Chapter Twenty-Two
On Saturday morning, Imogen was making a list of all her PA attributes for a meeting she had arranged with Winnie at the hotel, because even though working at the community hub was a volunteer role, it wasn’t guaranteed and she wanted to take it seriously.
‘There’s an ice rink covering the green.’ Birdie’s voice drifted up the stairs, and Imogen decided she’d imagined it and went back to typing. When she laid it all out, she’d picked up a whole lot of transferable skills being her dad’s PA.
‘Imogen, did you hear me?’ Birdie shouted. ‘There’s an ice rink covering the green.’
Imogen’s hands dropped from her laptop. She raced down the stairs, pulling her adopted green coat off its hook and following her gran into the street.
There was only a short side road between Birdie’s house and a view of the green, and then there it was, being manoeuvred into place by a complicated system of cranes and pulleys: an actual ice rink.
‘Oh my God!’ Imogen loved a Christmassy ice rink.
‘Oh my God,’ she repeated, much more quietly, when she saw that Dexter was talking to a tall man in a high-vis jacket.
She assessed him for signs of post-kiss agitation, but he seemed as relaxed as ever, laughing with High-Vis Man as they watched the temporary rink being slowly lowered into place.
Fiona and Ermin appeared and Birdie made a beeline for them, and Imogen decided to stay with her gran rather than go and ogle Dexter.
‘Do you know who’s behind this?’ Birdie didn’t sound upset, quite, but Imogen could tell she didn’t share her excitement.
Fiona held up a hand. ‘The first thing I am obliged to tell everyone – to the point where I might have to get it tattooed on my forehead – is that the green is safe. There’s going to be a protective layer between the grass and the rink, so the land won’t be damaged.’
May hurried over to join them, her smile even wider than usual. ‘Isn’t this brilliant?’
‘I’m guessing you knew about it, then?’ Fiona said. ‘Not until I was included in the message group at whatever ungodly hour it was this morning.’
‘It was Harry,’ Ermin explained. ‘He found a company who hire out temporary rinks, and organized it as a surprise for the village. Then he went on honeymoon and forgot it was arriving while he was away.’
‘Some of us got a panicked message about three o’clock this morning.’ May sounded gleeful. ‘It’s the first holiday he’s taken in years. Married life is already messing with him.’
‘So we have an ice rink. One that is definitely not going to damage the village green.’ Imogen squeezed Birdie’s arm.
‘He’s come a long way from refusing to hold the Oak Fest on the green because he was worried about the tree,’ Birdie said. ‘Now he’s organizing secret ice rinks and opening up the manor for Christmas festivities.’
‘That’s what true love will do for you,’ May said dreamily. ‘I always knew they would end up together.’
Fiona gave May a pointed look, and she laughed.
‘Shall we go and get a proper gander?’ Ermin said, and Imogen’s pulse sped up. But when she looked over at High-Vis Man he was standing on his own, staring at his iPad, and Dexter had gone.
She met up with Winnie later that day.
The hotel was beautifully decorated for Christmas, a tree in the foyer shimmering with gold and silver decorations, an abundance of frosted tinsel, tall enough to be majestic.
Imogen was nervous, she’d come armed with her polished CV, but Winnie was more focused on giving her a tour of the hub, showing her the cosy seating area, the four desks with desktop computers waiting patiently to be used.
‘We’ve got the community kitchen covered, so it’s this area we need support for,’ Winnie explained.
‘People come in wanting help with new email accounts, staying in touch with friends on Facebook. I have enough on my plate with the hotel, and Barbara, who manages the kitchen, doesn’t even have a mobile phone.
I did speak to May, but she’s a tech wizard, coding and whatnot you know, so it’s not the best use of her time.
’ She plucked Imogen’s list out of her hand and scanned it.
‘You’ll be brilliant. When can you start? ’
Imogen spent a couple of seconds doing a fish impression, because she had expected more scrutiny, then gathered her wits and said, ‘Monday?’
‘Excellent, come in at ten o’clock. We’ve been promoting the hub as self-service, but if we can advertise the times you’ll be here – say two-hour sessions every other day – then if there’s anything specific people need help with, they know you’ll be on hand.’
‘It sounds perfect.’ Imogen surveyed the space.
It was welcoming and functional, the desks clean and uncluttered, but she was already thinking about what she could add: notebooks and pens, Post-it notes, house plants for added calm.
She could help with job applications, online shopping, social media; organizing people’s lives in small but crucial ways.
She already knew it would be more fulfilling than her PA job.
‘I’ll see you on Monday, then.’ She and Winnie shook hands and, as she strolled back to Birdie’s, she saw that the ice rink was almost ready.
She had only been home half an hour when her gran called up the stairs again. ‘It’s open!’
Imogen didn’t need to be told twice this time. She was in her trusty jeans, the ones that she’d packed to wear on the plane to Mauritius, and one of her new jumpers, a deep plum colour, loosely fitted, so all she had to do was grab woolly socks, her green coat, and a hat and gloves.
‘You’ll break your neck on the stairs,’ Birdie said, as Imogen raced down them.
‘I’d rather do that on the ice.’
Birdie crossed her arms, but her eyes twinkled. ‘Meeting anyone there?’ If she was aiming for casual, she’d missed by a mile, but Imogen hadn’t been brave enough to speak to Dexter after their text exchange the night before.
‘I was just going to see who was about. Don’t you think the whole village will turn out?’
‘So you didn’t—’ Birdie was interrupted by a knock at the door, and went to answer it while Imogen pulled on her socks.
‘Artichoke isn’t allowed ice skating,’ said a voice that made Imogen smile, her breath catching when she saw Dexter standing behind Lucy, his hand on her shoulder.
‘They don’t make ice skates small enough for dogs,’ he said, ‘and she’s still a puppy. She’s just learning how to do normal things; you can’t throw ice skating at her on top of all that. Hi Birdie, Imogen.’
‘I would have carried her the whole way,’ Lucy protested. She was wearing a snowy white hat covered in sequins, and from the cold air filling the hallway, Imogen knew hats were necessary.
‘I cannot begin to tell you how much of a disaster that would have been,’ Dexter said. ‘Absolute carnage on the ice.’
‘All right then,’ Lucy said wearily. ‘Anyway, Artichoke wasn’t allowed to come, so I asked if we could take you instead, and Dad was much happier with that idea.’
Imogen caught Dexter’s eye, and she wasn’t sure who was blushing more furiously.
‘You can take me,’ she said, then cleared her throat. ‘I was about to head out and investigate, but it’s much nicer going with you two.’
‘Are you a good skater?’ Dexter asked.
‘Enthusiastic,’ Imogen said, and Dexter laughed. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m hopeless. I can’t even remember the last time I went.’
‘We went in Norwich.’ Lucy tipped her head back to look up at him.
‘When I was little, with Mum. Then Mum wouldn’t do it because someone fell over and she got really scared, so you took me, and she stood on the side and every time we passed her she cheered like we were winning a race, and when we finished she had hot chocolates for us with cream and marshmallows. ’ She grinned up at her dad.
The quiet that followed felt heavy, and Imogen paused with one sock on and one off.
‘Where did all that come from?’ Dexter didn’t sound choked, just befuddled.
‘You told me. When I ask about Mum, you always tell me about her and about us, so I don’t forget her. And I don’t, Dad, and I know you don’t either, but I still want to go ice skating with Imogen, OK?’
‘OK.’ He planted a kiss on his daughter’s upturned forehead. ‘Still want to come?’ he asked Imogen.
‘I would love to come with you,’ she said, and yanked on her other sock.
Now it was in place, the ice rink looked magical.
Fairy lights were strung up around the tops of poles which ran around the wall at intervals, and were covered in foam so they were soft to grab onto, and a soundtrack of Christmas classics drifted up towards the night sky, which was cloudless and twinkling with stars.
The statuesque oak tree looked on, adorned by its own glittering lights, and the rink was already busy, the whoosh and scrape of blades against fresh ice twisting Imogen’s stomach into a nostalgic knot.
They joined the queue, Lucy jumping up and down, Imogen’s gaze colliding with Dexter’s before they both looked away.
‘We might have to put Story Time on hold,’ Jazz said, as she, Fiona and Ermin joined the queue behind them. ‘The village hall isn’t going to be the quietest place for the next few weeks.’
‘Harry should have warned you,’ Fiona said.
Jazz shrugged. ‘This is a lot of fun, and everyone’s busy in the run-up to Christmas. We can pick it up again in the new year.’
‘Or you could do the sessions at the manor, like you threatened when we were decorating mistletoe,’ Ermin suggested. Jazz looked confused. ‘You know, going down into the cellar, adding the spooky atmosphere?’
Dexter glanced at Imogen, and she tried very hard not to laugh.
‘I actually had to go into their cellar,’ he said. ‘There was a trapped pigeon flapping about, spiderwebs like cities. It’s not a place you’d want to take anyone. Not even the most hard-as-nails person in the village—’
‘So Winnie, then,’ Fiona said.
‘Not even Winnie would be comfortable down there,’ Dexter finished. ‘It was … an experience.’