Behaving Badly Part 19

'Yes it is. But let's go to the pub.' By the time we'd walked down Gloucester Avenue to The Engineer I was feeling slightly calmer. Over the soup, I asked Dad how the golf club was going. He shook his head.

'Not well.' A deep frown had pleated his brow.

'Because of the membership problems?'

'Yes-the income from subscription is chronically low. And the point is that this is a commercial club, American style, which is why they gave me the job. It's not like a nice, traditional, non-profit-making club run by some retired brigadier. The shareholders have made a huge investment and will want a return on their money.'

'And if they don't get it?'

'Then I'll be out. I'm on a three-month contract so I've got to get results.'

'Can't you reduce the fees? Be a bit more compet.i.tive that way?'

'We can't afford to. It cost eight million to build-the land was very expensive and Nick Faldo designed the course.'

'Then couldn't you do an incentive thing? Like giving people a discount on the joining fee if they sign up now.'

'We already are doing that.'

'Women members?'

'Of course. With access to all areas.'

'Pay and play?' He nodded.

'Yes-they've reluctantly agreed, at a hundred a day.'

'What about advertising?'

'The budget's already way overspent. The meeting was very stressful,' he went on. 'The shareholders made it clear that they expect me to pull a pretty spectacular rabbit out of the hat, but I don't know how. I mean, I ran the resort at Palm Springs very efficiently but I've never had to make a success of a club from a standing start.'

'And there are a number of them down there already, aren't there?'

'Exactly. So we've got to offer something new.'

'Hmm, well, I wish I could help you. When do you open?'

'In mid-August, just before your birthday.'

'And how's it going in other ways? Are you adjusting to life in the UK?'

'A little. At least the weather's decent at the moment.'

'It is. This has been a long fine spell. So what are you missing about Palm Springs?'

'My friends, of course-and valet parking: it took me forty-five minutes to find a s.p.a.ce this afternoon.'

'And are you getting to know people yet?'

He shook his head. 'Not really-that'll take months. I just wish your mother would be friendly,' he added. 'I'd find the move here a lot easier.' He was fiddling with his bread roll. 'Actually, I've seen her again.'

'Have you?'

'At the gas station two days ago. I don't know whether or not she spotted me, but I suspect she did as she drove off very fast. But I thought I should make the first friendly overture, so what I did was...' He was looking slightly sheepish.

'What?'

'I called her. I found the number for East Suss.e.x Llama Treks in the local phone book and left a message, asking her to get in touch.'

'And did she?'

'No. So I tried again the next day and found she'd blocked my number. So at least I know where I am. I just wish she'd be a bit more...reasonable.'

'Well...' I sighed. 'You know what she's like. Plus, she's got problems of her own at the moment.'

'Really?'

'With the llamas. She needs a lot more business. They only really come into their own at the weekends because that's when people do the treks. At the moment they're not busy enough during the week and that worries her.'

'I see.'

'So, maybe she'll be a bit more sociable when things pick up.'

'I do hope so,' he sighed. 'I mean, I know I wasn't the world's best husband, Miranda. I know your mother felt neglected.'

'That's because you did neglect her, Dad-and me.'

'Yes,' he sighed. 'That's true. I was a young, selfish man. I decided to follow my dream. But you'd think that, after twenty years, she'd give me a break.'

'Hmm. I do know what you mean.'

'Anyway,' he glanced at his watch. 'I'd better get going. It's quite a long drive.'

And I was just waving him off when I heard the phone. It was Daisy, back from the self-defence cla.s.s.

'It was fantastic,' she exclaimed. 'So empowering! You really must come. It was all about reducing one's "victim potential"; and then a.s.sessing the threatening individual and deciding which of three courses of action to take-"Immediate Retreat", "De-Escalation", or "Confrontation". He's a really good teacher,' she gushed. 'So you'll be there next week, won't you?'

'Yes.'

'Do you promise me?'

'I do.'

'And have you heard from David again?'

'I have.'

'And?'

'I'm seeing him on Sat.u.r.day.'

'Good. And I've been thinking about it, Miranda-the better you get to know him, the easier it will be to tell him, won't it?'

'Maybe.' I wasn't sure about that.

'So what are you going to do this time?'

'I don't know. But he says he wants to do something "fun".'

'Ice skating,' he said, when he called me on Sat.u.r.day morning. 'How about that? Why don't we go ice skating?'

My heart sank. I'd look inept and inelegant. 'Ice skating? In the summer?'

'Why not? It's better actually because it's not so crowded. And I bet you haven't been for ages, have you?'

'No. The last time was when I was nine.'

'So shall we go? We could go to the Queensway Ice Bowl, then have dinner.'

I chewed on my lower lip. 'O-kay.'

'Great. I'll meet you outside at half-seven.'

When I came out of the tube at twenty-five past, David was already waiting. He was wearing jeans and a pale yellow shirt, and holding a bag. He smiled when he saw me, then kissed me on the cheek; and as he drew me into a hug I noticed his nice lemony scent again. As we went down the stairs I could hear the dull rumble of the bowling alley and the percussive bleeps of the amus.e.m.e.nt arcade.

'I'll be useless at this,' I said, as he bought the tickets.

'We won't do it for long-just an hour. It's a bit tacky here in some ways, but at least the rink's reasonably big. Now, Miss Behaviour-you need skates.'

'What about you?' He smiled, then pulled a black pair out of his bag, along with a green jumper. 'You've got your own ones?'

'I used to play a lot of ice hockey. When we lived in the States.'

'Ah.' I remembered the hockey stick I'd seen in his room. 'So you're hot stuff then.'

'Not bad. It's something I do from time to time and I thought it would be fun to do it with you.' I handed in my shoes at the counter and was given a pair of dark blue skates which looked more like ski-boots and were as hard to get into.

'Let me help you,' David said. I felt my face warm up as he held my right ankle and I held onto his shoulder. 'What small feet you have, Grandmama,' he said as he snapped shut the straps. Then he laced up his own skates, we pulled on our jumpers, and stepped gingerly onto the ice.

'Let me just find my balance,' he said. 'Stay right there.'

'Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere.' As I clung to the handrail with both hands, shivering slightly, David suddenly sped away from me, like mercury, under the coloured lights, and in less than a minute had lapped the rink twice. Then he swished up to me so fast I thought he'd crash into me-then braked with a sharp parallel turn.

'Gosh,' I said. 'You are hot stuff.'

'Well I should be-I did it for years. But it's not hard. I'll show you. Come on.' He extended his right hand-he wasn't wearing gloves-and I anxiously reached out my left. I took a small step then skidded, and, with a burning surge of adrenaline, grabbed at the rail with both hands.

'I can't do this,' I said, my heart pounding with the shock. 'I just can't. I'm so afraid of falling.' I felt a slight twinge in my rib.

'You won't fall.'

'I will.'

'It'll be easier if you give me your hand.' I awkwardly turned myself round to face him. 'Give me your hand,' he repeated gently.

'O-kay.' Now I steadied myself against the rail with my right hand, while David clasped my left. Then he pushed off and I began to inch forward.

'That's good. Yes, that's it. We'll just go slowly round like this a few times.'

'Uhhh,' I murmured as three teenagers shot past with a rasp of steel on frost. 'I'm going to be hopeless at this. Ooh!' The right skate had suddenly slipped away from me again, but David had caught me under the arms. He laughed as he hung onto me, then lifted me upright.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't worry. I won't let you fall. But don't walk on the ice, Miranda, try to glide on it.'

'I can't.'

'Yes you can. Just push forward with each foot-like this.' Now he went in front of me and took both my hands in his, skating backwards while he gently dragged me forwards. 'That's better. Stand a little straighter.'

'I can't. I'll fall down again.'

'You won't. I'm holding you.'

'I will,' I said, panicking. 'I'll lose my balance and pull you over too.'

'You're so light you can't. That's it. Now bend your knee, then push to the left, now the right, now the left. That's it-yes-good-hey, you're skating!' I laughed with relief and surprise. 'The trick is just to go very slowly at first.' We went round like this for about fifteen minutes or so. I gradually gained confidence, I looked at the other skaters. There were some boys careering around the perimeter, the wings of their jackets flaring, and a middle-aged couple who'd clearly skated for years. In the centre of the rink a small girl pirouetted gracefully, hands clasped above her head; she was clearly practising some routine. And now, as David spun me slowly across the ice in his arms, I became aware of the music. It was Cyndi Lauper.

If you're lost you can look and you will find me. Time after time.

If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting...

'You're not falling, are you?' said David.

'No,' I smiled. Or, rather, I am.

'You won't fall,' he said gently. 'Because I'll hold onto you.'...Time after time. He held me closer. Time after time...'You won't fall,' he whispered again, as he spun me slowly off the ice. 'You think I brought you here to show off, don't you?' he added. 'Well, it's not true.'

'Isn't it?' I laughed.

'No. It was an excuse to hold your hand. Okay,' he went on, as I felt my face flush. 'Let's go and get something to eat. Now, was that fun?' he asked as we walked up the steps.

'Yes it was. I really enjoyed it.'

'That's good-so what do you feel like?' We began to stroll down Queensway. 'We could have Moroccan, and smoke a hookah by the looks of it there, or do you fancy that Chinese over the road?' We pa.s.sed Bayswater underground, the pavement thronging with people, the illuminated blue dome of Whiteley's ahead. 'There's that Malaysian one,' David pointed out, 'or the Maharajah. I know there's a nice Lebanese a bit further down. Or how about that Italian one over there?'

'Yes. Italian. I suddenly fancy a risotto.' The restaurant was pleasant, quiet and smoke-free. 'So tell me about your trip to Barcelona,' I said as we were seated. 'What were you doing there?'

'Some shots to ill.u.s.trate a new book about ETA.'