Breaking the Ice

by Mandy Baggot

  She hugged the magazine to her chest and began to cry all over again. In the very same week she had lost her beloved Civic Hall and the only man she had ever loved.

  Twenty Five

  They were putting sold signs across the estate agent’s boards. The boards had only been up for a week and already someone had purchased the hall. Samantha felt queasy as she watched the ‘SOLD’ banner being plastered across the board. She knew there was more than a strong possibility that a developer had bought it and within weeks the Civic Hall would be demolished to make way for flats for people on benefits. She shivered with the realisation that the very place she was sitting would soon be nothing but a pile of bricks. All that history and nostalgia gone.

  The phone rang loudly, diverting Samantha’s attention away from the man fiddling with the estate agent’s board outside and back to the box office.

  ‘Good afternoon, Woolston Civic Hall, Samantha speaking.’

  Her greeting was lifeless, cold and uncaring. It was pointless, she may as well have been a robotic voice on an answering machine. To begin with, after the news of the closure had broken, the phone lines had been buzzing with customers demanding refunds. Then, there were those who hadn’t heard the news who rang up to book tickets for events Samantha had already cancelled. And finally, the calls went down to approximately a dozen a day that were from those who wanted last minute tickets to the ice show and ‘to drink in the nostalgia’.

  The ice show, the wonderful ice show that Samantha had so enjoyed she could now hardly bear to watch. Every night she stood by the fire exit, eyes facing the ice yet unseeing. She didn’t see Dana and Andrei or the rest of the company, all she saw in her mind was Jimmy. The visions replayed in her memory over and over again. The way he had lit up the ice with his grace, his speed and his skill, how the crowd had reacted to him, the smile on his face as he saw the joy in theirs. But most of all she remembered how they had skated together, in the empty arena. They’d been all alone, sometimes laughing, sometimes bickering, holding each other, learning from each other - being with each other. Tears sprang to her eyes now as the woman caller asked about Skating on Broadway. She had to clear the lump in her throat before she could speak.

  ‘Yes, erm, we do have some tickets left for the ice show, but they are quite near the back. Do you like Berry Fruits ice cream by the way? We’re doing a special offer - buy two get four free,’ Samantha spoke, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her Civic Hall jumper.

  She hadn’t spoken to Cleo for a week. Not one word. For the most part she had managed to avoid her completely. She went to her bedroom when Cleo was home and only came downstairs when she was sure the coast was clear. It was easy to know when to disappear again as it was impossible to miss the sound of Jeremy’s car when he pulled up outside the house.

  While sitting in her room, avoiding Cleo, reading was all there was to occupy herself. Reading and thinking, thinking while reading, thinking and sleeping, sleeping while thinking and reading. She had read ‘Gobolino the Witch’s Cat’ about five times a day since he had left. She had even brought it into the hall and read it to Gobby.

  It was a hopeless situation. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. In a few days the hall was going to close and she was going to be unemployed. But this prospect, the most awful prospect she could ever have imagined, just didn’t register with her any more. She felt numb about everything that had happened over the past month, it was if it had all been a dream which had turned into a full-on nightmare, and now she didn’t even feel involved in that. It was like she was separated from everything, a spectator as life went on around her.

  ‘Yes Madam, that’s fine. Call back when you’ve spoken to your friend,’ Samantha replied to her customer and ended the call.

  She looked up at her monitor and realised she had been pressing the ‘J’ key over and over again. She pulled off her headset and put it down on the desk.

  The cruel irony of the situation was the restaurant was doing really well. The simple, cheaper, more quickly prepared range of food had been well received. Takings had almost doubled in the evenings and lunchtimes were still popular with the OAPs. It made Samantha feel sick knowing that their ideas were working so well but that it had all been a fruitless exercise.

  She began to leaf through one of the five newspapers she had bought en-route to work that morning. She had bought newspapers every day since just after Jimmy left, scouring them for news. She needed to check for any articles about Jimmy, no matter how small. She just needed a reminder that he existed, that he hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. Samantha didn’t know what she wanted to read, she didn’t know why she expected to see anything but every day she hoped. She read everything, from cover to cover, every paragraph of every column. It passed the time between telephone calls and signing letters of apology to accompany the refund cheques.

  ‘You gave me your lunch.’

  Hearing her sister’s voice so close to her Samantha immediately raised her head from the desk and knocked the newspaper off and onto the floor.

  Cleo was stood in front of her looking bedraggled. Her hair was wet and had turned into a wiry fuzz. She looked less than happy.

  ‘I just had to size up the shittiest one bed flat I’ve ever been in. I get outside, gasp for air, shake the fleas off me and think I’ll have a bite to eat to take away the taint of tat from the back of my throat. So, I get the sandwich out of my bag and the smell makes me feel sicker than I did when I set foot in the dump in Fosters Gardens. It’s tuna, it’s yours,’ Cleo continued and she took the offending item out of her bag and placed it on the desk in front of her sister.

  ‘Oh, sorry, I…’ Samantha began, finding the situation awkward and beginning to blush.

  ‘Where’s mine?’ Cleo demanded.

  ‘Oh yes, sorry it’ll be in my bag, I’ll just get it,’ Samantha spoke and she hurriedly scrambled off her chair and headed towards the pegs.

  She rifled through her bag, dropping things on the floor as she did so, but then finally produced a neatly wrapped package and rushed back to her desk to hand it to Cleo.

  ‘Sorry, I must have taken the wrong one this morning and…’ Samantha began, stumbling over her words and not able to look her sister in the eye.

  ‘This is stupid,’ Cleo stated.

  ‘I’m sorry, I should have checked the packets. I mean usually I do but…’ Samantha started.

  ‘Not the sandwich Sam - this - us - not speaking - you going to your bedroom all the time,’ Cleo told her seriously as she dropped the cream cheese and Worcester sauce sandwich into her bag.

  ‘Oh,’ Samantha answered not knowing what else to say.

  ‘We live in the same house, it isn’t practical,’ Cleo continued.

  ‘No, I guess not,’ Samantha replied her cheeks reddening as she still tried to avoid her sister’s gaze.

  ‘Jeremy says that underneath it all you and I are too alike,’ Cleo stated.

  ‘Oh, I don’t really think…’ Samantha began unsure of Jeremy’s analogy.

  ‘I don’t believe him! I mean it’s probably the most stupid thing he’s ever said but I know why he said it. He wants us to make up. I haven’t been myself since all this happened and I’m always on edge when we’re not speaking and Jeremy’s wearing it and I don’t want him to go off me. He’s a good one, you know - one worth hanging on to,’ Cleo gabbled, pulling at a tendril of hair that was dripping water onto her face.

  ‘Well I…’ Samantha started.

  ‘Look, I don’t know what happened with you last week. I know you’ve been under pressure here, with the council and everything and I know how much this place means to you, no matter how bizarre I think that is - but I want to call a truce. I want to get back to how things were. You know, you slagging off my cooking and knocking on my door at inopportune moments. I don’t like the awkward silences, I’m just no good with quiet, you know that,’ Cleo continued.

  ‘Yes,’ Samantha responded.

  ‘J
eremy says that if we make up he’ll foot the bill for a slap up Indian meal. Poppadoms, bhajis, main course and one of those funny ice creams you like - or another meal - it doesn’t have to be Indian. Did you say yes? As in, yes we’re calling a truce?’ Cleo questioned finally pausing for breath.

  ‘Yes,’ Samantha answered, smiling at her sister.

  ‘Oh good! I’m so glad that’s all done and dusted. I’m not very good with making up. So, shall I tell Jeremy to book a table at the Taj Mahal? Next week sometime? Which night is best for you?’ Cleo questioned.

  ‘Well, I won’t be free for a couple of weeks, not until - the hall closes,’ Samantha told her a lump forming in her throat as she said the words.

  ‘Oh, yes, I saw the men outside. Wonder who’s bought the place and what it’s going to be? I think they should turn it into a multi-screen cinema. Perhaps you could get a job there, I could see you as usherette,’ Cleo remarked.

  ‘It’ll be houses, I’m certain of it, or housing association flats - blocks of them, all filled with pregnant fifteen year olds,’ Samantha commented angrily.

  ‘Well, actually, on the job front, I’ve been asking around and I might just have found you something already. They’re interviewing for staff at the tourist information centre! Chantelle from the office saw the advert in the paper and I thought it would be absolutely perfect for you. I mean what you don’t know about this area could be written on a - cocktail stick,’ Cleo announced excitedly.

  ‘Oh, wow, well, that’s - great,’ Samantha responded completely unenthused by the idea.

  ‘Anyway, we can talk about it later, now we are talking again - just promise me one thing,’ Cleo spoke, smiling at her sister as she prepared to leave.

  ‘What?’ Samantha asked.

  ‘No more fantasies! No more made up stories about people like Jimmy Lloyd! If you want a date Sam I can get you a date. Maybe we can invite Connor to the Indian,’ Cleo said cheerily.

  ‘Well, I…’ Samantha began, not knowing what to say.

  ‘I’ll see you later, probably annoy you by burning my dinner,’ Cleo called as she headed towards the exit.

  ‘Yeah, bye,’ Samantha answered, putting on a false smile as she watched her sister leave.

  As soon as Cleo and her oversized floral handbag were out of sight Samantha’s face dropped. No more fantasies about Jimmy Lloyd. She only wished it was that easy.

  ‘Are you sick of answering these phones because I am,’ Felicity remarked to Samantha later that afternoon.

  ‘Yes,’ Samantha replied, not looking up from her newspaper.

  ‘Why don’t people know the hall’s closing? I mean it’s been on the radio and in the local paper and on that stupid Tonight with Carol Greaves show. I don’t like that Carol Greaves. She’s always got a smirk on her face and she wears leather too much. It was the tan leather skirt the other night - a woman her age shouldn’t wear leather,’ Felicity remarked, taking a swig of her tea.

  Samantha didn’t respond. She was still scouring the newspapers for any mention of Jimmy. There had been such a fuss in the papers about him leaving the ice show and now there was nothing. It was like the scandal was over and nobody cared what he did now. That was good in a way but not ideal when you needed information.

  ‘You heard from Jimmy?’ Felicity asked as if reading her mind.

  ‘No. Jimmy who? Why would I? Do you mean Jimmy Lloyd?’ Samantha spoke her cheeks glowing as she became flustered.

  ‘God I wouldn’t be hiding away a relationship with him, I mean he’s gorgeous. If I was dating him I would want the whole bloody world knowing about it,’ Felicity remarked.

  ‘We aren’t dating.’

  ‘Come on Sam, I’m not daft. Word is you had that Dana Williams in a head lock over him,’ Felicity informed her.

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Not a great deal gets past Mabel in the restaurant - she heard the screams.’

  And then she found it. It was three short paragraphs, on the bottom of page eight of the last paper she had to look at. It was squeezed between a report about a corn snake in Durham escaping from its tank and another article about a Fife woman’s fight for compensation when her breast implant exploded at thirty thousand feet over the Pyrenees.

  Recovery on ice?

  After being dramatically pulled from ice show ‘Skating on Broadway’ former gold medal winning ice dancer Jimmy Lloyd (30) has gone back to rehab, fuelling speculation that he is back on the booze.

  Jimmy spent two months at the Freedom Vale Rehabilitation Centre earlier this year where he is thought to have undergone counselling, hypnosis and group therapy sessions in order to beat his alcohol addiction.

  Jimmy joins former girlfriend Hilary Polar at the Centre. She has been in residence for the last month undergoing treatment for her ongoing issues with prescription drugs and anorexia.

  Samantha felt herself weaken. Why wasn’t there a picture of him? She needed proof he was really there. There should be a photo of him going in or something. Or if they didn’t have a picture of him going there, either because he wasn’t really there or they didn’t have a photographer available that day, they could at least have pulled a picture from the archives. And she was there, Hilary Polar, the tarty actress who had whiter teeth than him. They had dated. What if they were in adjoining rooms, or sat next to each other at lunch? Did they have group lunches in rehab? What if Jimmy looked at Hilary Polar, who was bound to be dressed in something designer with all the enhancements money could buy, and realised he had been wasting his time with her. How could he possibly want her when Hilary Polar was with him - now - in his hour of need, reeking of Christian Dior and throwing her cleavage in his face. She did do that a lot in most of her films and Cleo did a good impersonation of her when she was wearing her Wonderbra.

  ‘What you reading?’ Felicity asked and she leant over to look down at the paper.

  Samantha tried to shut it up quickly so Felicity couldn’t see but she wasn’t fast enough and Felicity picked up the paper and read the article herself.

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Felicity said, putting the paper back down and nodding at Samantha.

  ‘Ah you see? What’s that meant to mean? I was just reading about that poor woman whose boobs exploded. I mean I can’t imagine the pain,’ Samantha said hurriedly folding the paper up and putting it away.

  ‘Did you know he’d gone back to rehab? It’s such a shame isn’t it? I mean to look at him you wouldn’t think he had a care in the world would you? And what a fantastic skater and an incredible physique too. I mean, you wouldn’t think…’ Felicity began.

  Samantha just looked at her, tears welling up in her eyes.

  ‘Oh dear, have I said the wrong thing? You’re not going to have a panic attack are you? Shall I get you some water?’ Felicity offered.

  ‘No, I’m fine. Thanks anyway,’ Samantha said quickly, coughing away her tears and sniffing.

  ‘Listen, the trouble with men is they don’t ever really know what they want. I mean they want you one minute and the next they want every other woman on the entire planet except you. That’s just the way they’re made. It’s not really their fault, it’s genetic. I mean take the guitarist from the Eagles tribute band. I mean he actually thought he’d morphed into one of the Eagles, poor deluded individual. He thought he could have a different woman at every venue. He thought he was God’s gift to the female race - so I had to tell him. I said “Cliff, take a look in the mirror love, you’re not Don Henley, you’re an overweight strummer from Bridport”. That was the beginning of the end really,’ Felicity told her.

  ‘I said some really horrible things to Jimmy,’ Samantha admitted sadly.

  ‘Forget about it. Don’t let it eat you up - he probably deserved it.’

  ‘He didn’t.’

  ‘Well never mind, move on. Look, I got this in the post this morning, preview guide for the Presbook Centre. They’ve got Seal there next year. Remember Seal? Huge hunk of a man him. Bet he could cheer us bo
th up - probably at the same time. What d’you think?’ Felicity asked, passing Samantha the leaflet.

  The Presbook Centre’s new glossy brochure advertising new acts and introducing the leisure pool that would be built and open in six months time was impressive. Samantha didn’t even want to touch it.

  ‘You seen that scruffy cat around today?’ Felicity enquired as she took off her headset and opened a KitKat.

  ‘No, why?’ Samantha asked.

  ‘Stupid thing was in the bins yesterday when I lobbed a broken seat into it. Don’t know if I hit it but it made a horrible howling noise,’ Felicity informed.

  ‘Well did you check if he was OK?’ Samantha asked frantically.

  ‘Didn’t have a chance. It took off up the high street,’ Felicity replied.

  Samantha left her chair without another word and headed for the restaurant and the kitchen. She needed to find Gobby. She wanted to make sure he was alright. It would be too much, on top of everything else, to have him injured, frightened and alone thinking no one cared about him.

  She filled a bowl up with chicken curry, peas and chips and headed out into the alleyway.

  ‘Gobby! Here boy! Dinner!’ Samantha called, banging the side of his bowl with a wooden spoon.

  She checked her watch. He was usually hanging around by now.

  ‘Gobby! Dinner time! Come on! It’s curry!’ Samantha called again, walking further up the alleyway and looking under boxes and any nooks and crannies where a small cat was likely to hide.