The Last Time

 A figure skater leaves the ice

“Doesn’t she look beautiful, George?”

“She always does. Turn the volume up a bit.”

There was the sound of applause. In the seats above the arena, knots of Japanese spectators waved Union Jacks.

“The Japanese are so nice,” said Wendy. “Cheering on foreigners. When they’ve got so many good people of their own.”

A gust of wind blew the rain against the living-room window.

“I wonder what the weather’s like in Osaka.”

“Better than here. Shh dear.” He leaned forward to listen.

Santeri Viinamäki/Wikimedia Commons

“And here are the Brits,” said the commentator. The loudspeaker in the arena cut across him: Representing Great Britain: Catherine Castle and Vitaly Semyonov! There were cheers. Catherine led the way around the ice towards their start point, her short dark-blue dress billowing behind her, the glitter on its hem and sleeves catching the floodlights. Their names flashed up on the screen, as did their ages: Catherine, 34; Vitaly, 27.

The commentator went on, breathless.

Two-time winners of the British national title …Bronze medal at the Europeans five years ago… They’ve had a couple of difficult seasons, with Castle’s landings looking a bit suspect… She fell on the double salchow in the short programme and they go into the free skate lying seventh out of eight…

“Lovely, lovely dress,” said Wendy. “So graceful.”

A figure-skater long known for her style, this daughter of a helicopter pilot from Heston, West London. Like several others she and Vitaly train with former World Champion Sergei Alekseev in Montreal.  But At 34 she may be thinking about the future …Her landings have been very suspect this season …Knee injury took them out of the Worlds after a fall in the short programme in Boston…

“I do wish he’d shut up,” said George.

She landed badly once or twice. Spot of under-rotation from Catherine there. But the lifts were good. In fact she was all right until she landed from the throw triple toe-loop. Her knee gave way under her; her shoulder took the fall and there was a sharp pain as she rolled across the ice. She got up quickly but saw a brief darkness on Vitaly’s face. In the top left of their screens Wendy and George saw a red square appear below a green one. It’s minus one on the grade of execution for the triple throw, they can’t afford to lose that but they went on although her shoulder was on fire and then it was over and Vitaly stomped into the kiss-and-cry while she was still leaning on the boards putting on her skate guards and she stopped for a moment before she followed him, thinking: This is the last time. I am stepping off the ice for the last time.

Sergei gave her a perfunctory hug. Vitaly’s face was like thunder. Sergei reached in his back and handed her a bottle of water and her emotional support penguin. (“She’s got her plushy penguin,” said Wendy. “That’s good.”) But she didn’t wave them at the cameras the way she often did. The scores boomed out over the loudspeakers. That’s eighth place and I don’t think we’re going to see them at the Olympics, not sure we’ll even see them at Sheffield for the Europeans, from the looks of Semyonov I wonder if that’s their last skate.

“Oh, do shut up, you clot,” said George. “Let’s go to bed, dear.”

“Yes.” Wendy clicked the TV to standby.

Catherine stayed an extra day. “I want to see the temples in Kyoto,” she told Sergei but they both knew she couldn’t face an 18-hour journey with him and with Vitaly. They’d had it out at the hotel afterwards. “You’re too old now and you’re holding me back,” said Vitaly. “So you’ve got what you needed from me now. That’s it,” she thought, but kept that to herself. Sergei was gentler. “You are one of the most artistic skaters I have trained,” he said later. “And maybe the nicest. But it’s time.”

She flew to Montreal to close her little apartment in the trendy Verdun district and got a logistics firm to pack her belongings. She said goodbye to Sergei, but briefly; when you both know it’s the end, you don’t linger. She did not see Vitaly. She did see her friend Sarah, who was training but held her hand up to Sergei and came off the ice and hugged her. “You can’t go, girlfriend,” she said. “Who do I get wasted on margaritas with at the end of the season?”

The dam broke then, just for a moment. “Oh Sarah,” she said. “I’m not a skater any more. Don’t know what I am.”

“Don’t talk like that. Come to New York when the season’s over. Lots of guys gonna lust after a classy Brit with a tight athletic little body.” They laughed, and hugged again; but she thought, This is the last time I see Sarah. Our paths diverge now. I’m not a skater any more.

 She took the evening Air Canada flight from Pierre Trudeau to Heathrow. She sat by the window but there was nothing to see, just the navigation lights blinking in the dark. It was the last time. The last time on the ice. The high adventure was over.

*

Wendy had cleared away the dinner and was washing up. George was drying the plates and putting them away. She heard them clattering away in the kitchen, where they wouldn’t let her help.

“I wish you’d eaten more, dear,” said Wendy.

“I don’t really feel like it. Sorry Mum.”

“I’ll feed it to the penguin.” Wendy peered round the door jamb into the dining room, her hands and wrists covered in bubbles from the sink. “Mind you he could do with a bath.” She nodded towards the two soft toys standing on the dining-room table.

“Salchow’s fine,” said Catherine. She gave him a little pat. “Penguins are very clean, you know. Mum, is it OK if I watch the end of the women’s free dance from Lake Placid?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“I know. But I want to see Sarah. She was lying fourth after the short programme. She might podium.”

“Since when has ‘podium’ been a verb?” George lifted the dinner plates into the cupboard. He looked over his wife’s shoulder. “Is that the Sarah we met in Boston once? The American one? A bit loud she was, but rather nice.”

“She’s loud. But she’s so cool.”

“Watch if you want but don’t upset yourself, dear,” said Wendy.

Catherine switched the TV to YouTube and found the International Skating Union feed. She was in time to see Sarah swirl across the ice, her thick long brown hair streaming behind her then falling across her shoulders; no prim ponytail for her. A tide of applause as she bowed and kneeled on the ice then she was gliding into the kiss-and-cry and Sergei was hugging her very popular skater from Brooklyn looks like no deductions no technical panel reviews those grades of execution were excellent trains in Montreal with Sergei Alekseev my goodness he looks pleased it’s going to be good it’s good season’s best on the night and the total for the short programme and the free – yes it’s good – 205 my goodness 205 it’s a personal best and that’s Sarah Rosenthal on the podium for sure and it’s looking good for the Olympics in February ”Turn that off,” said George. “Yes Dad,” she said. “Have you got a clean hanky?” asked Wendy. “Here’s a tissue. Now, I’ll make some tea.”

*

They didn’t stay up late. Wendy kissed her goodnight. George moved to follow her then turned to his daughter, who was still sitting at the dining table with Salchow beside her.

“I do worry,” he said.

“I’ll be fine, Dad. I mean, it was coming, wasn’t it.”

“Your grandad knew that too. Didn’t help. You know about him, don’t you? Was in the RAF very young then afterwards he joined BOAC and flew the first jets and everything. Never got his hands on Concorde. That annoyed him. Flew everything else though.”

She said nothing, so he continued. “Was captaining on 747s at the end. We went to meet his last flight. They made them retire at 60 then you see. Anyway, he came out to meet us without his briefcase, he’d turned in all his papers and everything and he’d taken off his uniform and he looked, well – well he looked smaller.”

He sat down opposite Catherine and reached out to stroke Salchow. “He does need a bath,” he said.

“Salchow’s jolly hygienic. Go on.”

“Well, I thought of him on Saturday night. Because he came out looking smaller somehow, without his uniform and his briefcase, and he was saying over and over again, ‘That’s the last time. The last time. I’m not a pilot anymore.’ And he’d never been anything else, you see. Flew through the war and everything.”

“I never met him.”

“No. He died not long afterwards. Because he didn’t know who he was then, you see. So he drank.”

“Oh,” said Catherine. “You never told me that.”

“No.” He mauled what was left of his hair. “I saw your face as you came off the ice and you knew it was the last time, didn’t you? And you looked so like him. Same eyes and frown.”

They looked at each other for a moment.

“We’ll be here and we love you, you know.”

“I know, Dad.”

He stood up. “Are you coming to bed? It’s late.”

“I will,” she said. “Not yet. Time difference. Osaka, Montreal, I’m swaying a bit.”

“All right.” For a moment he thought he was going to hug her, but George wasn’t very huggy. But he gave Salchow a gentle pat before he went out. She heard his heavy steps on the stairs.

She sat still for a moment, then took out her phone and wrote a text.

205 personal best

And added

You f**king legend

Not that she’ll read it, she thought. But her phone vibrated.

is that britspeak

yeah means you rock

you know what girl I actually do

triple salchow was orgasmic

thx. you good?

think so

you better be. Vitaly looks like shit lol 

fuck vitaly😒

that an order lol

nooooooo 🤮

was it hard coming off ice

last time and knowing it

yes

will hurt me too

when time comes

never done much else

me neither. not skater now, who am I

you are not a skater

I am not a skater

what

we are sarah and cathy

we are the love we give

and the love we get back

thank you thank you

go get one of your dads pilots

get his chopper out lol

grab his joystick

naughty girl

got to talk to usa today guy now

OK

love you cathy

you be not skater, you be who loves you 

love to smelly penguin

he loves you too

 

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed midnight. A door shut upstairs. The heating went off with a click from the thermostat on the living-room wall.

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Mike Robbins is the author of a number of fiction and non-fiction books. They can be ordered from bookshops, or as paperbacks or e-books from Amazon and other on-line retailers.

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