’s hair gently and tucked it behind her ear in a motherly fashion.

  Samantha snapped her eyes open, sat up and moved away from Cleo’s touching, pulling the duvet cover right up to her neck defensively.

  ‘What happened with Darren?’ Cleo continued.

  ‘Nothing,’ Samantha replied with a sniff.

  ‘Well something must have happened. You don’t go from leaving here telling me you probably wouldn’t be home, to passing out in the Metropole hotel without something having happened,’ Cleo stated.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Samantha answered and she lay back down and closed her eyes again.

  ‘Maybe you don’t want to talk about it but I do! Your behaviour these last couple of days has been completely out of character. You’ve been like a different person and that’s got to be down to this Darren. I’d like to meet him and give him a piece of my mind. He’s turned my predictable sister into…’ Cleo began, the volume of her voice rising.

  ‘Into what?’ Samantha wanted to know.

  ‘Into someone out of control! Someone who gets arrested, someone who passes out in the best hotel in the borough - someone who’s stopped telling me the whole story,’ Cleo shrieked.

  ‘I’m really tired,’ Samantha responded, turning her face away from Cleo.

  ‘I’m not going to go away just because you don’t want to talk,’ Cleo carried on, unmoving.

  ‘There’s nothing to say,’ Samantha replied sadly.

  ‘Well, did you see Darren? What did he say to you to upset you so much?’ Cleo enquired.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Samantha muttered under her breath not letting her sister see her devastated expression.

  ‘What? I thought he wasn’t going until tomorrow,’ Cleo replied.

  ‘Well he probably had a change of plan when I stood there and told him I didn’t care what he did,’ Samantha spoke as she replayed the scene in her head.

  ‘Drink/don’t drink, I don’t care’. It was the worst possible thing she could have said.

  ‘But I thought you went to see him to make up,’ Cleo said a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘I thought he would be there after the show, like he’s always been. But he wasn’t, it was just Milo. So I went to find him, at his hotel,’ Samantha began to babble as the emotion she felt welled up in her chest.

  ‘I think I’m losing the thread of this, his hotel? I thought he lived in one of those posh houses up West,’ Cleo remarked not understanding.

  ‘And I went to his room and a woman answered the door. She looked like Robin Williams and she said he wasn’t there, it was her room. But it couldn’t be her room because I was there with him, last night. So then I went to reception and I asked Tiffany where he was and eventually, after going on a power trip about privacy laws, she told me he’d checked out that afternoon. He left, after we spoke, after I was so horrible to him - after I said I didn’t care,’ Samantha carried on, talking at full speed and becoming distressed as she recounted the tale.

  ‘He was living at the hotel?’ Cleo questioned.

  ‘And now he won’t be coming back. He thinks I don’t care. He left and I didn’t get a chance to tell him properly how I feel, to let him know that I support what he’s doing and that I understand,’ Samantha spoke as she began to cry.

  ‘Well, won’t his mother have a contact number for him?’ Cleo asked her sister.

  ‘What?’ Samantha queried as she reached for a tissue from the box beside her bed.

  ‘Darren’s mother, the one he took to the skating show - you could get his number from her,’ Cleo suggested helpfully.

  ‘You don’t understand, he doesn’t have a mother. Well I mean he probably does have a mother but not like you think. He doesn’t have a posh house up West either,’ Samantha stated with a sigh.

  ‘What? But I thought…’ Cleo began, looking even more bewildered.

  ‘There isn’t a Darren Jacobs Cleo, I made him up - along with his mother, the posh house and the camp red shirt and chinos,’ Samantha admitted, trying to stop the tears spilling from her eyes.

  ‘What? Well why would you do that?’ Cleo wanted to know.

  ‘Because you wouldn’t have believed the truth,’ Samantha answered, looking at her sister.

  ‘For God’s sake Sam, stop talking in riddles. What’s been going on with you? Are you dating someone or not?’ Cleo wanted to know.

  ‘Yes, I was dating someone and I’m in love with him,’ Samantha spoke her heart breaking as she thought about the last few weeks.

  ‘But it isn’t Darren,’ Cleo spoke.

  ‘Aren’t you listening?! Darren doesn’t exist! It’s Jimmy! Jimmy Lloyd! I’m in love with Jimmy Lloyd!’ Samantha exclaimed her voice breaking as she spoke his name.

  ‘Good God,’ Cleo remarked, putting her hands to her mouth in shock.

  ‘And he’s gone now and he won’t be coming back,’ Samantha added the lump in her throat almost choking her.

  Cleo watched her sister crumple and cry and then she took a deep breath and spoke.

  ‘Oh Sam, stop with the theatrics. I don’t believe you’re doing this! I thought this was something you’d grown out of!’

  ‘What?’ Samantha questioned as she wiped the tears away from her eyes with her fingers.

  ‘Making up stories. I mean Sam, how farfetched is this?! This out does anything else you’ve ever told me - even the story about Michael Jackson being booked for the Civic Hall,’ Cleo spoke, sounding annoyed.

>   ‘He was booked for the Civic Hall, not the real one, obviously, it was a joke. I didn’t think you’d take it seriously,’ Samantha responded.

  ‘Just like this is a joke. You and Jimmy Lloyd. Am I really supposed to believe this? I mean, Jimmy Lloyd, who’s been out with models and film stars and could basically have any woman he wanted! Do you remember when you told me Aaron Watkins had asked you out on a date? Aaron Watkins, the head boy, the best looking boy at school. I believed you, I don’t know why really, but I believed you. And, lo and behold, of course it wasn’t true. He was dating Caroline Rodgers, the carnival queen and that is how the pecking order works,’ Cleo said accusingly.

  ‘I was fourteen then, I’m not fourteen now. And he did speak to me at the tuck shop. Anyway this, this reaction is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew how you would be and that’s why I invented Darren,’ Samantha told her.

  ‘Rather good at inventing things aren’t you? Well now I don’t know what to believe. Yesterday you told me you lost your virginity. Am I supposed to believe that was to Jimmy Lloyd! Ha! Jimmy Lloyd the serial womaniser, bedding my sister the virgin! I have to say Sam, it’s a sensational storyline and completely and utterly unbelievable!’ Cleo exclaimed with a laugh.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ Samantha spoke as the tears welled up in her eyes again.

  ‘With pleasure. I was feeling sorry for you, I really thought you’d found someone you cared about but no, now you come out with this phoney story about a famous ice skater. Someone who just happened to have a conversation with you when you were working the bar one time. I’m not saying another word to you until you’re ready to tell the truth about whatever’s made you like this,’ Cleo told her and she pointed her finger in an accusing way.

  Samantha just pulled the duvet cover up around her again and stared blankly at the wall. Cleo let out a loud sigh of displeasure and left the room, banging the door behind her.

  Samantha sniffed and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. And then, suddenly, she whipped the duvet cover off, leapt out of bed and bent down on the floor on her hands and knees. She pulled out the copies of Star Life magazine from under the bed and started leafing through them manically. She looked at one after another until she found what she was looking for. It was the picture of Jimmy, taken six months ago, coming out of rehab, looking how he had looked the day they had met. She ran her fingers over the photo, touching his cheek, his hair, his mouth. She would give anything to turn back the clock and say something different.