Always, in December(14)
“Two tickets?” the lady prompted, looking at Josie as if she thought she was an invalid.
“Yes, please,” Max said, sliding his wallet out from his coat pocket. Josie wrinkled her nose at the old leather and the sheer number of cards, receipts, and bits of paper sticking out from inside the wallet. Surely he must lose things like that? He handed over his bank card to pay and the lady gave them their tickets without glancing up from her screen.
“Here,” Josie said, fumbling in her handbag, “I think I have cash, hang on.”
Max shook his head, slipped his wallet back in his pocket and without even touching her managed to maneuver Josie out of the way of the trio of girls who stepped up behind them. “Don’t worry about it.”
Josie hesitated, then nodded and smiled her thanks, figuring it would be rude to argue. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, wishing that she’d opted against Bia’s advice and gone hat-free. It was a crisp day for sure, but not cold enough to see their breath, the clear sky above allowing the sun to warm the chilly air. Soon, once the sun set, she was sure she’d be thankful for her hat, gloves, and scarf, but right now she felt too warm as they walked down the first makeshift street, with food stalls on either side of them. She couldn’t take her hat off now though, because she was sure that her hair would be plastered to her head, something that Bia clearly hadn’t thought about when she’d dressed Josie in her winter chic outfit this morning before she’d left.
Max glanced down at her as he set the pace, his long, leisurely stride covering the ground in a way that made her feel she had to rush to keep up with him. “So…What now?”
“Well,” Josie said, blowing out a breath. “I thought we could go ice-skating?”
“Ice-skating…” Max frowned immediately and Josie resisted the urge to grit her teeth. It had been his bloody idea to come together, he could at least fake the enthusiasm.
“Yes,” she said more firmly. “Ice-skating.” She made herself smile brightly again. “It’ll be fun!” And maybe break the ice, she thought to herself, smirking a little at her joke, though she wouldn’t say it out loud. “Come on, I think it’s this way.” She took the lead and marched on, even as she saw his expression twist skeptically.
“I’m not actually that good at—”
“Doesn’t matter!” Her voice came out in that same forcibly jovial tone, like an overexcited shop assistant, but she couldn’t seem to stop it. “It’s all part of the experience,” she insisted. And it would be better, she was sure, than walking around in awkward silence for the afternoon.
They managed to get in on the next round of ice-skating, which, she was told by the plump, finger-waggling ice-skating man, was very lucky indeed. They pulled on their skates in the locker room, the white plastic skates refusing to give so much as an inch to mold to her feet. There was still five minutes before the changeover, so they hobbled awkwardly to the side of the ice rink, Max pulling a face as he tried to walk, and leaned against the barrier to watch the remaining people from the last group.
Josie watched a young girl with blond hair in two plaits, around seven or eight, she’d guess, being pulled around the ice rink by her dad, face set in concentration, legs barely moving as she tried to keep her balance. She smiled as the girl stumbled, wide-eyed, and grabbed hold of her father for support, who laughed a little and said something to her before starting up again, slowly.
Almost unconsciously, Josie rubbed at the scar on her left wrist, hidden by her glove. She’d been ice-skating with her own parents once, she remembered. It was an indoor rink, nothing like this one, but her dad had been holding her hand, just like this girl’s. She remembered he’d had to get off the ice for some reason, and had handed her over to her mum. She’d refused to skate with her mum at first, telling her that she just wasn’t as good as Daddy, but had been cajoled into it by laughter and teasing. And then her mum had fallen, just as Josie had been afraid of. And instead of letting go of Josie’s hand, her mum had grabbed hold of it, trying to keep upright but pulling them both over in the process. Everyone had been so worried, Josie remembered now, because she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even cried as she’d smacked her wrist on the ice. They were worried it might be broken at first, but it turned out to be just a sprain. It had left a round, puckered scar on the top of her wrist, though, which she’d used to learn left from right as a child.
“Josie?” She jolted a little at the sound of her name and looked up to see Max watching her. “You OK?”
“Yes.” She smiled, trying to let go of the twinge of sadness. “Sorry, in my own world.”
“They’re letting people on now, so if you want to…” He gestured at the gate to the ice rink.
“Right. Yes. Yes, come on then.” She started her awkward, clunky walk to the gate, thankful that she was not the only one looking like she was walking on precarious stilts.
“You sure you’re OK?” He tripped over his skates as he shuffled along behind her, having to grab hold of the side to stay upright. God, and they hadn’t even hit the ice yet.
“I’m sure,” she said lightly. Because explaining that she’d been hit by a memory of her dead parents seemed just a tad too much for a first date. Not that this was a date, she told herself firmly. Attractive he may be, but he also seemed like he never laughed, and she couldn’t be doing with that. Besides, she’d literally only just broken up with Oliver.