Page 70 of Sad Girl Hours
Because it hasn’t. She’s a person with feelings. Alert the media.
God, I think I’ve been a bit of a tit.
Chapter Thirty-two
Saffron
I’m still in an invisible tug of war with myself and my rotting brain when we reach the ice rink. Nell squeals when she sees the square and does an adorable little jump.
I love how excited she gets about things, how earnestly unrestrained she is, letting herself feel everything.
Even I must admit that it’s a beautiful scene. There are strings of warm-coloured bulbs skirting the edge of the ice rink that encircles the stone monument in the centre of the square. Then the lights cross between the two rows of festive wooden huts alongside the rink.
People are already out on the ice – toddlers in puffy coats and snowsuits looking like tiny, bobble-hatted Michelin men as they cling on to small penguins to stay upright, couples holding hands as they skate round them, scarves trailing behind them, one guy on his own showing off by doing an impressive pirouette.
And then there’s the Ferris wheel, lit up with white spotlights and turning slowly, and the carousel, looking like a relic from a bygone era with its old-fashioned charm, chipped-paint horses rising and falling as the organ music breathes its tune.
“Come on – let’s go get our skates on! Last one to fall over or collide with a small child wins!” Nell calls to us, forging her way determinedly to the tent by the side of the rink.
A few minutes later, all skated up, we make our way out on to the ice. Nell squeals with glee again, even as her feet slide backand forth without actually propelling her forward, her right hand clasped firmly round the metal railing.
Vivvie skates off, not quite at doing-the-Bolérolevel, but still in a much more impressive display of coordination than the rest of us are showing anyway. Casper takes a couple of slides forward and then immediately slips and falls backwards on to his bum, Jenna cackling at him before helping him up.
I can’t help but laugh too as I skate after Nell. “So, Casper’s out of the contest already,” I say when I’m by her side, moving very tentatively.
“Shh,” Nell says. “I’m hoping everyone will forget I said anything about winning given Vivvie’s clearly got this in the bag. Can’t believe she neglected to tell us she used to take figure-dancing classes as a kid.”
“Yep,” Vivvie says, coming up behind to lap us already. “I was obsessed with the costumes and begged my parents to let me take figure-dancing classes. Hence why they’d thought I was gay since I was about four and so were surprisingly chill about me telling them I was pan and also trans.”
She doesn’t wait for our response, instead continuing to skim gracefully across the ice.
“I love it when Vivvie drops some new childhood lore, and we find out she’s been the exact same person since she was born,” Nell says.
“Stubborn, passionate and undeniably fabulous?”
“Exact— Oh,shit.”
“Here, I’ve got you,” I say through a laugh as Nell’s knee slides out from under her. I catch her by the elbow and pull her upright.
“Phew. I can’t fall yet. It would be too damaging to my street cred.”
“What street cred?” I tease.
“Excuse me! I’m a very cool and sexy person. I positively ooze street credibility. Seriously, touch me. I’m slimy with it all.”
“You and your way with words,” I say. And yes, objectively, the words ‘ooze’ and ‘slimy’ are gross. But still, something about Nell saying she’s a cool andsexyperson has me feeling like a gay disaster and also very warm, despite the bitter cold radiating up from our floor of ice.
I’m quiet while I think through this and I feel Nell glance at me with curiosity, but I pretend I’m just concentrating on not falling over. Which, to be fair, I am also doing.
To our mutual surprise, both Nell and I manage to stay upright for the duration of our skating session. I even manage to persuade Nell that she’s more capable than she thinks and that she can let go of the metal bar. She does but only after making me promise not to let go of her hand. I agree, thinking,Why on earth would I ever do that?
Once we’re done, I feel a little uneasy on solid ground. I keep expecting my feet to slide from under me.
“All right, what now then?” Jenna asks.
“I will be heading straight over to get one of those roast-dinner wraps in a Yorkshire pudding that the beautiful man is selling over there.”
“Casper, you atethirteenYorkshire puddings just before we came out,” I say with a laugh.
