On the final day of the Christmas holidays, James and Oliver decided to visit the ice rink. The biting cold had eased slightly, and though the sun hung low in the sky, its bright rays stung their eyes, promising warmer days ahead. Daylight was finally stretching a little longer.
James and Oliver weren’tThey weren’t the only ones eager to shed the extra weight from festive indulgences, and the rink was crowded with cheerful skaters, music blaring from the speakers as frosty air nipped at their cheeks.
Stepping onto the ice, James and Oliver glided effortlessly, weaving through the crowd on freshly sharpened blades. It was their first visit this winter—earlier snowfall had left the rink buried, and the warm spell that followed had turned the ice to slush. Only after Boxing Day had the frost returned hard enough for proper skating.
After a couple of laps to warm up, they started messing around. Oliver noticed a girl in a white puffer coat and a matching bobble hat, clinging nervously to the rink’s barrier. She wobbled unsteadily, legs stiff, ankles wobbling—clearly a first-timer. Amused but sympathetic, Oliver glanced at James, who was already chatting up a group of girls.
Sighing, Oliver skated over to her. “Want me to show you the ropes? It’s not as hard as it looks,” he offered.
Before she could answer, her right foot slid forward, and she nearly toppled backward—Oliver caught her just in time.
“Ta,” she murmured, her voice soft and warm, sending an odd shiver down his spine. His heart thudded unexpectedly.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “But you’ll never learn if you don’t let go of the rail. Here—hold my hand.”
She hesitated before gripping his wrist, her other hand still glued to the barrier.
“Right, good,” Oliver encouraged. “Now push off with one foot and glide on the other. Don’t point your toes—you’ll go flying!”
She obeyed, taking shaky little steps before finally letting go of the railing. It wasn’t graceful, but Oliver praised her anyway. “Brilliant! Bend your knees a bit—now try to glide instead of stepping.”
Her eyes sparkled, and when she laughed, bright and clear, Oliver’s pulse jumped again.
She pushed off boldly but caught her toe pick—Oliver caught her once more. “Easy does it,” he chuckled.
Slowly, they made their way around the rink. “I’m done,” she groaned after a while. “My legs are jelly!”
“That’s enough for your first go. Tomorrow, you’ll feel it. But you did great—I’m Oliver, by the way.” He stole glances at her profile—flushed cheeks, thick lashes, lips slightly parted. His chest tightened with a strange, pleasant warmth.
“Emily,” she said, and the sound of her name, light as summer air, made his head spin.
She leaned heavily on his arm as they shuffled off the ice, and he didn’t mind one bit—he could have walked like that forever.
By the changing rooms, she collapsed onto a bench, legs stretched out. “Hand me my boot bag?” she panted.
Oliver fetched it, then hesitated. “Need help with your skates?”
Those blue eyes flicked up—another jolt ran through him.
“I’ve got it,” she said, bending to untie the laces.
He stood there, unable to look away.
“Oi, there you are!” James’ voice cut in. “Lost you. How’s the teaching going?”
“Smashing, for her first time,” Oliver said proudly. “James, this is Emily.”
“Lovely,” James murmured in Oliver’s ear, winking before adding, “Skating more?”
“You go on. I’ll walk Emily home.”
“Walk me?” She’d already swapped her skates for boots.
“Bet he doesn’t want to let you out of his sight,” James teased.
Oliver didn’t deny it. “Fancy a coffee? Or hot chocolate—warm up after that?”
Without skates, she seemed tiny, fragile. When she smiled, Oliver’s heart leapt into his throat.
“Go on, then.”
James snorted. “In your skates, Romeo?”
Oliver flushed, scrambling for his shoes.
They left the park, passing a few terraced houses before ducking into a cozy café, its windows still twinkling with leftover Christmas lights. Small fir sprigs adorned the tables.
Emily winced as she sat.
“Where’s it hurt?” Oliver asked.
“My bum—took a spill earlier.”
He bit back a laugh. “Ice pack helps.”
“Think I’ve had enough ice today,” she shot back, grinning.
They both chuckled, tension easing.
“Maybe another time?” Oliver ventured. “For practice?”
“In a week or so,” she agreed. “Supposed to go with my mate Sophie, but she’s poorly.”
Warmed by coffee and exchanged glances, something kindled between them.
Their evenings and weekends soon filled with dates—and more skating lessons.
One night, Oliver’s mum set down her tea. “So, when do we meet this girl, then?”
“Saturday?” he said. “Don’t fuss—just lunch.”
Saturday arrived, and Emily hesitated outside Oliver’s house. “What if they hate me?”
“They won’t.” He squeezed her hand.
His mum greeted them warmly. Over tea, Emily kept her eyes down until Oliver’s dad studied her intently.
“Where’re you from? Studying?”
“English Lit at Manchester Uni. Mum’s a teacher—got me into books.”
Something flickered in his father’s face.
“Teaching, then?”
“Journalism, hopefully. Mum teaches in York.”
His dad fell silent, thoughtful.
“Didn’t like me, did he?” Emily fretted later.
“Opposite. Couldn’t stop staring.” Oliver kissed her temple.
At home, his father waited in the kitchen, door shut.
“Son, we need to talk.”
Oliver’s stomach dropped.
“She looks like her mother. Coincidences like that don’t happen often.” His father exhaled slowly. “When I was your age, I was sent to York for work. Her mum—just graduated, sweet as your Emily. I… lost my head. I was already married, your mum pregnant with you. I never went back.”
Oliver clenched his fists. “Please tell me you’re not about to say—”
“No.” His father cut him off. “She’s twenty—you’re twenty-five. I was there in August. I’m not her father.” He sagged in relief. “Ask her mother’s name, just to be sure.”
“Teresa Wilson,” Oliver gritted out.
His father nodded slowly. “Leave this buried. For your mother’s sake.”
Oliver stormed out, fury warring with relief.
Later, he lay awake, replaying the near-disaster. If Emily had been his sister—
But she wasn’t. They married the summer after graduation. If Teresa recognised his father at the wedding, she gave no sign.
The past casts long shadows, and not all secrets stay buried—but sometimes, luck gives us a second chance.
