I Owe You One: A Novel(24)

“Well,” I say breathlessly. “It’s just what I think.”

I’m half-hoping Ryan will lean forward and kiss me, but he doesn’t; he stands up and turns toward the dresser laden with trophies. We hardly ever use this room, so I’ve got used to the trophies being ignored. Disregarded by everyone except Mum. But now Ryan’s studying each one with fascination.

“I’d forgotten about your ice-skating,” he says. “That must have been a big dream for you too. What happened there?”

“Oh, that.” I feel a familiar painful twinge. “God. Whatever. Didn’t work out.” I get to my feet too, and reluctantly follow his gaze.

“But, look! You were good. I never knew why you gave up.” He’s picked up a framed photo of me in an aquamarine skating dress, aged thirteen, one leg held above my head as I glide across the ice.

“Oh, just lost interest, I suppose,” I say with a feeble smile, and look away.

Seeing that photo brings back a rush of bad feelings, because that was the day it all changed. I’d practiced my junior free program for months. The whole family had come to watch, to cheer me on.

If I close my eyes, I’m back at the rink again, the place that felt like home for so many years. I can recall the crisp chilled air. The silky finish of my outfit. And Jake, in a filthy mood, standing mutinously as Mum fussed around me and took photos. He was angry because Mum had found him secretly drinking in his room and stopped his allowance. And he took it out on me. When he came over to me, I thought he was going to say, “Good luck.” I was totally unprepared for what happened.

“How many hours?” he said into my ear. “How many fucking hours have I sat and watched you slide around? Mum’s obsessed, Dad goes along with it, but what about me and Nicole? You’ve ruined our lives, you know that?”

And before I could even draw breath, he walked off, leaving me trembling in shock.

I could blame him for my fall that day. I could say he put me off. And there would be some truth in it. As I skated out onto the ice, my legs were quivering. I’d never, not once, seen my skating as anything but positive. I’d always thought Jake and Nicole were proud of me. Just like Mum always told me they were.

But now Jake’s point of view was all I could see. Mum’s attention sucked up. Money spent on lessons and costumes. All the spotlight focused on me. It was all painfully clear. So I was off my game, not concentrating, and I fell. Badly.

Afterward, everyone told me not to worry—never mind, you nailed the jump in practice, and you’ll nail it again next time. My heart wasn’t in it, though. I gave up skating completely within three months, despite my coach, Jimmy, trying to talk me back into it.

I can’t only blame Jake. It was me. My personality. The best skaters are natural performers. They see the audience and blossom. They wouldn’t care if their brother was jealous—it’d spur them on. They’d approach their jumps thinking, Fuck you! and reach even greater heights. After Jake landed his bombshell on me, I approached every jump thinking, I’m sorry.

The trouble is, I’m sorry doesn’t power anything. It drags you down. By the end, I could barely get my feet off the ice.

“Do you still skate?” asks Ryan, and I flinch before I can stop myself.

“No,” I say flatly, then realize I sound too abrupt. “I went back to it in my year off,” I amend. “I didn’t compete or anything; I qualified as a skating coach and taught beginners.”

“I expect you’re sick of ice rinks.” He laughs.

“Yes,” I agree, although it isn’t true. I still love ice rinks. I go to Somerset House every year when they put on the skating. I watch all the people swishing round the ice—or falling, most of them—and I love the sight. I just don’t need to join in.

I take the photo from Ryan’s hand and cast around for a new subject—but before I can think of one, Jake strides in, holding a beer. “Here you are!” he says, almost accusingly.

“Have you been helping out Mum?” I ask, but Jake ignores me. He sees the photo in my hand and rolls his eyes.

“Showing off your past glories, Fixie? You should have seen her fall on her bum,” he adds to Ryan with a bark of laughter. “Classic. Wish I’d recorded it.”

“I don’t believe it,” says Ryan, twinkling at me. “I bet you never fell on your bum.”

Silently, I put the photo back on the dresser. I’ve never mentioned that day to Jake. We’ve never revisited that conversation. Does he even know what an impact he had on me?

Anyway. You move on.

“Hey!” I say, as a new idea seizes me. “Ryan, you could work at the shop with us for a bit. Learn the retail trade. We could teach you everything! And then you could move on to something, you know, bigger.”

I’m trying to sound as though this is simply a reasonable career suggestion, although my heart has seized up in delirious hope. It’s the perfect solution! I’d see him every day … he’d feel like part of the family …

“Ah, I’m not sure about that.” Ryan wrinkles his suntanned nose. “Might be awkward, working for you guys. Jake, mate, didn’t you bring me a beer?”

I force myself to keep smiling, determined he won’t see my disappointment. Why would he think it would be awkward? It wouldn’t be awkward! But there’s no point pressing the idea. If he doesn’t want to work at the shop, he doesn’t.