Breaking the Ice

by Mandy Baggot

  She opened the door forcefully and stepped into the room, her head held high. There were fourteen people present, including Mrs Randall and Mr Radcliffe, sat in a semi-circle formation, behind desks. At the sound of the door banging open, all discussion halted and all eyes turned to face Samantha.

  ‘Good evening everyone, my name’s Samantha Smith. I am the manager of Woolston Civic Hall and I was invited here tonight to tell you about my proposals for the hall’s future,’ she spoke loudly and clearly, moving towards the group and removing a sheaf of paper from her folder.

  Every one of the councillors was staring at her, wondering what was going on.

  ‘Er, Miss Smith, I was under the impression that Mr Radcliffe came to see you today to tell you we held the decision making meeting last night and that…’ Mrs Randall began.

  She looked like a typical ‘retirement isn’t enough for me and I want to serve my local community’ councillor. She had blue/grey hair carefully rollered into position and huge silver glasses on her face. She was wearing a tweed jacket and a set of pearls around her wrinkled neck. She looked like a cross between someone’s mad old aunt and a judge at a gymkhana.

  ‘Here is a five year plan for the Civic Hall that details how we can make several fundamental changes to its operation that will increase profit. And this will be achieved with no initial outlay,’ Samantha continued.

  She completely ignored the fact that Mrs Randall had spoken, and started handing out individual copies of her proposal.

  ‘Miss Smith, please - I did discuss the decision with you today and I left you a letter explaining why that conclusion was reached. I think…’ Mr Radcliffe began, rising to his feet.

  ‘Mrs Randall kindly invited me here, tonight, to tell you all a little about the improvements I’ve made at the Civic Hall, since I took on the role of manager, and to put forward my suggestions for the future. So, where do I start? Perhaps with the restaurant? Yes, let’s start with the restaurant,’ Samantha carried on, pacing up and down in front of the councillors, looking at her file every now and then to ensure she got her speech in the right order.

  ‘Miss Smith, this is pointless. A decision has been made. I’m sorry it wasn’t in your favour, but this was a decision agreed and passed unanimously,’ Mrs Randall told her, removing her big spectacles.

  ‘We have scaled the restaurant down. We are now providing fast food at reasonable prices with two healthier options, two vegetarian alternatives and children’s meals. This should ensure a quicker turnover on tables and more customers through the door. However, we are keeping traditional meals and light bites on the menu for lunchtimes when the restaurant usually does well with the senior members of the community,’ Samantha carried on her heart thumping in her chest.

  ‘Mike, she needs to be removed,’ Mrs Randall spoke to one of her fellow councillors, putting her glasses down onto the table.

  ‘On-line booking. We have introduced a comprehensive website that’s very informative and on-line booking has already proved extremely popular,’ Samantha carried on, as the largest, most burly of the male councillors stood up and motioned towards her.

  He had a beard and a beer gut and looked like he should play professional darts. He also looked like he could probably lift her up with one hand.

  ‘It’s time to go Miss Smith. I’m sure your proposals would have been of interest, if the decision hadn’t already been made - as I keep stating,’ Mrs Randall repeated herself sternly.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch me! I’m not finished and you will sit here and you will listen to what I’ve got to say!’ Samantha exclaimed as she shrugged off the advances of the bearded official.

  ‘Miss Smith, I do realise how you feel, but all this is only making the situation worse,’ Mr Radcliffe spoke calmly and he gave her a creepy little smile from his grey face.

  ‘I don’t think you understand - any of you. The situation couldn’t get any worse, not just for me, but for the all the other Civic Hall employees too. I have to tell them all about this, I have to tell them they are going to be out of a job. Jane with her dependent mother, Karen whose husband got made redundant last year, Felicity with her string of useless, weird boyfriends, I’m asking you, I am begging you to reconsider. Look at my proposal, go onto the website, come down and visit the hall - you’ll see how much it’s changed in only a week - just imagine what could change in a month or two,’ Samantha said hurriedly, rattling the words out as fast as she could as Mike descended on her.

  ‘I say again, I am sure the proposal is excellent but the provision will be given to the Presbook Centre. Go home Miss Smith, there’s nothing more you can do here,’ Mrs Randall spoke, narrowing her eyes at Samantha.

  ‘I don’t believe that’s true! I won’t believe that’s true! Read my proposal, change your mind. You have the power to change the decision,’ Samantha told them.

  ‘Mike! Will you please remove her! We’ve wasted too much time on this already, she needs to go now!’ Mrs Randall yelled, rising to her feet.

  ‘I’ve told you, I’m not going anywhere! Not until you’ve read my proposal. No decision is so etched in stone that you can’t go back on it! Please, give the hall a chance, give me a chance!’ Samantha exclaimed, backing towards the door as the burly councillor again attempted to close in on her.

  ‘Miss Smith, if you do not leave we will have you removed! I won’t have this behaviour at a council meeting!’ Mrs Randall barked.

  ‘How many times do I have to say this?! I am not going anywhere - and if it’s really come to this, you’re not going anywhere either,’ Samantha announced as she got to the door, holding off Mike with her left arm.

  In one quick move, Samantha turned around, locked the door, took out the key and theatrically put it into her mouth and swallowed.

  ‘Now, are you all sitting comfortably? Has everyone got a copy of the proposal?’ Samantha asked, looking at the councillors calmly and trying to ignore the feeling of hard metal slithering down her throat.

  ‘Oh good God! Call the police! Someone call the police!’ Mrs Randall screamed hysterically.

  Twenty

  Strangely, it wasn’t the first time Samantha had been in a police car. In year eight her class had been shown around the local police station, locked in a cell and been allowed to sit in a patrol car with the siren on. It had made such a terrible noise it had made her sick.

  There was no siren tonight, just Samantha, Gobby and P.C.s Dunbar and Davis. Samantha didn’t feel quite herself. It hadn’t really gone to plan. Perhaps naively she had thought they would listen to her and realise their error. Swallowing the door key hadn’t really been on her agenda either and it meant she now had two repair bills to settle - thanks to CCTV outside the offices that caught her determined entrance, and the police battering ram on the door inside. Still, the good news was she hadn’t been formally arrested, just removed from the council offices and given a ride.

  Gobby was purring contentedly on her lap. He had been waiting outside the offices when the officers had escorted Samantha to the patrol car. He had hissed and howled and snagged P.C. Davis’ trousers.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home Miss Smith?’ P.C. Dunbar asked her as the patrol car pulled up outside the Civic Hall.

  ‘No, thank you - this is kind of home for me. At least it was,’ Samantha remarked with a sigh.

  ‘Cheer up, the councillor said they wouldn’t press charges providing the damage is paid for,’ P.C. Dunbar reminded her.

  ‘That’ll be two new doors and keys I guess,’ Samantha spoke her stomach contracting as if it could feel the alien metal swimming around.

  ‘I would have thought so,’ P.C. Davis remarked.

  ‘Well, sorry about all the trouble and everything. And your trousers - Gobby isn’t usually like that. He’s just been under a lot of stress lately,’ Samantha spoke, opening the door of the car with one hand and cradling Gobby with the other.

  ‘Goodnight,’ P.C. Dunbar called as Samantha left
the car.

  She stood outside the hall, Gobby in her arms and looked up at the sign, the coat of arms on either side of the lettering. What cruel irony that while she and Jimmy were sharing their first kiss in the place she loved so much, the council had been putting the final nail in its coffin.

  She put Gobby down and ruffled the fur on top of his head.

  ‘Thanks for trying to help Gobby. I’m sorry I couldn’t save the it,’ Samantha spoke, tears welling in her eyes as the cat looked back at her with his large eyes and all knowing expression.

  ‘But you promise me you’ll go and hang out at Charlotte’s Bistro now. She has fish on the menu, three different types and all the other things you like,’ Samantha said, swallowing a lump in her throat.

  Gobby let out a mew of appreciation and licked his lips.

  She took a deep breath and pushed open the front doors. The bar and restaurant were virtually empty. She checked her watch and realised the ice show must still be going on, well into its second half. She entered the auditorium and saw Felicity by the nearest fire exit. She hurried over to join her.

  ‘Hello, is everything OK? Any problems?’ Samantha asked her in whispered tones.

  ‘No, everything’s fine, sold out of Berry Fruits tonight so we must be under the thousand mark. Things not so good on the ice though,’ Felicity remarked.

  ‘Oh no, not another fall! Who was it? Not Dana,’ Samantha enquired.

  ‘No, no fall - more like a falling out. Your Jimmy has quit the show, minutes before curtain up,’ Felicity informed her.

  ‘What? No, that can’t be right. I mean I saw him, tonight, right before I left. He was in costume and everything,’ Samantha spoke hurriedly, panic in her chest as she tried to digest the information.

  ‘Mmm, he was in costume when he was shouting and bawling at the show director that Nigel Fancy Pants or whatever his name is - the one who walks around thinking he owns the place, wearing cashmere cardigans. I was taking the refreshments to the dressing rooms when it all kicked off,’ Felicity carried on.

  ‘Well what was said? What was the argument about? And where is he? Is he really not skating? Who’s dancing with Dana?’ Samantha babbled desperate for answers to all her questions.

  ‘Some Russian bloke, Andrei someone. I don’t think the audience were too happy Jimmy wasn’t performing tonight. I don’t know what the row was about, I came in in the middle of it but they were definitely not happy bunnies. In the end, before I even had a chance to put the juice cups down, Jimmy left - stormed out - nearly took the door off its hinges,’ Felicity informed her.

  ‘Well where is he? Did he leave the hall?’ Samantha questioned.

  ‘I don’t know, I’ve been seeing to things here. I’m glad you’re back, we could really do with an extra pair of hands,’ Felicity spoke.

  There was no reply and when Felicity turned around it was to see Samantha fleeing the auditorium at breakneck pace.

  She ran out onto the main thoroughfare, traffic flashing past her as she jumped up and down waving her hands in the air. What had the row been about? Why wasn’t Jimmy skating? Had Dana been stirring things again?

  She managed to hail a taxi and directed it to the Metropole Hotel. She knew that was where the skaters were staying and she even knew Jimmy’s room number. Being able to remember everything you had ever seen and everything you had ever been told definitely came in handy sometimes.

  She paid the driver, dropped her bag on the floor, and fell up the steps of the hotel. Ignoring the scrape on her leg, she hurried into the lobby and scanned the signs for directions to the rooms. It was four flights up and there was an ‘out of order’ notice on the lift.

  By the time she got outside the door of his room she was gasping for breath, exhausted by both exertion and emotion.

  She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. She pushed her hair back behind her ears and straightened her jacket. She then knocked on the door and waited. There was no response.

  ‘Jimmy! It’s Sam, open the door,’ she called.

  There was sound of movement inside the room, someone getting to their feet and moving across the floor, and then the door opened. Samantha let out a gasp.

  Jimmy looked like she had never seen him before. He was pale, his eyes looked red and sore and his whole demeanour was of someone who had been wrung out and stamped all over. His hair was tousled, his shoulders were hunched and he barely acknowledged her.

  She didn’t know what to say. He looked dreadful. He stepped back into the room without a word and she followed him, closing the door behind her. She immediately noticed a half packed suitcase on the bed and a vodka bottle on the coffee table.

  ‘What’s happened Jimmy? And what is this?’ Samantha exclaimed and she picked up the bottle of vodka.

  ‘I haven’t drunk any of it,’ Jimmy stated straightaway as he sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands with a sigh.

  ‘Then what’s it doing here? Where did it come from? They don’t have them that size in a mini-bar,’ Samantha questioned frantically.

  ‘I bought it,’ he admitted.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I thought I wanted to drink it - I don’t,’ Jimmy responded, still not looking at her.

  ‘Well good, that’s really good, because that means there’s all the more for me. Cheers! Bottoms up!’ Samantha spoke and she undid the lid of the bottle, put it to her lips and took a large swig.

  ‘Sam, what are you doing? Put the bottle down,’ Jimmy said as he looked up to watch her downing the neat alcohol.

  ‘Why? I’ve nothing left to lose, may as well have a commiseration drink to help wash the misery down. Maybe it will make it easier to swallow, maybe it will numb the pain. Is that what it does Jimmy? Does it numb things? Make them go away for a little bit?’ Samantha asked him, glugging back the clear fluid.

  ‘Yes, for a bit, but it doesn’t work, the pain comes back. Come on Sam, you don’t need that. Give it here, I’ll pour it away,’ Jimmy told her, standing up and going over to her.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ Samantha questioned, pointing at the suitcase and then again putting the vodka bottle to her mouth.

  This was good, the alcohol was making her feel nice and warm.

  ‘I don’t know, maybe. I quit the show,’ Jimmy told her as he watched her pace up and down the room gorging on the booze.

  ‘Yes! So I hear! Want to fill me in on that do you? Before you pack up and ship off?’ Samantha asked the alcohol and despondency mixing lethally as she talked. She pulled at one of the velvet curtains and picked up a room service menu.

  ‘Please put the bottle down,’ Jimmy urged her.

  ‘I want to know what happened at the show. So far I only have Felicity’s version and she told me you almost broke a dressing room door. If only you knew how significant doors were for me tonight,’ Samantha spoke hysterically.

  Her eyes were wide and she was holding onto the bottle as if it were the most precious object she owned.

  ‘Oh it’s all bullshit! I try and change, I try and make things better and I just get shit from everyone,’ Jimmy exclaimed angrily.

  ‘And a proper explanation?’ Samantha asked, drinking more and feeling super confident.

  ‘Someone set me up. After I met you in the foyer, I went back to my dressing room and Dana and Nigel were in there, looking at my drink bottle. I ask them what’s going on and Nigel says he has reason to believe there’s alcohol in my drink. I say “no way it’s just an energy drink, nothing more” but when I tell him to taste it and he does, it’s laced with whiskey,’ Jimmy told her.

  ‘Keep going,’ Samantha spoke, sitting down on the bed and drinking more vodka.

  ‘Well before I even say anything to explain, not that I have an explanation because I have no idea how it got in there, he starts yelling, sounding off that I’ve broken the terms of our agreement. He tells me how disappointed he is in me and how when everyone in the industry was telling him not to take a chance
on me he put his reputation on the line for me. I try and interrupt, I manage to get out that there must be a mistake, that the drink isn’t mine, well not the alcohol part anyway, and he just doesn’t listen. He stands there and he shakes his head and says I’m out,’ Jimmy explained.

  ‘So what did you do?’ Samantha enquired still sucking the vodka as if it were life dependent fluid.

  ‘I left. He didn’t want to hear what I had to say, he didn’t believe me and he’d already made up his mind and condemned me,’ Jimmy told her.

  ‘What?! So you didn’t fight? You didn’t stand there and make him listen?’ Samantha exclaimed, passing the vodka bottle from hand to hand as if it were a rugby ball.

  ‘What’s the point? I knew this show was my last chance. He believed I’d been drinking, I could see it in his face, he really believed it. And to be honest I don’t blame him. I mean why should he consider the word of an alcoholic who’s been lying about things for most of his life?’ Jimmy continued.

  ‘A reformed alcoholic! Someone who doesn’t deny the things he did in the past but someone who’s trying hard to move on from it. That’s the person I thought you were, but then what would I know? I’m the sort of person who fails at everything she tries - that’s when she plucks up the courage to bother to try at all,’ Samantha spoke as she downed more vodka.

  ‘With some people you just run out of chances and that’s that,’ Jimmy told her.

  ‘So if that’s how you feel, what was that pep talk you gave me tonight all about? You said I mustn’t give up without a fight and you’ve done exactly that. You know it wasn’t your drink and yet you’ve shrugged your shoulders and walked away, leaving everyone to think the worst of you. Is that what you want?’ Samantha blasted at him.

  ‘Of course it isn’t,’ Jimmy answered.