Page 60 of Last Christmas in London

‘Four, but I’ve got super-thick socks on.’

‘Give ’em a go,’ he said with a wink and headed back into the booth, where the tell-tale smell of burning dust made me think he had a contraband floor heater.

‘How did you manage that?’ I asked Simon, after we entered the purpose-built changing room, pulling on the hefty plastic boots, unable to contain my grin. Simon was hopping from foot to foot awkwardly, trying to balance on the skates on the primary-school blue carpet.

‘I told you the busking community was small,’ he explained. ‘We help each other out.’

‘That guy’s a busker?’

Simon nodded. ‘He plays the drums on the underground.’

This was blowing my mind – and I loved it. I pushed myself up from the bench and nearly toppled over.

‘This is bonkers!’ I said, wobbling slightly as I stood, grabbing hold of Simon’s arms to steady myself, although that wasn’t helpful since he could barely stand upright himself.

‘You’re telling me,’ he muttered, hopping awkwardly towards the rink entrance. ‘Come on.’

The safety marshals offered us each an arm to step on the ice. ‘Do a lap along the rail, then let go,’ one of them advised with a knowing smile.

‘Good plan.’ Simon nodded, gripping the side for dear life as he pushed off.

‘I think you’re supposed to glide,’ I said, testing my own balance. Surprisingly, I felt… kind of stable? Maybe it was because ice skates were actually meant for ice – unlike, say, solid ground and cheap carpeting.

‘Bend your knees,’ I suggested, finding that that helped my balance.

Simon squinted at me. ‘Since when did you become the expert?’ He was still gripping the side.

‘Since watching one tutorial on YouTube last Christmas.’

I dared myself to let go and skate around him. With a shriek I made it, and he threw out his arm to protect me, though I managed to skate ahead.

‘Let go,’ I encouraged. He shook his head.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Are you?’ I smirked, effortlessly – or comparatively effortlessly – skating around him.

His jaw dropped. ‘You traitor. You pretended to be bad at this!’

‘No, no, I am bad at this,’ I reassured him. ‘You’re just worse.’

He sighed dramatically. ‘This is humiliating.’

‘I thought you had done this before. Given that the ticket guy is your mate.’

Simon shook his head again. ‘I don’t often call in favours.’

‘Yet for me you’ve called in two.’

‘Two?’

‘The other buskers looked after your things when you ran the race.’

Simon smiled in recognition. ‘That was only a small favour.’

‘What did you have to give your friend in return for this?’ I skated backwards, tentatively releasing the side of the rink every now and then to test my limits. Poor Simon was hunched over like an arthritic, hardly able to move.

‘Give me your hand,’ I said, offering the one not holding the rink. At least this way I could bring him with me as I skated away.