Breaking the Ice (2 page)

The seats she had offered were not doing it for the woman on the phone and as she was suggesting eight seats all sat together in row R, she noticed someone loitering by the entrance. The man had caught her attention because he was carrying the largest bag she had ever seen. She saw him look at the poster outside advertising
Ballet for All Seasons
and then, with his free hand, he pushed open the double doors at the entrance and came into the hall.

‘
I realise you’d like to be nearer the ice Madam, but tomorrow night is almost sold out and there are only so many seats I can offer due to fire regulations,’ Samantha spoke, tapping on her keyboard and wishing the woman would just hurry up and book something. If she was honest she could think of nothing else but the ice cream. She didn’t know what to do for the best. What she wanted to do was buy it all herself and eat it, just so she didn’t have to worry about it any more, but even she knew that was a bit mad.

The man was walking across the room now and heading towards her. He was tall, almost six foot and slim. He had light brown hair which was fashionably spiked up, and he was wearing sunglasses. As well as the huge bag in his hand, he had a rucksack on his back.

Samantha smiled politely as he approached her desk and he removed his sunglasses and smiled back at her. Immediately she noticed his deep brown eyes. They were like dark chocolate. Chocolate - vanilla - ice cream. She was back to fretting about the excess supply of Berry Fruits.

‘
I can offer you another date, perhaps Friday?’ Samantha bargained.

Dave should have been back from lunch by now. He’d been gone almost an hour and a half and he was supposed to be manning reception while Samantha took her break.

The man put his bag down on the floor and picked up a leaflet about the ice show from the rack on the counter.

‘
No I’m sorry, nothing nearer the front for tomorrow night’s show. No, absolutely nothing, not even if you’ve been patronising us for a decade Madam,’ Samantha spoke, her patience wearing thin.

She couldn’t tell Felicity about the ice cream, she would laugh and find it all highly amusing, she wouldn’t understand Samantha’s concern. She had a system in that freezer, cones on one side, tubs on another, ice poles on the top shelf. At the moment all you could see was the Berry Fruits logo as soon as you opened the door, Billy Blackberry leapfrogging Sally Strawberry.

The man raised his head to look at her, a smirk appearing on his face in appreciation of her comment to the customer.

Samantha mouthed an apology to him and then, seeing writing implements in reach, she took a pen and a piece of paper and quickly wrote:-

How can I help?

She pushed the paper and the pen across the desk towards him.

‘
Do I have any tickets for
Ballet for All Seasons
? Yes, of course, that performance isn’t until later in the year,’ Samantha spoke to her customer on the telephone.

She watched as the man wrote something on the paper and passed it back to her, together with the pen.

Samantha picked it up and read it:-

Which way are the dressing rooms?

Samantha hurried scrawled on the paper, this time two lines worth, and pushed it back across the counter.

He looked at the message:-

The dressing rooms are for performers
only
if you are entourage you need the door at the back of the building

‘
I can book you tickets for the ballet now, but did you want tickets for
Skating on Broadway
?’ Samantha asked, truly getting fed up with the caller. Perhaps she should ask her preferred ice cream flavour though, as a bit of market research.

She watched as the man began to draw on the
Skating on Broadway
leaflet, a large round circle and an arrow, and then he wrote something on the bottom of the paper. He passed both things to her with a smile.

Samantha looked down at the leaflet and then at the note.

I’m Jimmy and that’s me in the red Lycra

Samantha looked at the picture of the skaters on the front of the pamphlet and saw that he was indeed the principal skater, Jimmy Lloyd.

She could feel her face redden and the Woolston Civic Hall jumper turn into inappropriate warm wear as the embarrassment threatened to engulf her. Now all she wanted to do was hold on to her irritating caller. She was her only reason for not having to talk to the ice star she hadn’t recognised.

She hurriedly scribbled on the paper and, not daring to look at him again, she passed it over.

First door on the left, follow the corridor – sorry

Jimmy smiled and wrote a hasty reply. He passed the paper back to Samantha, picked up his bag and made his way down the room.

‘
No Madam, the ballet’s only here for one night,’ Samantha spoke, turning the paper towards herself so she could read it.

Thank you, Samantha

The name badges had a lot to answer for. Dave called them a useful tool that made the customers feel they were ‘getting to know you each time you interact’. Samantha only enjoyed having her name emblazoned on her chest when it meant people wrote cards or telephoned Dave to praise her on the wonderful service she had given them, which didn’t really happen that often. Other than that it was a nuisance, particularly when customers started bandying it around in conversation, like the ability to see your name suddenly made you best friends. ‘Will there be any flashing lights during the performance
Samantha
’ or ‘Oh it’s
Samantha
isn’t it? I wonder if you could tell me,
Samantha
, what time the show is due to finish’. And if someone had cause to complain
Samantha
, who was exposing her name so brazenly, was in the firing line immediately. She hadn’t had a complaint since the guide dog incident, but failing to recognise one of the main stars of
Skating on Broadway
, that was unforgiveable.

What was the matter with her? She studied the What’s On guide in detail, she should have been expecting the performers to start turning up, she should have paid more attention.

She didn’t notice Dave’s reappearance until it was too late and he leant over her, resting a plump hand on the desk and breathing deeply so she got the full benefit of the beer and pork scratching fumes. Real ale was obviously on special offer at the pub again. It wasn’t pleasant and Samantha immediately removed her headset and rose from her chair to avoid any further wafts that might be directed her way.

‘
Alright Duck? How were sales while I was out?’ Dave questioned, sitting his large body down on the chair that immediately depressed a few inches under the weight.

‘
Good.
Humpty Dumpty and Friends
is almost sold out, I’ve sold about fifty tickets for various nights of
Skating on Broadway
and
Ballet for All Seasons
is also doing well,’ Samantha informed him, taking her bag down from the peg behind the desks.

‘
Well done Duck. Keep this up and you could be in line for a BOB,’ Dave informed her, smiling just enough for Samantha to catch a glimpse of his gold tooth.

She smiled back and picked up her bag. A BOB (Box Office Bonus) was a night out with Dave at his favourite pizzeria where he ate too much garlic, drank too much wine and tried to make you do the same. Then you had to try and do or say anything to avoid sharing a taxi with him or letting him walk you anywhere. She had been on a BOB night once, when she had first started working at the hall. Now, although she was the highest selling assistant every month, she made sure she assigned a large proportion of her ticket sales against Felicity’s code. Never again was she going to experience the humiliation of a fat, balding, forty-something trying to hit on her.

‘
Oh, one thing that happened - Jimmy Lloyd turned up. But the show doesn’t start until tomorrow night and I didn’t think we were expecting anyone today,’ Samantha spoke as she paused by the door that led away from the front desk.

‘
Prior arrangements Samantha, I should’ve mentioned it. Did he ask for me? I expect he asked for me, didn’t he?’ Dave spoke, leaning back in the chair and cracking his knuckles loudly as he put his hands together.

‘
Well no, but…’ Samantha started, the noise setting her teeth on edge.

‘
I let the boys in earlier, the technical crew who are setting up the rink. Nice lads, down to earth, you know -
au natural
as we say. Jimmy Lloyd wanted to get in some extra rehearsal time,’ Dave informed Samantha.

‘
Oh,’ Samantha responded.

She was doing her best not to become irritated as she watched Dave slick his hands through his hair before putting on the headset she had just been wearing. No wonder it was itching her. It wasn’t Gobby’s fur or fleas, it was two tonne of hair products. He went on to put his Brylcreamed fingers all over the keyboard. Sanitising wipes, she needed to order some, she was down to her last packet.

‘
OK Duck, you get off to your break. The manager’s here to manage,’ Dave told her with another gold toothed grin.

Samantha gave him a weak smile and headed out of the office and into the main lobby.

She never went out at lunchtimes. She wasn’t a shopper or one for fancy wraps or expensive pasta lunches, and sitting on a bench in the nearby park did nothing for her. The park was usually full of single mothers with kids who screamed and chased swans with sticks, or tramps lying on the best benches away from the bins. There was usually bird shit on any benches that weren’t taken up by tramps or single mothers and if you didn’t get an over-friendly dog wanting to hump your leg while you were eating your sandwich you were lucky. And then there were the joggers who gave you a death stare as you bit into your tuna mayo and made you feel like you should be eating nothing but Nimble bread and watercress or eating nothing at all and racing round the park supping Evian like it was going out of fashion.

So, lunchtimes for Samantha involved a short trip up two flights of stairs to the light and sound booth. Although it was only a small room predominately filled with a mixing desk that controlled the in-house speakers and lights, she had made it her haven. She had some favourite books there, a radio and magazines Cleo had given her (the usual celebrity and fashion trash but it passed the time) and she had a bird’s eye view of the arena of the Civic Hall. Most importantly it was quiet, there were no telephones, no customers, and no Dave, meaning she could sit and relax for an hour.

Cleo had no understanding of what it was like to be quiet and alone with just your thoughts for company. When she’d asked Samantha what she did for her lunch hour she felt compelled to lie. She told her she walked up West most days mentioning Primark and H&M a good few times. She wasn’t sure Cleo believed her but it was better than admitting she hardly ever left the Civic Hall in the daytime and was back there again most evenings.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have friends, she had been out with Felicity and Karen for drinks after work at least twice, she just preferred her own company. What was wrong with that? Plus she had Cleo to fill any void she might have with her endless chatter and racy lifestyle. It was like sharing a flat with a principal actress in a continuing drama, there was just no need for Samantha to assert herself towards excitement, Cleo provided it all with no effort required.

She was just about to start flicking through
Star Life
magazine when she suddenly realised there appeared to be more light coming from the main arena than usual. She moved her seat forward so she was closer to the window that overlooked the floor. She pressed her nose against the glass and the scene that greeted her almost took her breath away. A large proportion of the floor space had been turned into an ice rink and the bright whiteness was shining up into the arena like a reflection from a giant mirror.

She was just beginning to marvel at her seating arrangement around the rink when she saw someone step onto the ice and start to skate round it. She put
Star Life
magazine down on top of the mixing desk and watched the skater moving around the ice, getting faster and faster as he warmed up his blades.

She could see it was Jimmy Lloyd, but he’d changed from what he’d been wearing earlier and was now dressed in a deep blue long-sleeved polo neck and black tracksuit bottoms with thick socks tapering the trousers in at the top of his skates.

Samantha was transfixed, watching him gather speed across the ice and then jump. He made two turns in the air and landed on one foot, elegantly moving off again as if it had been the simplest manoeuvre in the world.

Her knowledge of ice skating could be summed up in three words. Torvill and Dean. But she had skated herself, years ago. When she was a teenager she and Cleo had been regulars at an ice disco near to where they’d lived. She had enjoyed the music and the exercise while Cleo had enjoyed teetering around the café in her blades chatting up boys who used to speed around the ice for five minutes, not caring what or who was in their path, and then decamp to the café and decant Martini Rosso into their coffee. The ice rink had long since been turned into a housing estate.