Chapter Twenty-Two
The curling competition is total chaos. Thankfully, they have the ice rink to themselves—a luxury Mel imagines took some serious foresight on Susan’s part—which means that they’re not in danger of hurting anyone else in the process, only themselves.
It is early afternoon, and although the sky is a rather ominous gray, hints of late orange sunlight peek through, reflecting off the icy water of the loch below them.
With the fairy lights strung up around the outside of the ice rink, the effect is slightly ethereal—embodying that almost mystical quality that Christmas morning has when you are a kid.
Though the magical feel is somewhat hampered by the sound of Muscle Mike’s whistle.
“Whoop!” Hattie says, holding up her broom triumphantly.
“Score!” She attempts to do a pirouette, stumbles, and would have fallen flat on her face if it weren’t for Dylan skating over to her in time to catch her.
He is the only one of them who glides with purpose, as if he’s had endless practice at this.
“You should do Dancing on Ice, ” Mel calls to him. He shoots her a grin over the top of Hattie’s head.
“Actually,” Mike says, “that’s not a point. The stone isn’t within the house, unfortunately.”
“Oh, we can let her have it,” Susan says with a wave of her hand. Mike looks at her, and the expression of incredulity on his face is enough so that Mel has to resist the urge to burst out laughing.
“Mel!” Hattie complains. “You told me to sweep!”
“Bad form, Skip,” Finn says teasingly, skating over to her. He’s not as good as Dylan, but has still picked it up annoyingly quickly. She doesn’t look nearly as graceful—she’s sure of it.
“Hey, you guys put me in charge—I didn’t ask for it.” As “Skip,” she is, according to Mike, in charge of “directing play and strategizing”—but, seeing as how she has no idea what’s going on, she’s doing a pretty poor job of it.
Freya is up next, and Mark supports her elbows while she attempts to sweep in front of the stone. Both Kristen and Susan watch with almost identical grimaces, like they are just waiting for this to go wrong and for Freya to get hurt.
“Score!” Hattie shouts again when Freya finishes her go, showing as much enthusiasm as for her own near goal.
“High five, kid,” Mark says, holding up his hand for Freya to hit. She manages to do it without stumbling—actually, Freya is quite possibly getting the hang of this much quicker than the rest of them.
“Ah, actually—” Mike begins, but Susan cuts him off with a stern look. “I’ll allow it,” Mike concedes.
Finn gets really into the sweeping on his next go, so much so that he only just manages to stop falling over, and when the stone makes it into the “house,” Mike actually looks pleased when he blows his whistle—this time to announce a point.
“Woo-hoo!” Hattie shouts as Finn skates back over to their team, grinning.
Dylan high-fives him, Hattie pats him on the back.
Finn moves past them, pulls Mel into a celebratory hug.
It’s for show in front of the family, no doubt, but she can’t help noticing the way her body fits against his, the way her head knows the exact right spot to nestle after years of practice.
His arms tighten around her and for a moment it is just them, the warmth of his breath against her neck as they sway on the ice.
“Mum!” Hattie commands. “You’re up!”
Finn pulls away, giving Mel a little half smile, and it is almost apologetic. She finds herself looking down at her skates. Is he thinking about the other girl he has—in Wales, presumably? Or is he just feeling guilty for hugging her for show, after what happened yesterday?
“Oh, I’m not sure I have another round in me,” Susan says, leaning against the side of the ice rink with her broom behind her.
“Nonsense,” Mark declares. He skates over to her, takes one of her hands in his, and pulls her into a twirl, making her laugh and Freya clap. Mel glances up at Finn, sees the softening in his eyes as he watches his mum—and her heart squeezes. Damn it.
“You’re a natural, Mum!” Hattie calls, laughing, as Freya declares that she “wants a go.” Susan is laughing too, cheeks pink.
Mark twirls her again—and Mel sees it before it happens.
The loss of balance as Susan turns. The way she grabs Mark’s hand, tries to right herself—and the way Mark fumbles his hold.
She hits the ice with alarming force, the sound of her body smacking against it seeming to reverberate around the rink. Freya screams, someone swears, and Mike, for reasons best known to himself, blows his whistle.
Mark is already bending down, checking on her, and Susan is pushing up into a sitting position, grimacing slightly as she touches the back of her head, but otherwise seeming unharmed. Everyone converges as Mark tries to help her to her feet.
“Don’t move her!” Kristen snaps. “What were you thinking, Mark?” It is a harsher tone than Mel would have expected from Kristen—is that a hormones thing?
“Stay there, Susan,” Kristen continues. “She might have concussion or something. Mike.” She clicks her fingers—and actually, fair play, she seems to know how to command a room. “You’re first-aid trained.”
“Aye,” Mike says, skating over. “I think let’s get her off the ice, though.”
“You think or you know?” Kristen demands.
“Kristen, love,” Susan says from her sitting position. “I’m all right.”
“Mummy? I need a wee.”
“Daddy will take you,” Kristen says firmly.
“K, I think she’s—”
But Kristen cuts Mark off. “Take Freya to the loo. I’m staying with Susan.”
He hesitates, then nods. He takes one of Freya’s hands, then bends down to squeeze his mum’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mum.”
She pats his hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s my terrible balance to blame. But come on! Let’s not let this spoil things! Someone help me up!”
Dylan and Mike help Susan up and escort her off the ice, Kristen following behind, watching Mike as if she doesn’t trust him. Finn and Mel follow, and, after checking that his mum definitely is okay, Finn heads inside to get everyone a hot drink—curling competition apparently abandoned.
“You need to go to the hospital,” Kristen is saying to Susan as they sit her on a bench next to the rink.
“I do not,” Susan says. “It was just a little fall, love.”
“It was an epic fall,” Hattie corrects. “It will go down in the history of falls. But are you sure you’re okay, Mum?”
“ Yes, ” Susan says, sounding exasperated now. “And I most certainly do not need to trouble the poor hospital on Christmas Eve.”
“Aye, I think she’s fine,” Mike says. Mel has to admit, he’s not giving off huge confidence that the first-aid training he’s done was any good.
Kristen pushes her hands through her hair, face a little pale—and Mel thinks the stress of hiding her pregnancy must be getting to her.
She takes a seat on the next bench along, feeling a little redundant—but not wanting to get in the way, given there are already multiple people fussing.
Mark comes back out with Freya before Finn reappears, heading over to his mum.
“We’re taking her home,” Kristen announces.
“No, love, I—”
“ Yes, ” Kristen says. “No arguments.”
Susan sighs. “Well, at least the rest of you stay, have a nice time, hmm?”
“Do you know what,” Hattie says, “as much fun as this has been, I reckon I’m all curled out. How about we all head back, put on a fire, and eat all the remaining mince pies?”
Susan sighs. “Well, if you’re sure.” She glances over at Mel. “Mel? What about you?”
“Me and Finn will follow. Kristen’s right—go and get warmed up.”
They all head inside to get out of their skates, Kristen insisting Susan walk very slowly, just as Finn reappears with a tray of hot drinks from the on-site café. He raises his eyebrows at the lack of people. “Way to clear a crowd.”
“They’re taking your mum home,” she explains. “She’s fine,” she adds quickly.
“Course she is. She’s tough.”
He moves to sit on the bench next to Mel, handing her a cup of tea and putting the tray with the other drinks on the floor next to their feet. “Good thing I ordered all of these, then. Now we’ll have to drink up just the two of us.”
“I think, even for me, six cups of tea back to back might be too much.”
“Ah, well.”
His phone buzzes and he reaches into his coat pocket to retrieve it. The screen is alight with someone calling, but Mel looks deliberately away. It is not her business, she tells herself firmly. They are broken up. They are faking it, for his family.
“Mel?”
“Hmmm?”
“You’re not listening, are you?” His hand is empty—no phone in sight.
“Sorry. What did you say?”
His gaze flicks over her face, considering. “Is everything okay?”
“Of course.”
He shakes his head. “Not buying it. I know you, remember.”
She wrinkles her nose. If he knows her so well, he wouldn’t have broken up with her, thinking it was for the good of them both, would he?
“Come on.” He nudges her lightly in the ribs with his elbow. “Tell me. Is it work?”
“No.” Although, come to think of it, shouldn’t she be due an email from Lillian soon? Maybe the agent will wait until the new year to give her their verdict.
“Well, then what?”
She hesitates briefly. She could just brush him off, tell him it’s not his job to care about what’s wrong with her anymore. Instead, she jerks her head toward his now-empty hand. “Who was that?”
His turn to hesitate—long enough that she has to bite her tongue to stop speculating out loud. “It was my dad, actually.”
“Your dad ?” She stares at him. “Seriously?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Yes. Seriously.”
“Your dad,” she repeats again. “Just your dad?”
“Yes,” he says, his voice on the edge of a laugh. “My dad. Why, Mel, who did you think it was?”