The Skater

"I can't wait Beatie can you, just think we've been let out for the day, even if we have to take our Zimmers with us." The old lady smiled, displaying a set of overlarge, too white dentures. "And I want to go to 'Arrods I aven't been there for years."

Beatrice looked at Maisie in the dreamy way that she was renowned for. She knew where she wanted to go and it was most definitely not Harrods!

The coach jolted as it made its way over Westminster Bridge. Some of the others oohed and aahed as they spotted Big Ben. But not Beatrice, the UK's traditions and heritage were always lost on her. The coach managed to miss a large American woman eating an equally large ice-cream as it skirted the periphery of Parliament Square. "Fancy that fat cow eating ice-cream this weather," remarked Maisie.

Beatrice chose to ignore her caustic remark and instead indulged in her favourite pass-time - daydreaming - as the coach weaved amongst the midday traffic, which seemed to her, to consist mainly of red buses and taxis. They turned into Constitution Hill and Maisie gave a saucy salute as she sighted Buckingham Palace. They were sitting two rows from the front and Beatrice heard the driver cursing when the lights changed to red and he could not get onto the roundabout at Duke of Wellington Place.

Maisie started chattering about the Blitz and the London Smog which Beatrice did not want to hear about again. She pushed a strand of her snow-white hair back into her French pleat and closed her eyes. She refused to let Maisie and her gargantuan dentures invade her thoughts.
Beatrice had been born in Norway in 1927. Her childhood home had been a magical place where a fjord came nearly up to the front door. In the almost alpine summers, she would chase thick-coated cows in rich green pastures; and in the winter, as well as cross-country skiing, she would indulge in her most favourite hobby of all: she would take to the frozen fjord and skate to her heart's content, like some strange little ice princess. She started with a figure eight and then graduated to triple loops as her proud parents watched her from a tiny bedroom window.

The coach turned into Brompton Road and Maisie brought Beatrice back to the present with her cackles of joy. "Beatie wake up we're at 'Arrods. Come on let's shop till we drop."

And that they did. They bought soft beige teddy bears for great-granddaughters and the like. Bed socks for each other and costume jewellery that would have shamed the Bohemians. In the food hall they bought sausages and cheeses with unpronounceable names. The weariness of age became compounded with the aches of shopping and they fell into comfortable restaurant chairs and dined on petite sandwiches and large cream cakes. Matron arrived too soon and shepherded them back to the waiting coach, although they were delayed as Maisie had mislaid her teeth, she always removed them for meal times. They were eventually found lurking at the bottom of a bag full of Christmas cards.

The coach sped towards Trafalgar Square, then up The Strand and circled the Aldwych where it came back on itself and dropped the old folk off directly outside Somerset House.

"Why have we come here?" shouted Maisie, "I wanted to look around 'Arrods longer."

Matron was wearing her impatient face. "Because some of us, Maisie, want to look at the skaters and the Christmas tree. And some of us, also don't wish to shop the whole day! She marched her charges to the entrance of Somerset House and they were instructed to watch the skating and then go and get a drink in the cafš adjacent to the ice rink.

Beatrice was enthralled at the spectacle. Dusk had sprinkled opalescent light across the ice rink making it look like the frozen fjords of her beloved Norway. Skaters quickly glided by. Some had obviously just left their offices for the evening as a few of the men were wearing suits and struggled to remove their ties whilst trying to manoeuvre across the ice. One man was even skating while carrying a briefcase. Beatrice noticed two lovely little girls, skating fluidly as the young so often do, they were dressed in Christmas red velveteen, edged with white fur which she sincerely hoped was artificial. They could easily do figure eights and the taller child attempted a wonderful twirl on the ice that made all the other skaters stop and look. Beatrice felt her own childhood rush up and embrace her with icy fingers, and then rush off again. She glanced over to the magnificent Christmas tree that guarded the front of the skating rink, the others had congregated in front of it and Matron was persuading a lone tourist to take a group photograph of them all.

They won't miss me, Beatrice decided, as she made her way over to the cash desk. The cashier looked at her as if she was the oldest person to have ever bought a permit to skate. She put her skating boots on and tiptoed onto the glassy ice.

To begin with she gripped the barrier for dear life and gingerly followed others, who had unsure legs. Then she felt her confidence rising, it was after all, as she heard someone remark "just like riding a bike - you never forget". So slowly, she left the security of the barrier and skated into the middle of the ice. How wonderful, she thought, it is like riding a bike, I haven't forgotten. Very soon she discovered that her skates had wings and she was flying around the ice. Twisting and turning and keeping up with the youngsters. Dare I, she thought, dare I try it. She skated as fast as her legs would go and once more, she was seventeen again skimming across the ice with fairy feet, performing a near perfect triple loop that culminated in her gliding to an elegant twirling finish.

She did not notice the other skaters, who were by now standing along the perimeter of the rink watching her in awe. She did not hear their wild applause because she was not really there on that ice rink, once more in her mind she was skating on her beloved frozen fjords. Her hour was nearly up, the other skaters formed a guard of honour and patted her and clasped her thin shoulders as she skated off the rink. "You were fabulous," one man remarked to her, "absolutely fabulous, that's what I call skating. Tell me are you are you a retired professional skater?"

Beatrice laughed, "no I'm Norwegian," she proudly replied.

Outside the others were waiting. Matron walked briskly up to her. "Honestly, Beatrice you are outrageous, that was a very stupid thing to do. You could have slipped over and broken all your bones - you do have osteoporosis you know."

Maisie came over and put her arm around her, "You were good mate. Very good. I didn't know you could skate. Beats the Happy Families and the Ludo that's for sure."

Matron intervened and ushered everyone away from the rink, "Come on Beatrice, you've had enough excitement for one day, I don't know what state your bones will be in tomorrow."

Beatrice looked behind her. It had been a wonderful experience. Tomorrow she would gladly suffer the consequences. She could feel her hip bones creaking already.

Artificial flames above the rink, added a glow akin to a Norwegian sunset on a winter's day and a Salvation Army band congregated underneath the Christmas tree, playing "Hark the Herald Angels Sing". Beatrice closed her eyes, breathed in the fresh mountain air and heard the children's laughter.

She was home. In her mind she was home. It was as if she had never been away.