15 2 I can remember the first time I knew I wanted to be an ice skater. Actually, it’s the first thing I ever remember thinking about. I was three-and-a-half years old, tucked up under my bright pink Tombliboos duvet with Mum showing me funny films on her phone. I’d spent the past two days throwing up, and Mum was trying to cheer me up. When she ran out of films of cats running away from cucumbers, she found a film about the famous ice-skating couple Torvil and Dean winning gold at the 1984 Sarajevo Winter Olympics. I watched them gliding around the ice rink in their stunning purple costumes to the tune of Boléro, and then everyone cheering and throwing flowers and the judges giving them the best score ever: 6.0– 6.0–6.0–6.0… from all nine judges! I just thought, “I’m going to do that.” Mum had other ideas. She said she took me to the rink, opened the door, and felt a blast from the North Pole hitting her as we stepped inside. Mum came from a hot country where the only ice they ever see comes in little cubes in glasses of lemonade. She said she just thought, “No way am I spending the next ten years shivering at the side of an ice
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