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It’s not Brooks. Darn.
A tap on my shoulder startles me. I jump back against the wall and find myself looking at a tall man wearing a security uniform. Oops.
‘Ma’am, can you explain what you’re doing here?’
‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘I’m sorry, sir; I must seem suspicious but I promise I’m not causing trouble. I’m spying on someone, that’s all.’
‘Why are you whispering?’
I look left and right as if I’ll find the answer and whisper, ‘I don’t know.’
‘Then I’ll ask you again. What are you doing sneaking around these premises? I’d appreciate it if you could speak up.’
Clearing my throat and straightening my back, I tell him. ‘I’m spying on someone. He’s going to play ice hockey and I need to get a picture of him.’
With a perplexed look, the security officer tucks his thumbs into his thick leather belt. ‘I see. Ice hockey is code. Is this someone having an affair?’
‘Huh? No. He… it’s a long story. He’s supposed to salsa dance and only salsa dance. He can’t play hockey. It’s against the rules.’
‘The rules? Ma’am, are you feeling okay? Would you like me to take you somewhere to lie down?’
‘What? No, you don’t understand.’
‘No, ma’am, I don’t. Listen, I can’t have you sneaking around here in an outfit like that. You must know that you look like you’re up to no good.’
I look down over my hoodie, jeans, and black ankle boots. ‘Erm, well, I can see why you would think that.’ I check my watch and sigh. ‘Damn it, it’s past eight. I’m going inside, sir. I won’t be troubling you any more.’
‘Look, I have no idea what you are or aren’t doing but you seem a harmless kind of insane. How about you take down your hood, head inside, and don’t sneak around here in future?’
‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’
I slip down my hood and walk, like a normal person, to the main entrance. Inside, I put my hood back up and tiptoe to the ticket desk. The woman behind the counter looks up at me.
‘How can I help?’
‘I need access to the ice rink, please.’
‘Do you have a session booked?’
‘Ah, no. Actually, I just need to speak to someone who does.’
The lady taps on her computer keys. ‘I’m sorry, the rink isn’t booked right now.’
‘It isn’t? Are you sure? I heard my, ah, colleague, say he had a reservation for 8p.m. tonight.’
‘You can go through and take a look if you like, but that rink should be empty.’
‘I will take a look, if that’s okay?’
She shrugs. ‘Be my guest.’
I follow signs for the ice rink, still hunched over, still tiptoeing, still hooded. When I get to the rink, the rental shed is empty, except for one worker playing on his phone behind the desk. The rink is dimly lit by an overhead light but it is 100 per cent, truly, really, empty.
I take out my phone and dial Kerry.
‘He isn’t here. I think he played me. I don’t think he was ever coming.’
‘Conniving, deceitful… Well, you’re going to have to think of something else, Izzy. Posting about him ordering eggs just isn’t going to draw enough interest.’
