The Courier & Advertiser (Fife Edition)

Ice Dancing Episode 29

- By Catherine Czerkawska

HI was skating. It was magical. I should’ve let go of him and tried it myself. It would have been the sensible thing to do...

e knelt down and started to undo the laces on my old trainers. This was too intimate. My heart wouldn’t stand the strain. I looked dizzily at the top of his head as he bent over my foot, the soft, almost furry hair, the white scalp beneath. I swear I almost reached out to touch it. The impulse was so strong. So foolish. I caught my breath.

As though suddenly aware of my feelings – perhaps I had communicat­ed them – he looked up at me, with a grave, open stare.

“I think you should let me do that,” I whispered.

“All right.” He sat back on his heels, spread his hands, let me take off my trainers and put the skates on myself.

“I don’t want to skate,” I said, even while I was fumbling with the long laces.

“Here. Let me.” He bent down again and began to do them up. “People here never tie them tight enough. You see all these little kids wobbling around with shaky ankles. No wonder they can’t skate.”

“I think you’ve cut off all circulatio­n to my feet.”

“They’ll be fine. They’ll loosen up as soon as you get on the ice.”

“I’ll fall over as soon as I get on the ice.” “No you won’t. I won’t let you.”

I had forgotten how difficult it was, like setting foot in an alien environmen­t. And it was worse because Fiona was staring at me. No, more than that, she was glaring at me from the other end of the rink. I could feel it all the way down the ice. And then I stopped caring about Fiona because the feet slid from under me and I fell flat on my backside. And it was sore.

Joe bent down and pulled me into a sitting and then into a wobbly standing position.

“Oh, Helen!” He tucked my arm under his and I could feel him laughing all the way down his arm. “I’m sorry. Are you OK?”

“Fine. Bruised my bum and my dignity, but I’m fine.”

My cheeks were flaming but he didn’t seem to care.

“You just have to get your confidence back.”

“It’s easy for you to say. You don’t fall down.”

“But I do fall down. Hockey players fall all the time. It’s what we do. I’m a D-man Helen. Sometimes it’s the only way to stop the puck. Falling doesn’t matter as long as you get back up again.”

“What’s a D-man?”

“I play in defence.’ He grinned. ‘Hockey 101,’ he said. “It’s my job to stop the other team from scoring.”

“I thought the goalie did that.” “Yeah, well he does. But we’re supposed to stop the puck before it gets to him. We don’t always manage it though.”

“Yes, but you’re well padded when you do it. You wear all that kit don’t you?” “Well, that’s true.”

“Doesn’t it take forever to get dressed?” “You get used to it. It goes on in layers. Come on. Try again.”

He was so sure of himself on the ice. That was what was good about him. It was his space, and he could work magic in it. I staggered about with him for a bit, and he said, “Look, you’re trying to slide your feet forward, but that’s not the way to do it. You have to push the ice away from you instead. Watch.”

He left me clutching at the barrier and skated away from me in a straight line, exaggerati­ng the push and then came back to me, doing crossovers in an elegant semi-circle.

“If you were a kid, I’d give you a chair to push. That’s what we do back home. One of those chairs with metal runners.” “That would be good.”

“I’ll have to do instead. Take my arm again.”

I took his arm, clutching it like a drowning woman.

“Now, don’t do anything for the moment. Just relax and try to keep your skates reasonably straight and let me do all the work.”

He skated off gently and took me with him. My knees locked and I almost fell over again, my other arm flailing. But he held me up easily. He was a full head taller than me. “Relax. I can feel you all tensed up through your arm. No wonder you keep falling over.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You can. You have to learn to trust me. Drop your shoulders. No, drop them.” I relaxed slightly.

“Let me do it,’ he said. ‘I can do it for you. Don’t grit your teeth like that.” He patted my hand, the one that was clutching convulsive­ly at his arm. And then he said, in a low voice, “For God’s sake, Helen. You’re not gonna get hurt. Let yourself go, why don’t you? Just let go.”

And I did it. I let go, not of him, but of myself. I relaxed and trusted him to do the work for me. I let him take me where he wanted. They were playing Cher again. This time it was Jesse James. He skated quite slowly and he took me with him. I began to breathe properly. My knees relaxed. We went round like that several times. Fiona and her pals were leaning against the barrier, watching. Fiona was looking daggers but Shona was laughing, in a good way. She waved as we passed and Fiona grabbed at her arm, shaking her head. But I didn’t care.

“We’re embarrassi­ng your daughter,” said Joe.

“I know.”

“She’ll survive.”

“I know.”

On the third or fourth circuit, I don’t know which because I’d lost count by then, he said, “Now, you have a try. Move your legs. Push. Push the ice away.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let go of you. I won’t let you fall again. Just push the ice away.”

And I did. And it was easy. By the time we were going round again, I had begun to get the hang of it. I was skating. It felt magical. I should have let go of him and tried it by myself. I should have done that. It would have been the sensible thing to do, but I didn’t. And he didn’t seem in any hurry to let me go either.

Instead he put his hand over mine where it was linked through his arm. We just skated around together and we didn’t even say very much. Eventually, because I felt I had to, I said, “Don’t you want to go and practise or something?”

“No.” He squeezed my hand. “No. I’m fine. I don’t need to practise. This is just for fun. You quit worrying about me and worry about yourself for a change, Helen.”

“I just thought…”

“Don’t think. Just do it. Are you enjoying this?”

“Yes. It’s fantastic. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed anything so much.” “Well then. Fiona will get over it.” And we skated.

More tomorrow.

Ice Dancing by Catherine Czerkawska, Dyrock Publishing, £9.99 and Kindle E-reader from £2.99. For more of her books, including The Posy Ring and A Proper Person To Be Detained, see

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