by Jacky Gray
He dropped his voice down to a whisper. “What did you pick up off the ice? I saw the stumble, but they didn’t even bother to show it so you must have covered it well.”
She had no time to explain as Chelsea’s name displayed. During the slight pause before the score came up, it seemed like the whole room held their breath. The digits displayed: identical to Jude’s. The deathly hush continued as the monitor showed Chelsea’s face; she clearly thought she’d won.
The announcer proclaimed a tie for first place: Both Judith Briskell and Chelsea Masters had scored a total of 109.8. He declared a fifteen-minute delay before the final judgement if people wanted to stretch their legs or get refreshments.
Jude’s parents were by the barrier, and her mum frowned at Bernie. “How do they work out who wins?”
“Depends on the competition rules; there’s a little leeway. Sometimes they take it on TES, that’s technical element, other competitions consider the PCS or program component; that’s like the old artistic interpretation. I’ve known them to ignore the top and bottom scores to root out biased judges. If it’s not clear or there’s any doubt, there would be a sudden death – they both skate again, ignoring all prior scores.”
He was interrupted by a runner tugging on his arm; he excused himself and called Jude to come with him. Luke gave her hand a quick squeeze as she left, and her dad went to follow, but the runner was politely firm. “Sorry sir, you’ll have to stay here, please. The manager only wants Miss Briskell and her trainer.”
As they hurried along, Jude imagined all manner of scenarios where the manager suspended her from the competition because she’d broken the rules. So far, they’d only caught a glimpse of the guy at the start; he seemed strict, scary and very busy. After welcoming them all, he’d handed over to his deputy, the competition manager, who explained the schedule.
At the end of the corridor, they were shown into the manager’s office where he waited with the referee who presided over the judging panel.
The referee took charge. “Hello, Bernie. And Jude, is it? Please sit down. I’ll get straight to the point. I understand you found something on the ice which caused you to stumble.”
She nodded and he continued. “And you think the same item may also have caused Tamara to fall, is that right?”
“I’m sure of it. I would have fallen too, but I was prepared for it.”
“I see. The rules of the competition say in the event of a tie, the highest PCS would win, which gives you the gold, Chelsea the silver and Tamara the bronze.”
“But that’s not fair. I mean, Tamara was much better than that.” Jude glanced at Bernie. “If she hadn’t fallen, she could have beaten us both.”
“Well done, I hoped you would be sporting about this.” The referee seemed pleased. “Our alternative would be to have the last three competitors skate again. It would be a little unconventional …”
“But Chelsea didn’t stumble, because she was in on it.”
The rink manager frowned. “That’s a very serious allegation, young lady; I hope you can back it up. You can’t go around accusing people without some kind of evidence.”
Jude’s heart sank. Yet another adult who had the power to stand in the way of her dream. She tried to rein in her sense of injustice. “I saw her looking on the ice for something before she went on.”
“She’d just watched two girls stumble. Why wouldn’t she want to check for imperfections? It’s why we clear the ice, after all.”
His tone was reasonable and she attempted to match it. “But she knew exactly where to look. And her routine made sure she didn’t use the area under the Coca-Cola sign.”
“She probably saw the sign on the replays; I know I did.” His eyes narrowed. “And didn’t you alter your routine to avoid the same place?”
“Yes, but only after I stumbled.”
“If that’s all you have, I’m afraid there may be serious ramifications from your accusation.” As he spoke, he reached for a folder on his desk and leafed through several papers.
“But I’m not the one trying to sabotage other girls’ chances.”
“Oh no? We had a similar case where a girl had some kind of vendetta against her rival. So unless you give me something based in fact …” The manager’s expression was impassive as he scanned a report.
Jude figured he might be worried by the bad publicity this kind of incident would generate. “Chelsea’s boyfriend threw things on the ice.”
He looked up with a frown. “And you know this because …”
“I saw a movement in the crowd on the replay, and Luke recognised him sitting above the Coca-Cola sign.”
The man glanced at Bernie and smiled. “You were right about her. Not only talented, but smart, and totally cool under pressure. I believe my security chief has already started an investigation. In the ...”
The door burst open and the man himself appeared, pushing Chelsea’s boyfriend in front of him. Luke followed them in, searching the room with a concerned expression, until he spotted Jude.
The chief spoke. “Here’s your perpetrator. We can wrap this up; it was a deliberate, pre-planned act of sabotage. This young man has made a full confession, saying Chelsea put him up to it.”
Jude swapped a relieved glance with Luke as the man continued.
“We have evidence.” He handed a plastic tube to each man, and threw the rest on the desk. “We got three of these from the ice, a couple picked up by Miss Briskell, and two from this young man’s pocket. That’s when he decided to come clean.”
The referee gave it a cursory examination. “Right now, we need some damage limitation. Fast. The show must go on.”
The manager mused out loud. “We could declare a defect on the ice so the last few contestants could skate again.”
“So Chelsea gets off scot-free?” Luke’s outburst was quashed by the referee, who scowled as he gave his opinion.
“That young lady will be disqualified; however, we may give her the opportunity to withdraw from the competition …”
He broke off, looking at his watch, and turned to Jude. “I’ve been impressed with your sportsmanship so far. Are you sure you want to risk losing to Tamara if you both skate again? We could go with the results as they are: You would get gold and Tamara the silver.”
“No. She needs to get a fair chance. It wouldn’t be a proper win for me if she didn’t.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. It’s the right decision, but it makes it a lot harder for us to manage.” He shook her hand. “I wish you every luck and may the best performer win.”
28 May the Best Performer Win
Jude stood by the rink side, waiting for her name to be called, trying hard not to let the events of the past twenty-four hours interfere with the most important performance of her life so far. She’d done her warm-up exercises under the watchful eye of her coach Bernie. After not being with her the first time around, he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Fresh in her mind were the scores of her biggest rival, Tamara, who’d scored way higher than Jude’s initial attempt. This would be almost impossible to beat.
With a grateful glance at Luke, she acknowledged she might not be here without his support. He’d helped in so many ways, but mostly he still believed in her when she’d managed to alienate everyone else in her life. She blew him a kiss and he made a pantomime of catching it and pressing it to his lips. Jude smiled and turned to face the ice, taking a deep, calming breath to clear her mind as the announcer spoke.
“And now, the final performance today. Please give a warm Coventry welcome to Judith Briskell.”
The noise was unbelievable and she waved to the crowd and took her place a little off-centre, coiling herself like a spring, ready to unwind at the instant the music started. The audience shut up like someone had pressed a mute button, and she timed her explosive opening to perfection as Michael Bublé’s jazzy trumpet arrangement filled the rink.
This time, Jude didn’t stumble and the last fe
w circuits were exactly how she and Bernie had rehearsed them. She finished with a tricky combination including a double loop, a flying layback spin which morphed into a camel, then the iconic Biellmann, ending with a flourish. A pause followed the last musical note, and she held her pose in absolute silence. Then, like a CGI effect, every person in the audience stood and raised their hands high as they whistled, cheered and screamed loud enough to deafen people three streets away.
She burst into the kiss and cry area, and by the time she’d finished hugging Luke and her parents, who’d also been allowed in due to the exceptional circumstances, the scores were in.
It was close, but she had beaten Tamara by one tenth to reach her personal best of 113.3. She turned to Bernie and hugged him, obviously the original choreography was sound. The crowd didn’t need to be told, they were still on their feet, cheering.
Someone started a chant “Ju-dith, Ju-dith,” and they were quick to pick it up with lots of feet being stamped and more whistles and cheers. Jude’s dad gave her a gentle push onto the ice and as she passed Tamara she grabbed her hand and pulled her on.
The audience screamed their approval, and flowers were thrown onto the ice from every direction. The girls’ joint victory lap turned into an unrehearsed exhibition as they wove in and out of the rink staff, picking up flowers. Dancing together, they interacted quite naturally, as though they’d been partnering all their lives. Jude took the lead on some of the moves and Tamara on others and the audience responded with a Mexican wave which followed them around the rink.
The spontaneous celebration etched itself into Jude’s memory – something to savour if ever she were feeling low. But all good things must come to an end, and Bernie was adamant about leaving them wanting more. After the second circuit, they came off the ice while the staff rolled out the carpet for the medals.
The next couple of minutes passed by in a blur, and Jude only registered a couple of snapshots: standing on the highest podium with Tamara on one side of her and Louise on the other; and the gold medal snagging on the massive bunch of flowers and nearly strangling her. At the end of the ceremony, she was swamped by a massive bear hug from Luke which got hijacked by a group hug from Kat, Liv and Liam, with Ray hanging onto her hand.
But the memory imprinted on her brain forever, was the moment her dad took both hands in his and twirled her into his arms. He kissed the top of her head and whispered, “I’m sorry for ever thinking I could put you in a corner. You looked wonderful out there.”
~*~
Dear Reader,
Thanks so much for reading this story, and sharing my memories of a youth misspent at ice-skating rinks. If you have a minute, I’d really appreciate if you could click this link and leave a comment. This will help other readers to decide whether this could be their sort of story.
Thank You
Jacky Gray
xxx
~*~
The next adventure in this series is Music Was My First Love.
If you would like a taster, read on:
Kat sat at the breakfast table, trying to gauge her dad’s mood. He seemed pretty cheerful as he teased her adorable little sister Sinead, but you never knew with parents. They could go from tranquil millpond to tempestuous white water rapids in the blink of an eye. Clearing away the dirty dishes, she figured it was worth a chance.
She kissed his cheek. “See you later.” Timing was everything, and she could tell by his reaction she’d left it a couple of minutes too late.
“Where are you off to?” In the time it took to stack the dishwasher, his mood had soured, courtesy of her noisy brother, Connor.
“Band rehearsal with Liam.”
“How long will this take?”
Liam stepped up. “They’re normally a few hours, but we’re testing out a new rehearsal room, so it may take a little longer ’til we suss out the routine. Is that a problem?”
Her dad huffed. “What about Sunday lunch? I hope you don’t expect your mother to do it all.”
Her mum sprang to Kat’s defence. “Don’t worry about it. We’re not eating until five, because I’m taking Sinead to a party.”
With a frown, her dad grumbled something along the lines of nice to be told, and her mum tightened her lips.
Sensing some tension, Kat stepped in, using her oil-on-troubled-waters voice. “I’ll be back long before then. If you tell me what we’re having, I can make a start.”
“I can help, too. I’m a dab hand with a spider peeler.” Liam mimed the action of peeling spuds, earning “the look” from her mum. He’d made this claim before but, so far, she’d never taken him up on it.
Kat’s dad wasn’t in the mood to let up. “What about your homework? You were out all day yesterday gallivanting with Jude. Her dad’s been telling me all about her little escapade. I don’t want you getting ideas!”
“Again, I can help. Whizzbang at equations, me.”
“That’s no use. She has to do it herself.”
Kat tried to think positive thoughts, although all her face wanted to do was frown.
Normally the most laid-back person she knew, her dad did the whole rant about the importance of doing well at school. How he’d pratted around at school and never got any qualifications; and how hard his life had been as a builder’s labourer, working long hours in foul weather conditions for a pittance. And yet, he now owned his own building firm with a string of premises all over the area and hundreds of employees.
Even Liam picked up on the vibe and kept quiet.
When her dad finished, her mum again stuck up for her. “Kat’s not like that; she’d never go skipping lessons, or running off to Coventry.”
Kat couldn’t look at anyone. Her mum’s view was of the most boring person ever. Safe, dependable Kat. Who never did anything remarkably exciting or adventurous. The calm one, peacemaker: sweet and gentle. Mary flipping Sue. She couldn’t even swear properly in the privacy of her head. For goodness sake! Absolutely no hope for her.
Once, just once in her life, she wanted to be Crazy Kat. Wicked Kat. Criminally insane Kat. She sighed. Kinky Kat. Finally, a cool word which alliterated. Kissable Kat. She grinned.
She’d spent way too much of her life being the dutiful daughter, not to give an Oscar-winning performance when it mattered. Beaming her most endearing smile at her dad, she promised to finish her homework as soon as she got back. “I only have one thing; I’ll take it with me. I can probably get it finished because I won’t be needed much of the time.”
“That’s more like it.” His tone begrudged. “Off you go, then.”
In the car, Liam frowned. "Exactly what scenario played out in your head back there? You were pulling some mighty strange faces.”
She flashed Naughty Kat eyes at him. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out. If you can.”
Liam’s frown deepened, but he said nothing as he negotiated the route to the new venue.
Never having any experience of practice rooms, Kat’s expectations were coloured by stories she’d read and movies she’d watched. So she was expecting a grungy garage full of spiders, and stinking of damp, sweaty boys, and goodness knew what else. The scout hut was a pleasant surprise. Clean, light, and airy; it had a tiny kitchen, an office, and a small room off the main area. She sat out of the way and finished her homework while they did all the necessary setting up.
They played Thin Lizzy’s “Trouble Boys” as a soundcheck, followed by Gary’s suggestion of Foreigner’s “Jukebox Hero.” They’d practised the song to perfection, but he wanted to start the second half of the show with it and was keen to do something a bit different with the lights to give it some pizazz.
Kat watched from the other side of the room, thinking how she would stage this if it was a dramatic piece. There wasn’t actually that much difference between a play and a gig, staging-wise.
Keith had set up his iPad to record it, and as they watched the playback, Kat could see nobody wanted to be the first to say it hadn’t worked.
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Liam tried to be positive. “Of course, it doesn’t help that we can’t black out the windows to get a proper effect. I’m sure it’ll be a lot better with full darkness.”
“Kat, you were in the best position to see it. What did you think?”
“Honestly?” She bit her lip, unwilling to fess up about how lukewarm it had been.
Gary’s gaze said it wasn’t the right response. He shrugged. “Say no more. That bad, huh?”
Glossary and Note about UK Schools
UK
US/explanation
challenge twenty-five
asking people who don’t look 18 to provide ID
coursework
a project done outside of exam conditions which accounts for a percentage of the final grade
football
soccer
ICT/IT (Information Communication Technology
Computer Science
marking
grading
mock exam
a formal pre-test in strict exam conditions
modular exam
(leading to a GCSE qualification)
the course is split into different units, or modules, with an exam at the end of each unit
PCS ice skating (program component score)
skills, transitions, composition, performance, interpretation etc.
plaster (abbreviated from sticking-plaster)
adhesive bandage
sitting a past paper
doing a practice test based on a previous year’s question paper
redundancy
layoff
taking the Mick