Cecelia Ahern - The Gift & Thanks for the Memories

‘Tacking!’ Quentin shouted, watching and steering as they all prepared. The runners trimmer, Alan, checked that the slack on the old runners had been pulled in. The genoa trimmer, Luke, made sure that the new sheet had the slack pulled in and gave a couple of turns on the winch. Lou didn’t move an inch, thinking ahead about what he needed to do and watching the other boats around them to make sure nothing was too close. He instinctively knew they were tacking onto port and would have no right of way over boats on starboard. His old racing tactics came flooding back and he was quietly pleased with how he had positioned the boat right on the layline to the weather mark. He could sense Quentin’s confidence in him gaining at their now favourable position when the tack was completed, powering towards the mark with a clear passage in. It was Quentin’s belief in him that Lou was fighting to win, just as much as first place.

Quentin made sure that there was room to tack and started the turn. Geoff, the cockpit man, moved quickly to the old genoa, and as the genoa backwinded, he released it. The boat went through the wind, the mainsheet was eased a couple of feet and the boom came across. Luke pulled as fast as possible, and when he couldn’t pull any more he put a couple more turns on the winch and the grinding began. Quentin steered the new course.

‘HIGH SIDE!’ Lou yelled, and they all raced to hang their legs over the windward side.

Quentin whooped and Lou laughed into the wind.

After rounding the first mark and heading towards the second with the wind on their side, Lou jumped into action in time to hoist the spinnaker, then gave Quentin the thumbs up. The rest of the team instantly got busy, tending to their individual duties. Lou was a little too much fingers and thumbs but he could tell it was coming together.

Watching it raise to the top, Lou happily called, ‘UP!’

Alan trimmed the spinnaker while Robert grinded. They sailed fast and Lou punched the air and roared. Behind the wheel, Quentin laughed as the spinny filled with wind like a windsock, and with the wind with them they raced to the next mark. Quentin allowed himself a quick look astern and it was some sight: there must have been twenty-five boats with spinnakers filling, chasing them down. Not bad. He and Lou caught one another’s eyes and smiled. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to. They both knew.

After thirty minutes of queuing for the ice rink, Lou and his family finally reached the top.

‘You guys all have fun,’ Lou said, clapping his hands together and stamping his feet to keep warm. ‘I’ll just go to the coffee place over there and watch you.’

Ruth started laughing. ‘Lou, I thought you were coming skating.’

‘No.’ He scrunched up his face. ‘I’ve just spent the last half an hour watching men older than me on the ice and they look like right eejits. What if someone sees me? I’d rather stay here, thank you. Plus, these are new and dry-clean only,’ he added, referring to his trousers.

‘Right,’ Ruth said firmly, ‘you won’t mind taking care of Pud then, while Lucy and I skate.’

‘Come on, Lucy,’ he instantly grabbed his daughter’s hand, ‘let’s get us some skates.’ He winked at a laughing Ruth and made off for the ice-skates. He got to the counter ahead of Smug Family Man, who, like the Pied Piper, was leading even more children now. Ha. He had a sense of silent victory at arriving at the counter first. The ice was nearby and child in Lou had come out to play.

‘What size?’ The man behind the desk looked at him.

‘Ten please,’ Lou responded, and looked down at Lucy to speak up. Her big brown eyes stared back up at him.

‘Tell the man your size, sweetheart,’ he said, feeling Smug Family Man breathing down his neck as he waited.

‘I don’t know, Daddy,’ she said, almost in a whisper.

‘Well, you’re four, aren’t you?’

‘Five,’ she frowned.

‘She’s five,’ he told the man. ‘So whatever size a five-year-old would take.’

‘It really depends on the child.’

Lou sighed and took out his BlackBerry, refusing to have to queue again. Behind him, Smug Family Man with the baby in the pouch called over his head, ‘Two size fours, a size three, and an eleven, please.’

Lou rolled his eyes and mimicked him as he waited for his call to be answered. Lucy laughed and copied his face.

‘Hello?’

‘What size is Lucy?’

Ruth laughed. ‘She’s a twenty-six.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ He hung up.

Once on the ice, he held on to the side of the rink carefully. He took Lucy’s hand and guided her along. Ruth stood by with Pud, who kicked his legs excitedly while bouncing up and down and pointing at nothing in particular.

‘Now, sweetheart,’ Lou’s voice and ankles wobbled as he stepped on the ice, ‘it’s very dangerous, okay, so you have to be very careful. Hold on to the sides now, okay?’

Lucy held on to the side with one hand and slowly got used to moving along the ice while Lou’s ankles wobbled on the thin blades.

Lucy started to skate faster. ‘Honey,’ Lou said, his voice shaky as he looked down at the cold, hard ice, dreading what it would feel like to fall. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen, as a child most probably, and childhood was where falling belonged.

The distance between Lucy and Lou widened.

‘Keep up with her, Lou,’ Ruth called from the other side of the barrier, walking alongside him as he moved, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

‘I bet you’re enjoying this.’ He could barely look up at her, he was concentrating so much.

‘Absolutely.’

He pushed with his left foot, which skidded further than he planned, and he almost broke into the splits. Feeling like Bambi getting to his feet for the first time, he wobbled and spun, arms waving around in circles like a fly trapped in a jam jar, while not too far away he heard Ruth’s distinctive laugh. But he was making progress. He looked up now and then to keep his eye on Lucy, who was clearly visible in her fire-engine-red coat, halfway around the rink.

Smug Family Man went flying by him, arms swinging as though he was about to take part in a bobsleigh race, the speed of him almost toppling Lou. Behind him, Smug Family Man’s kids raced along, holding hands, and were they singing? That was it. Slowly letting go of the barrier at the side, his wobbly legs tried to balance. Then, bit by bit, he slid a foot forward, almost toppling backwards, his back arching as though about to fall into a crab position, but he rescued himself.

‘Hi Daddy,’ Lucy said, speeding by him as she completed the first round of the rink.

Lou moved out from the side of the rink, away from the beginners who were shuffling around inch by inch, determined to beat Smug Family Man, who was racing around like the roadrunner.

Halfway between the centre and the barrier, Lou was out on his own now. Feeling a little more confident, he pushed himself further, trying to swing his arms for balance like the others were doing. He picked up speed. Dodging children and old people, he quite unsophisticatedly darted around the rink, hunched over and swinging his arms, more like an ice-hockey player than a graceful skater. He bumped against children, knocking some over, causing others to topple. He heard a child cry. He broke through a couple holding hands. He was concentrating on not falling over so much that he could barely find the time to apologise. He passed Lucy but, unable to stop, had to keep moving, his speed picking up as he went round and round. The lights that decorated the park trees blurred as he raced around. The sounds and colours of the skaters around him whirled around. Feeling like he was on a merry-go-round, he smiled and relaxed a little bit more, as he raced round, and round, and round. He passed Smug Family Guy; he passed by Lucy for a third time; he passed by Ruth, who he heard call his name and take a photograph. He couldn’t stop and he wouldn’t stop; he didn’t know how. He was enjoying the feel of the wind in his hair, the lights of the city around him, the crispness of the air, the sky so filled with stars as the evening began to close in at the early hour. He felt free and alive, happier than he remembered being for a long time. Round and round he went.