Taz and I rounded up Dan and Stevie on the way to the Arena for some hockey action and they couldn’t wait to come along. Our boots crunch on the frozen snow as we walk and it’s bitterly cold in the dark of the early evening. I breathe in and immediately start coughing and spluttering as the icy air goes down into my lungs. I’ve never experienced cold like it, wearing twelve layers and still feeling frozen.
Dan stops and places himself between Taz and I, linking arms with both of us. ‘So, young Tazzy… A little bird tells me you’ve been fraternising with a young man by the name of Travis.’
Taz smiles shyly, looking down at the floor as we walk and refusing to meet his eye.
‘So? What’s the goss?’ he pokes her in the arm. ‘We want to hear all about it, don’t we, Lexie?’ he winks.
‘Don’t drag me into this!’ I say, trying to release myself from his grip. I throw an imploring glance at Stevie, who just shrugs and smiles before he carries on walking ahead of us.
‘Rack off, Danno!’ Taz laughs, releasing his grip on her. ‘A lady never tells.’
‘Lady? I don’t see a lady? Do you see a lady, Stevie?’
‘Oi!’ Taz cries, skipping away and scooping up some snow, moulding it in her gloves to form a ball.
‘Aw! Come on, mate! We want to hear all about it!’ Dan cries, obviously not ready to give up on his quest for gossip. He almost gets a face full of snow but ducks just in time to avoid a missile.
She gives me an exasperated look. ‘Whatever happened to female solidarity? You could at least defend me.’
‘What?’ I say, holding my hands out. ‘Are you pissed off that you missed or that he’s asking about Travis?’
‘Both.’ She grins, making another snowball.
‘Okay, okay. Time out.’ I say, standing in front of Dan and giving him a push backwards. ‘Dan – leave her alone. She’ll tell you all about it when she’s good and ready.’
‘Oh, come on Taz! What happened? Just a few details? Please?’ he pleads, peering over my shoulder, as I walk backwards, nearing the door to the rink. ‘Did the frothy hot-tub jets of lurve find their targets and pummel your hearts into a frenzy of romance?’ He asks, before he starts making kissy noises.
Taz sighs. ‘Danno, there’s no way I’m going to tell you anything, particularly in front of all these people.’ she replies, as we join the back of the queue to get in.‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other friends to meet. So you can forget all about the ‘frothy jets of lurve’ for the time-being.’ She flings her scarf over her shoulder, gives me a wink and walks in the direction of some people in the line ahead who are waving in her direction.
‘Who are that lot?’ Dan asks, gesturing with his thumb.
‘I recognise a few of them – other lifties, I think. They’re quite a tight bunch already, which is nice for Taz.’ I smile as Taz joins her group and wave back. ‘It’s good that she’s made some more friends. And by the way, that was a nice analogy – “pummelling their hearts into a frenzy of romance”. Do you read your mum’s Mills & Boon collection regularly?’ I ask, grinning at him.
He sniffs loudly and turns his nose up at me.‘I can’t help being a lyrical genius.’
‘You are full of surprises, Dan… full of them.’ I mutter.
The line moves quickly, depositing us into the welcoming warmth of the arena. The entire population of Fraser seem to be inside, and yet again, I have to wonder where all these people disappear to on an average day because it’s always so quiet in town. There are small children running around, pushing through the crowds as families chat away, grabbing hot-dogs and beer. There’s a distinctly celebratory mood in the air as we move through the throng to the rink itself, which is surprisingly big. We zone in to where a group of fellow season workers are already sitting on the front row and I spot Emily, moving along the benches to sit next to her. She gives me a kiss on the cheek before ruffling Dan’s hair, getting an annoyed look in return as he tries to shake her off, smoothing his perfectly tousled style back to its normal position.
‘I spent hours on getting it just right.’ He moans, giving her an evil stare.
She ignores him. ‘First game of the season. It’s going to be a corker!’
‘How’ve you been?’ I ask. ‘Haven’t seen you for a while?’
‘Christ, it’s been mental. Loads to do at work with all the new guests. Rick had to go out and chop down a load more Christmas trees because Evil Traci wants a tree in every room, if you can believe that. I tried to tell her about global warming, but she looked at me like I was crazy. What a SkiTours guest wants, they get.’ She gives me a mock salute.
‘I guess with Christmas and the mountain about to open, it’s a busy time?’
‘And then some. But I probably shouldn’t start slagging off the boss too loudly, seeing as she’s sitting just behind us.’ She jerks her thumb backwards as I peer over my shoulder and spot an older woman with a very frizzy perm wearing a SkiTours fleece. I’m guessing that’s the infamous Evil Traci.
‘I hope there are lots of fights.’ Dan grins wickedly, rubbing his palms together.
‘Fights?’ I ask.
‘You’ll see…’ he smirks, taking a sip of his beer.
Emily excuses herself to go to the bar so I look around the rink, watching the Zamboni as it meticulously smooths down the ice. The sound of the commentator on the loudspeaker makes me jump, before two doors at the far end of the ice open to reveal the players, hurriedly skating out onto the rink.
‘Shit, some of those guys are massive!’ Dan exclaims. ‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near a puck with them on the loose.’
I nod mutely, mesmerised while I watch the players zoom past. They line up and remove their helmets before everyone in the arena gets up from their seats as they start playing the Canadian national anthem. I don’t know all the words so I find myself mumbling along to the music along with everyone else on our row. Emily comes back and squeezes along, trying not to spill beer everywhere while a few of the locals tut loudly. They’re very patriotic around here, judging by the straight backs and removal of hats, caps and helmets. She hands me a large plastic pint glass full of lager as the music comes to an end, completely unfazed by the chilly atmosphere around us that has nothing to do with the ice.
‘Thanks. You didn’t need to get me a beer.’ I whisper, sitting down. ‘Maybe you should’ve waited for the national anthem to finish. Some of the locals don’t look too happy.’
‘Sorry, Mom.’ She shrugs, rolling her eyes.
‘Well, thanks for the beer anyway.’
She smiles sweetly. ‘No biggie.’
I can’t figure her out at all.
I take a sip of my beer and my eyes find Rick, No. 89.He looks sombre and moody, fidgeting on the ice in the bulky body armour and padding, which make him look bigger than I remember. My attention is drawn to one of the players on the opposing team with his back to us. Standing straight and proud, his tall frame makes him seem gigantic in comparison to his shorter team-mates. His jersey has ‘Irving .73’ written in white letters on the back. I can’t place why the name seems familiar to me, but the whistle blows and the crowd start yelling and clapping so I concentrate on the ice instead. The atmosphere is great and before registering that the puck is even in play, I yelp as two bodies smash against the glass in front of us with a large thud.
‘Any closer and you’ll be sitting on my lap.’ Dan smiles, putting an arm around me and giving me a reassuring squeeze before he goes back to his beer.
‘Sorry...’ I smile, releasing my grip on his scarf. ‘This is just… a bit different to what I imagined!’
‘Great seats!’ Emily says, obviously enthralled. ‘Any closer and they’ll be sitting on my lap. This is a million times better than seeing Chelsea play at Stamford Bridge!’
‘Can this stuff break?’ I ask, giving the glass in front of us a tentative tap.
Dan rolls his eyes. ‘What do you reckon? It’s safety glass… Just try to enjoy the game! That guy there is skating behind the net to keep the puck in possession, which gives his team a better chance at scoring because he can pass to his team-mates in front of the goal. See?’ He points to the players.
‘HIT ‘IM!’
I spin around to see at a little old man with a walking stick gesticulating madly at the players on the ice. ‘HIT ‘IM, DAMMIT!’ he shouts, waving his stick around and narrowly avoiding Dan’s beer. I swoop in and save it, just as the stick flies past again.
‘Wow… I didn’t realise hockey was such a big event.’ I say, looking back at the old man whose just been yanked back down on the bench by the woman sitting next to him.
‘He looks like he might have heart failure any second.’ Emily sniggers as I cover my mouth, trying hard not to laugh as the surrounding crowd start a cacophony of chants and shouts. It is just like any other weekend at a football match back at home, but without the swearing.
‘And I thought Canadian’s were so polite and mild-mannered!’ I add.
‘It’s hockey! It’s like a religion over here.’ Stevie, who is sitting on Dan’s left, whispers back, before cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling ‘MY GRANNY CAN HIT BETTER THAN YOU, NUMBER THIRTY!’
If I prayed for the ground to open up and swallow me right now, maybe it would. I’m really not the shouting type but Rick’s reaction when I told him I’d never been to a game before becomes clear.
‘YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT BUDDY! YOU SUCK!’
I try not to look too shocked as I stare at the middle-aged man further along our row, shouting and pointing at the goalkeeper, who is thumping his hockey stick up and down on the ice as if to egg him on. Emily is getting into the swing of things too, yelling and screaming abuse at the opposing team, but some of her language is a little over the top considering we’re surrounded by local families, some of whom don’t look too impressed. Nothing like doing your bit for season worker/local inter-relations, I think, pulling on her shirt.
‘Keep it clean!’ I hiss under my breath, putting my head close to hers as she sits back down. ‘Your boss isn’t looking too impressed.’
‘Whoops! Sorry.’
By the time the third period starts, I’m definitely getting into the swing of things, having grasped the basic rules of the game. My eyes are following Rick’s jersey everywhere as Emily screams next to me, declaring to anyone who’ll listen that number nine is the World’s best player. Granted, he’s very fast, but he seems to like winding the other players up with a lot of pushing, shoving and swearing.
‘Oooh, goody! A fight!’ Dan nudges me and points out two players on the far side of the rink, one of whom has ripped his helmet off and is in the process of ditching his cumbersome gloves. I’m slightly disappointed to see that it’s Rick, now laying into the much shorter player with real force, raining down blow after blow on the cowering man whose nose explodes with a sickening crunch. The noise reaches even where we’re sitting, before the blood on the white surface of the ice becomes horribly distinctive.
‘Can’t the linesmen do anything?’ I ask, horrified but equally transfixed by the violence. ‘That guy isn’t even defending himself. Surely Rick knows he’s had enough.’
‘The fight has to hit the floor first.’ Dan explains. ‘Would you want to take your chances getting in between those two?’ He seems equally fascinated by the spectacle as the crowd jeer behind us. Two of the linesmen and the referee are trying to break it up, but failing miserably getting a rumble of laughter from the crowd as the ref takes a tumble on his skates and ends up on his arse. It all seems to be part of the game, and the crowd are obviously finding it very entertaining but I find it a little unsettling. Suddenly, another player steps in and it all happens so fast that all I see is the short guy slumped on the floor holding his nose and the new player ditching his helmet and trading blows with Rick. As they tussle around the ice, I spy that it’s the taller player wearing the Irving jersey. Rick lands a hefty punch to the side of the other guys head, and I gasp as his face spins towards us from the impact. A light-bulb goes off in my head as I look at his face. Irving, Aaron - the ski patroller.
‘Isn’t that the dude with the cool dog?’ Dan asks, before wincing as another blow gets traded between the two men.
‘Yup. That’s him alright.’ Emily agrees. ‘Jesus, they look like they’re going to kill each other. This is BRILLIANT!’
I feel a little bit queasy.
Stevie chips in: ‘Woah… his hockey season’s going to be over if he doesn’t start fighting back. You can tell he’s holding back but 89’s all over him!’
‘THAT’S RIGHT, RICK! FUCKING KILL HIM!’ Emily screams, jumping up and down in her seat.
I yank her down again. ‘It’s Aaron, you twat. Aaron’s a really nice guy. We don’t want him getting killed!’
‘Aaron with the nice body from the hot-tub?’
I nod.
‘RICK! DON”T KILL HIM!’ she screams again. I laugh.
‘Ah, here we go.’ Dan says, watching closely. ‘Irving’s got that black look. He’s not taking any more crap.’
He’s right on the money as Aaron grabs hold of Rick’s hockey jersey, pulls his right arm back and wallops him square in the face, getting a large cheer from the crowd as Rick hits the ice, seemingly out cold. The two referees blow hard on their whistles and grab Aaron before escorting him to the door at the end of the rink. He shrugs them both off and slams open the door, stomping through it. A few people in the crowd make ‘ooooh’ noises before Rick’s team-mates help him up, escorting him back to their box.
‘Blimey! I hope he’s okay? We’re going on a date after this.’ Emily exclaims, looking smug. ‘He’s going to have one hell of a shiner.’