Chapter 53
53
DEAN WALKER’S APARTMENT, DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN
Hayley had been making phone calls all morning to organise the McArthur Foundation fundraiser whilst keeping one eye on Michel and Angel. They’d drawn quietly for half an hour or so, Angel looking up from her pad every now and then, blinking like she couldn’t believe Michel was real. Hayley had also seen Michel doing exactly the same thing. When he looked at his daughter, it was as if he were gazing at an object of wonder, something beautiful he couldn’t quite believe was so close, something he didn’t quite understand yet. And now, as it neared lunchtime, they were going ice skating. Angel had thrown that out there with all the finesse of someone who was used to getting their own way and, as Michel had shown no obvious signs of wanting to leave, Hayley felt duty-bound to give in.
‘What do you think?’ Hayley asked, twirling around in the kitchen. ‘Ice skating chic or ice skating chic?’
‘Those aren’t gloves,’ Angel remarked, staring at Hayley’s hands covered by long woollen sleeves.
‘No, I gave you my gloves. These are hand-warming couture.’ She stretched them out for Angel to see .
‘They look like sleeves off a jumper.’
‘Ha! But the people of New York won’t know that. They will think, “Ooh look at that fashionista wearing hand-warming couture”.’
‘Are you OK with doing this?’ Michel asked her.
‘Of course,’ Hayley said. ‘I’ve got my hand-warming couture which is going to stop me getting my fingers sliced off. I’m all good.’
‘Thank you,’ Michel whispered as Angel focused on buttoning up her coat.
‘What for?’
‘For this second chance,’ he said. ‘I behaved so badly last night and?—’
‘See that girl over there?’ Hayley interrupted. ‘She hasn’t stopped smiling since you walked in here this morning.’ She laid a hand on Michel’s arm. ‘That’s all I want.’
He nodded as if he understood.
‘OK then,’ Hayley said, addressing Angel. ‘Let’s get this over with… I mean… let’s go and have some fun.’
The Rockefeller Center Ice Rink, New York
‘Have you skated before?’ Angel asked, holding onto the side of the ice rink, her feet as still as she could keep them.
‘Of course,’ Michel answered, turning his body and expertly moving backwards like a winter Olympian.
Hayley hadn’t even taken a step onto the ice yet. This small patch of white in the middle of the brick, steel and chrome of the surrounding buildings was almost surreal. As was the giant tree towering over them like a triffid and the gilt statue of some old god surrounded by a waterfall.
‘It’s Prometheus,’ Angel said, looking at Hayley.
‘Is that another word for freezing?’ Hayley asked, her teeth chattering together.
‘No, it’s the name of the statue you were looking at. Prometheus. He’s a Greek god and this one is actually made of bronze, not gold.’
‘Angel, you are coming to skate?’ Michel called, beckoning her.
‘Go on,’ Hayley said, still not making any moves. ‘Go and skate.’
‘Reason twenty-three why Christmas is better in New York: ice skating next to a Greek god,’ Angel said, slowly removing her fingers from the edge of the ice rink.
‘Yup, pretty cool. So, off you go,’ Hayley urged.
Angel stared at her, unmoving. ‘You’re going to wait until my back’s turned and then you’re going to sneak off to the café.’
‘How very dare you! As if I would!’
Her daughter knew her far too well. The skates were already pinching her toes.
‘Come on!’ Michel shouted. ‘We come here to skate!’
Hayley pulled a face. ‘I don’t remember him being this bossy.’
‘Come on, Mum. I’ll hold your hand,’ Angel said, gingerly moving on the ice, her hand held out to Hayley.
‘I’m not sure ice skating is going to be me,’ she said, putting one foot in front of the other but pausing before the ice.
‘I’m not sure green vegetables are really me but you still make me eat them. Come on!’
Angel pulled her forwards and, before she could do anything to stop herself, she was on the ice, her feet slipping and sliding away from her like a newborn fawn.
‘Angel! Don’t you let me go! ’
‘Stop pulling on me! You’ll stretch my new coat,’ Angel screamed.
‘I can’t stand still!’
‘It’s ice skating; you’re not supposed to stand still!’
‘This is all wrong. It’s unnatural I tell you!’
With her arms flailing and her legs kicking, Hayley screamed as Michel took her arm and she grabbed him with both hands in desperation.
‘Whose idea was this?’ she exclaimed, her fingers digging into his coat as he held her up.
‘Angel wanted to come,’ Michel reminded her.
‘The child is evil,’ Hayley said, narrowing her eyes at her daughter.
‘Come on,’ Michel said. ‘I will help you.’ He skated backwards, letting her hold onto his arms.
‘Wait for me!’ Angel shouted, trying to follow them without falling.
Oliver had followed them. He’d left Clara and the office behind with the sole intention of… what? What had he really been thinking when he left Drummond Global and headed for Dean Walker’s apartment? He wanted to see Hayley again. Why? To torture himself? To remind him what he’d had for a short time? What he’d let go? What he’d given up on? Or did he really want to do something he’d never done before?
He watched them from the sidelines. To any onlooker, they would appear to be the perfect family. A couple, the man helping his partner, their child trying to keep up with them. Maybe they could be in time. Perhaps that was what fate had in store for Hayley. Was this his final visual message to leave well alone ?
He let a breath go, watching it thicken in the air. He could leave, right now, and she’d never know he’d been here. With Michel and the McArthur Foundation fundraiser, she already had so much going on in her life. It wasn’t fair to burden her with something else. What they’d had had been fun, exciting. She didn’t need what he would bring to the table. It was selfish to tell her, wasn’t it? It would be for his benefit. To prove he could tell someone? That wasn’t fair.
He watched her, letting go of Michel and trying to move of her own accord. Hair poking out from under a red, woollen hat, some crazy jumper sleeves over her sweater, knees bent inwards. She was smiling. She was happy. He should go.
And then it happened: their eyes connected. Across the ice, skaters circling around the rink between their locked vision. His mouth dried up, along with his resolve. He couldn’t look away.
It was Oliver. Standing on the edge of the rink, looking back at her. Her stomach contracted, she wobbled on her skates and before she could right herself, her bottom met the ice with a bang.
‘Mum, are you all right?’ Angel skated up to her, now moving like a professional.
‘Yes, I’m fine. This part is well padded.’ She flicked her legs, shifting her feet to try and get traction. ‘Get me up.’
Angel bent double, taking Hayley’s hands in hers and straining to shift her.
‘Hurry up, Angel.’ Her heart was racing. Oliver was here, at the ice-skating rink? Why? What was he doing here? Was he here to see her? She needed to find out. Despite everything, her body was urging her to get off the ice and go to him. She looked again, across the ice, twisting her head to reconnect with him. He wasn’t there .
‘I can’t move you! You’re too heavy!’ Angel screamed. ‘It’s all the fizzy wine!’
‘Let me help you,’ Michel said, appearing beside them with a stop on the ice that Robin Cousins would have been proud of.
‘No, it’s too late.’ Hayley began to unlace her boots. ‘These are coming off.’
‘What? You cannot do this,’ Michel told her.
‘Mum! What are you doing?’
‘I… just… I need to run.’ She wrenched the boot from her left foot. ‘I can’t run in these. I can’t even skate in these.’ She pulled at the second boot. ‘Hold onto them for me.’
She thrust the blades at Michel and started sprinting in her socks across the ice rink, much to the amusement of the other skaters.
Her heart was driving the blood around her body as the freezing surface beneath her feet scalded her soles. She ran like she was treading on broken glass, hopping off the rink and scouring the onlookers for Oliver.
‘Oliver!’ she called, seeking out anything familiar that would lead to him. His dark coat, the tawny colour of his hair, his stance, the shape of his shoulders. She skidded past a woman carrying a tray of coffee and mince pies, her eyes metres ahead, picking off strangers, frantic to find him. And then she saw him, walking briskly towards the exit. She injected more pace into her run.
‘Oliver Drummond! Don’t you leave!’ she yelled at the top of her voice. ‘Stop right there!’
It was like someone had hit a pause button on life. Everything halted. Chatter stopped, the sound of Michael Bublé quietened, people turned to look at her and the only sounds still audible were the blades of the skaters on the ice.
She was breathing hard as she watched him stop. Then he turned around, his eyes finding hers through the crowd. She stepped on, quickly closing the gap between them as everyone around went back to what they were doing.
She looked up at him, suddenly filled with nervousness. She wet her lips.
‘So, you thought you’d come here and show off your silky skating skills, huh?’ She forced a nervous smile.
‘I’ve been kept amused for the past ten minutes by yours,’ he stated.
‘I aim to please. It’s all deliberate. It’s a new genre of ice dance, a bit like body-popping,’ she replied, putting an arm out then letting her forearm dangle from the elbow.
He nodded and the atmosphere cooled. She didn’t know what to say but she had to say something. And not something verging on the ridiculous. Something real. She didn’t want things to be how they were between them.
‘Michel’s here,’ she stated.
‘I saw,’ he replied. ‘I’m glad.’
‘What you did, finding him I mean, it was such a wonderful thing and?—’
He shook his head. ‘You don’t need to thank me.’
She watched him swallow, agitation in his stance.
‘I was never completely honest with you, Hayley.’
She frowned then. ‘You weren’t?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘O-K.’
‘I’m not sure I really want to be honest now but… I feel I owe it you.’ He smiled. ‘Do you want to get a coffee?’ He looked down at her feet. ‘And maybe your shoes?’