Chapter Twenty-Two #2
‘Heightens your emotions, does it?’ Jazz looked from him to Imogen, and Imogen thought his cheeks might be rosy from more than the cold.
‘Dad, what’s happened?’ Lucy asked. ‘Why is Jazz smiling at you like that?’
‘We’ve reached the front of the queue, is what’s happened.’ The look he shot Imogen was pure relief.
They collected skates from the young man who was manning the boot collection, and sat on benches to pull them on.
Imogen felt the familiar weight, the way the boot was so unyielding it was like putting her foot in a box.
When she was laced up, she pushed herself upright, wobbling slightly but kept in place by the rubber floor, and held her hand out to Lucy.
Lucy put her gloved hand in Imogen’s, then offered her free one to her dad, and soon they were all standing.
‘Ready to do this?’ Imogen noticed the amber flecks in Dexter’s eyes under the high-beam glow that lit up the rink.
‘Just about,’ he said, at the same time as Lucy shouted ‘yes!’
The rink was busy, but not so much that they couldn’t move. Fiona and Ermin were skating around the edge, competent but cautious, and Jazz was like a baby goat, inexpert but clearly determined not to give up.
‘She’s going to do the splits if she’s not careful.’ There was a tremor in Dexter’s voice, and Imogen gave him a reassuring look over the top of Lucy’s head.
‘We can go as slowly as you like.’
‘For a bit,’ Lucy added, and Imogen grinned while Dexter laughed.
‘Come on, then,’ he said. And, with Dexter and Imogen each holding one of Lucy’s hands, they stepped carefully onto the ice rink.
It was like a fairy tale, Imogen decided, as she inhaled another breath of icy air, and expelled a tiny cloud.
The sky was midnight blue, the rink was surrounded by its own twinkling lights and the soft-focus glow of the village, Michael Bublé crooned out Christmas melodies and there was a strong smell of cinnamon from the pop-up hot chocolate stall that Jason had set up.
Their skating wasn’t magical, because Dexter wanted to cling to the wall, Lucy wanted to race ahead and Imogen, predictably, was trying to make them both happy, which was impossible.
But then Lucy slowed, taking pity on her dad, and Dexter gingerly let go of the foam post he was clinging to, and the three of them were skating in tandem, Lucy in the middle.
Mariah Carey sang about what she wanted for Christmas, and Imogen was sure that anyone who didn’t know them, anyone who was looking on, would think they were a family.
Her throat closed up, because she was only borrowing them while she was here.
She tried to loosen her grip, but Lucy tightened hers and kept on skating.
Dexter glanced at her. ‘OK?’ he mouthed, and she nodded, not wanting to distract him.
‘There’s Amber!’ Lucy squealed. She released herself and shot off across the ice as if she had been born on skates.
‘Be careful, Luce!’ Dexter called, and she waved a hand in acknowledgement.
‘Who’s Amber?’ Imogen closed the gap between them.
‘Her best friend.’ Dexter pointed to where Lucy was hugging a girl with dark, corkscrew curls, who was standing at the edge of the rink, a tall couple behind her. ‘Amber’s parents are here too, so we can leave her with them for a bit.’
‘Great,’ Imogen said, but some of her sparkle had faded. Dexter picked up her gloved hand, threading his fingers between hers.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ They skated close to the wall, but he wasn’t clinging onto it any more. He was so handsome, in his navy jacket and a grey-striped scarf, his curls thick and infinitely tuggable – as she’d found out at their rehearsal.
‘Imogen?’ he prompted.
‘I don’t want to hurt Lucy,’ she blurted. ‘Or you.’
‘Why would you hurt us?’
Whoooosh.
Someone skated past Imogen, fast and far too close, and she jolted sideways, catching the end of her blade in the ice. Dexter grabbed her waist and slid so he was in front of her, facing the wrong way. They came to a juddering halt.
‘We’re in the way,’ she said, and he tugged her to the edge of the rink. He stood so his back was against one of the foam posts, and she stopped in front of him, her skates bracketing his.
‘Why would you hurt us?’ he asked again.
‘Because I don’t know what I’m doing. I came here to escape, to hide, but I’ve found a whole lot more than a hidey-hole.’
‘A hidey-hole?’ His lips twitched.
‘Shush. I’m being serious.’
‘I know you are. And I know that Mistingham isn’t your home, and that you’re still figuring out what you want, but Imogen …
’ Dexter ran his thumb gently along her cheekbone.
Her face was cold and his leather glove was warm, but she wanted it gone: she wanted his skin against hers.
‘I have spent a long time putting Lucy first, and I will always, always do that, but for the first time in ages, I have met someone who I want to spend time with, who is worth having those difficult conversations with my daughter, and she likes you too.’
Imogen opened her mouth to speak, but he kept going.
‘One of the conversations will be about how things aren’t always for ever, and how that doesn’t have to be a bad thing; that good things can be temporary, too.
’ He shook his head. ‘What I’m trying to say is, you can’t hurt us if we go into this with our eyes open.
I will look after Lucy, I’ll always protect her, but I would never forgive myself if I let you go back to London without kissing you again. ’
Imogen’s nose tingled. She leaned into him; let him wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close. ‘Oh.’
‘Does that help?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Good.’ He brushed his lips over hers. ‘You look amazing on skates.’
She laughed, the sound breathless as he brought his mouth to hers again. ‘I don’t, I—’
‘You’re always amazing, Imogen.’
Then the teasing was over, and so was the talking, and despite their incredibly public location, Imogen let herself be kissed, thoroughly and completely, by Dexter, and she returned it with all the enthusiasm, all the longing, she held inside her.
The way he’d said it; you’re always amazing, Imogen, she recognized the reverence, the weight of his words.
They spoke of something deeper than fun, and flirting, and temporary.
She’d been feeling the same thing for a while, now; the way Dexter crowded her thoughts and made her breath hitch and had her smiling even when she wasn’t with him.
She should be ecstatic that he felt it too, but it scared her.
Dexter slid his hand into her hair, and she gripped his shoulders, and they kissed like teenagers at the winter fair, high on candyfloss.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and dizzy, Dexter’s eyes shining brighter than the fairy lights draped overhead, they were met with wolf whistles and applause, and Imogen turned in his arms to find Lucy grinning up at them, her hands clasped in front of her, like the happiest angel on top of the Christmas tree.