Skating at Somerset House. Nikki Moore

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СКАЧАТЬ central courtyard, was quite impressive with its graceful columns, Victorian style black lampposts, mini white-encrusted trees in massive gold leaf pots and grand entrances on the Strand and the Embankment. Right now that was contrasted against the modern single-storey, white-framed, temporary buildings that housed Tom's Skate Lounge, the Cloakrooms/Box Office and main skate entrance. Mint green and teal SKATE posters were displayed prominently and matching Fortnum & Mason flags flapped in the winter breeze. You couldn't deny there was a great buzz to the place with all the noisy, excitable visitors chattering and skating, both locals and tourists from the sounds of it. But Noel was a disaster on the ice, and the giant Christmas tree in a huge wicker hamper was overdecorated and overdone… as well as a sharp reminder it was only a few days until the dreaded C-day. There was no escaping it.

      Leaning up against the transparent waist-high wall guarding the rink, taking a much needed break from skating, he shivered and shifted from one foot to another. Cold vapour formed in a puffy cloud in front of his face as he exhaled. It was seriously bitter today. He checked the watch that'd belonged to his grandfather; rectangular face, brown leather strap, built to last. It was three in the afternoon, so it was only going to get colder and bleaker. Although, if he froze to death, at least it would be a merciful release from this ice-encrusted hell. This was the last time he was doing a favour for a friend. Not that refusing had really been an option, given the favour was to carry out perfectly reasonable god-fatherly duties for Jasper, whose dad Matt was Noel's best friend.

      Teeth chattering, as he watched people - including Jasper - whizz around the ice, he decided he was going abroad for Christmas next year. Somewhere he could sit on a beach, dewy beer bottle in hand and read a crime thriller while soaking up the sun's rays. Because even though he was wrapped up in black jeans, a long sleeved top, thick green jumper, woollen winter coat, scarf, thermal lined gloves and a beanie hat pulled right down to cover his hair, he was still bloody freezing.

      As if the weather wasn't bad enough, every time he got on the rink four year old Jasper skated rings around him. It was embarrassing to be a thirty year old guy with no sense of coordination who couldn't push away from the wall, stop, or glide along the blindingly white ice without falling over … but it was mortifying that Jasper, who'd only skated once before (or so he claimed) was showing Noel up with such natural talent. Already having taught himself to do some kind of spinning stop, he was currently attempting to skate backwards, forcing his heels together then apart in curved S shapes. The kid had absolutely no fear, throwing his little body around like it couldn't be bent or broken. But that was kids for you. They were resilient little things, unlike some adults.

      No. Not today. There were other things to worry about, like looking after Jasper, which was why he'd fought the temptation to dive into the Skate Lounge with its windows overlooking the rink and rainbow coloured assortment of round paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, and was staying put. He should probably get Jasper to calm down a bit, stop with the tricks and skate in nice sensible circles holding Noel's hand instead. That was what the H&S part of him would do with a potentially dangerous activity; minimise the risk. Except:-

      a) the kid probably wouldn't listen to a word he said,

      b) Jasper was always on the verge of hyperactivity so it made sense to tire him out,

      and most importantly,

      c) it was probably safer for Jasper not to hold his hand.

      The little tyke came hurtling towards him in an expensive blue ski suit, stopping with a scrape and spraying ice up into Noel's face.

      'Jasper!' he snapped, scowling and scrubbing the sharp ice crystals off with his gloves.

      The boy's round-cheeked face fell, eyes widening. Noel sighed, feeling like a complete bastard. It wasn't cool to upset Jasper, just because he wasn't enjoying himself. Besides, he was genuinely fond of the little whirlwind and loved being his godfather.

      'Never mind,' he joked, forcing a grin and stretching over the wall to straighten Jasper's hat, 'it's only a bit of ice. I was getting bored anyway, needed something to wake me up!' Rolling his eyes in an exaggerated cartoon character way, he crossed then uncrossed them, making the boy giggle. 'How's it going? Enjoying yourself? You're doing some good stuff out there, Jay.'

      'Uh-huh,' Jasper nodded, dark head bopping up and down like the dog in the insurance ads, 'it's really, really awesome. But it would be better if you were skating with me '’ncle Noel.' He beamed, showing a gap where his two front teeth should be, reminding Noel of the carol, All I Want For Christmas…

      The hope that Jasper might be ready to go after nearly three hours of skating died, and the boy's expression became pleading as Noel fell silent. The rest of the day would be spent with a storm cloud of guilt hanging over his head if he said no. Jasper had been bugging Matt about skating at Somerset House for months, ever since one of his friends had mentioned going the year before.

      Time to do his duty. Careful to keep the dread off his face, Noel nodded. 'Sure, I'll give it another go.' My seventh one today. 'Be right there.' He clomped through the skate entrance building and stepped on to the ice. Clutching the wall for support, trying to balance on the metal blades - stupidly risky if you asked him, who would think to put knives on a pair of boots? - he pulled himself over to his godson, sure his knuckles were not just white but positively glowing beneath his gloves. Perhaps he could manage a circuit without making an idiot of himself this time.

      Nodding at Jasper, 'Come on then,' he smiled bravely and carefully pushed off from the side. Walking/wobbling more than actually skating, arms extended like a pair of crippled wings, knees shaking, doubt flashed through his head. There's a snowball's chance in hell of me not landing on my arse again.

      Holly Winterlake loved Christmas.

      The chaotic, festive madness of it all thrilled her every year. The delight of spinning and dodging around people in shops to grab the best bargain to cross off her gift list, bought with her Christmas slush fund which she saved up towards monthly. Scrumptious turkey dinners with moist white meat, lashings of fruity cranberry sauce and fragrant, tasty stuffing, not to mention crispy butter-slathered roast potatoes. Exchanging cheery greetings cards featuring cutesy snowmen or North Pole cartoons, watching the assorted envelopes dropping onto her parents' doormat every morning. The jingling, jingly, upbeat tunes playing everywhere to get everybody into the Christmas spirit, which she turned up to maximum volume on the radio while she and her mum bopped around the breakfast table each morning. Having the perfect excuse to wear her favourite tiny silver snowman earrings. Hanging the circular red berry foliage wreath on the front door, set off perfectly by the green ivy twined around a wire topiary frame. The optimistic pining for snow and a white Christmas. Catching the tube with her mum's favourite metal tray if it did snow (more fun than a sleigh because you had to cram your legs onto it, tuck your chin into your knees and hope for the best) to slide down a steep Hampstead Heath hill.

      Yes, Christmas was definitely her favourite time of year. In fact, Holly's preference would be to celebrate it every month, and pretend that summer with its muggy, prickly heat and scorching sun that burnt her fair skin and bleached her blonde hair lighter didn't exist. This December she couldn't think of anything better than ice skating for a living. It was a dream come true to be an Ice Marshall at Somerset House, being paid to loop the rink to make sure members of the public were safe, providing them with help where they needed it, issuing skates on request and helping the Ice Technician clean the ice when it became dented and scarred from use. The skating test before the job offer had been as easy as breathing, she'd completed the training at the beginning of the previous month easily and she was lucky enough to have picked up five shifts a week, working up to eight hours a day. Her mum might be worried about her overdoing it on the ice but the money would all definitely add up towards her start up fund. Come the New Year, she was going into business.

      She СКАЧАТЬ