2

I came in from my early training session to find the house in its usual state of controlled chaos. Mum was clearing away the empty cups and plates from the unofficial Skating Mums’ Rest, with the assistance of a moaning Xavier and a slightly more cheerful Evi. Mum makes hot drinks and home-baked goodies for the parents of ice skaters so that they don’t freeze at the rink next door during their kids’ practice sessions and lessons. They drop their children off and then pop over to our house. Technically, the refreshments are free, so she’s not running an illegal business. People just happen to drop coins into an enormous piggy bank as they leave, an untaxable token of appreciation for the good food, warm room, and cozy armchairs.

Starting this very morning, Mum began providing full English breakfasts for discerning customers (the one or two dads who brought their children to practice), and the kitchen smelled of bacon fat and fried bread.

“Do you want a second breakfast?” Mum asked me. “There’s a couple of eggs left.”

“That would be perfect,” I said, stifling a yawn. “Has anyone taken care of Paddy this morning?” Normally, I love going to the stable myself to make sure Paddy has been fed and watered; but the pretty snow that had fallen over Christmas had melted into mounds of grey slush, and I couldn’t face putting on my wellies (that’s shorthand for Wellington boots) and sloshing through the garden.

“I’ll go! I’ll go!” promised Xavier, dashing to the door to put on his boots and coat. I knew perfectly well he was just trying to get out of loading the dishwasher, but for once, I was grateful. I sat at the kitchen table and poured out the last of the Darjeeling from the teapot. The Christmas pudding tea cozy appeared to have lost one of its knitted holly leaves, but I was too tired to mention it. I heard the happy sizzle of oil hitting the frying pan and the tap of eggs being broken.

“How was the ice this morning?” asked Mum. “Busy?”

“Not very. A lot of people are still on holiday.”

“I’ll need you and Hugo to make up Giuliana’s bed later. Dad’s picking her up from the airport at four.”

I smiled. Giuliana is not just Hugo’s skating partner; she’s an amazing friend. The family doesn’t feel complete without her. “Where’s Hugo,” I asked, “or is that a silly question?”

“Silly question. He’s animating.”

As soon as I had eaten fried eggs, leftover sausages, and slices of fried bread, I put on my coat and boots to go in search of Hugo. He has his very own shed—sorry, studio—built by Dad in the garde