I attempt a smile but I’m quaking inside. I feel like a prize idiot, standing there with a forced grin on my face, not knowing how the hell I’m going to actually move even an inch from the spot.
Why do people think this is fun? Are they all masochists?
Sighing, I glare down at my skates, willing them to do the right thing. But they wilfully disobey and slide in opposite directions, so, next second, I’m back on my bum with an agonising bang.
‘Are you okay? Can I help you up?’
I glance up into the face of a guy with a friendly smile. He looks about my age and, more importantly, he looks as if he can actually stand without wobbling.
‘That’s so kind of you.’ I smile up at him and roll over onto my knees as Poppy taught me. ‘If you could just give me a hand, I’ll get out of these alien things and onto solid ground.’
‘I could take you round if you like,’ he offers. ‘I can’t promise to stay on my feet myself, but I’m sure that, between the two of us, we could prop each other up?’
I shake my head firmly. ‘No, thank you. I’ve had enough for one day.’
‘Are you here with anyone?’ He glances around as he helps me up.
‘My new boss. She’s in the café, I think, talking business.’
‘Leaving you to sink or swim?’ He grins.
‘Or crash.’ I pause for a while to navigate the stepping-off-the-ice bit, which looks a little tricky. The relief when I’m on solid ground is huge. ‘Actually, she didn’t just abandon me. Well, she did – but I think she expected me to be grown-up about it and not freak out like I did.’
I smile at my rescuer but he’s gazing at me with a slight frown on his face.
‘This might seem like a weird question,’ he says. ‘But don’t I know you from somewhere?’
My heart sinks.
‘Er, no, I don’t think so.’
Great. Someone else who witnessed my total humiliation on live TV! Will I ever be able to live that disastrous night down?
‘Right.’ He nods and doesn’t pursue it, much to my relief. ‘I’m Alex, by the way.’
‘Roxy.’ We shake hands.
‘Short for Roxanne?’
I nod. ‘My mum’s a Sting fan.’
‘Ah. Great classic, that. Rooooox-anne.’
‘Yes, shame it’s about a sex worker, though,’ I say drolly, and he chuckles and acknowledges my jest with a nod.
We lean on the safer side of the rink edge and watch the skaters flying by.
‘It’s not easy, this skating lark,’ he murmurs. ‘I haven’t done it since I was a teenager. I’ve got used to spending Christmases in Australia on the beach.’
I glance at him in surprise. ‘So you emigrated?’
‘Yeah. I studied at uni here, then Mum and Dad decided they wanted to live in sunnier climes, so I went with them. That was eight years ago.’
That explains his tanned face and neck, and possibly the lighter streaks in his dark blond hair, I think, glancing at him. ‘I suppose there’s not much opportunity for pop-up festive skating rinks in Australia.’
He grins, showing two rows of nice white teeth. ‘None at all. Actually, one of the things I’ve missed living over there is the British seasons.’
I nod solemnly. ‘Yes, I can see how you would long for a cold, sleety walk along a British beach. You’d get sick of warm, golden sands and barbecues and swimming in the ocean pretty quickly, I’d imagine.’
‘Been there, done that, got the T-shirt,’ he says in a bored voice.
We look at each other and laugh.
‘So are you here to stay? Or will you be going back to Australia?’
‘I’ll be heading back to Oz after Christmas. I work as a GP in Melbourne for my sins.’
I sneak another glance at his shaggy blond hair. ‘I bet you surf.’
He turns and grins at me. ‘So I’m a walking cliché, am I?’
‘No! I just meant you look as if you do – with your tan and your … your – um – beach hair.’
‘My beach hair? God, is it that bad?’ He looks really worried and I rush to apologise.
‘Sorry, no, it looks absolutely fine.’ I feel myself flushing up in confusion.
He grins lazily at me. ‘Hey, it’s okay, I’m only joking. As a matter of fact, I do surf. I live right next to the beach so it would be rude not to, really. And a haircut is at the very top of my list of things to do today.’
An expert skater narrowly misses ploughing into a novice, who’s trying to get up off the ice, and both Alex and I say, ‘Ooh,’ at the same time.
‘And people do that for fun?’ I murmur, really feeling for the poor learner skater who seems to have been completely abandoned by her show-off boyfriend.
Alex shrugs. ‘Once you learn the basics, you start having confidence in your ability to do it, and that’s when it becomes fun.’ He turns. ‘So do you live near here?’
I nod. ‘I share a flat the other side of Guildford, but I’ve just started a new job here.’
‘Doing what?’
I grimace. ‘Baking.’
‘Why the face?’
‘Er, because I can’t bake. My mum, bless her, worked full-time and hated domestic stuff so most of the time we had fish fingers and chips for dinner and shop-bought cakes. Needless to say, I didn’t help her to stir cakes from being knee-high to a grasshopper. So now, I’m not really sure where to begin.’
He laughs. ‘Does your new boss know this?’
‘No. But it’s fine. I’ve been online. I now know how to make a basic Victoria sponge cake and an apple crumble. So I should be okay. I’ll just do variations on the basic theme.’
He nods slowly, studying me with laughter in his eyes. ‘And where is this place you’re working?’
‘It’s just along the road there, by the lake. You can see it through the trees.’ I point. ‘It’s that gorgeous chalet-type building over there. The Log Fire Cabin.’
His eyes open in surprise. ‘You’re working for Poppy?’
I frown at him. ‘Yes, but how did you—’
‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Poppy’s voice.How much did she hear of my conversation with Alex? I was planning on breaking the news gently about my lack of baking skills but maybe the cat’s out of the bag now.
‘Hey, Poppy,’ says Alex, ‘I just scraped your new assistant here off the ice. I think she needs to brush up on her skills a little.’
He gives me a huge, knowing grin and I flush scarlet. It’s fairly obvious he’s not just talking about the skating.
But Poppy seems totally unaware. ‘Roxy rescued me in the supermarket when I was weeping over a bag of flour. Thank God. Because she might just have saved my bacon.’
‘Or your mince pies,’ points out Alex.
Poppy nods. ‘Speaking of which, I’ve