Meet Me at Fir Tree Lodge

by Rachel Dove

  All day, Luke had been in the café. He’d installed himself right in the corner, near the windows at the front, directly next to her favourite counter. She liked to work there in the afternoon, so she could see out of the windows without being noticed herself, chat to the regulars who came in, and now she had her lodger displayed in her window. He’d been clacking away on his laptop, taking phone calls outside, walking left and right, outside the window. She spent half the day working, and the other half stalking him. What? Watching! I mean, watching him. At one point, he even took a selfie with the mountain. Who does that? She wondered where he had uploaded it to. Who he might have sent it to. She was still on social media herself, she just didn’t update any of her profiles. Ever. She was an occasional lurker. She would have deleted them all entirely, but she did like to check in on people from time to time. She almost always regretted it, but that was how regrets worked in the first place.

  In between calls and frantic tip-tapping on the laptop, he’d eaten half the menu. He followed his croissant with a bacon sandwich, a large coffee, and then started tasting some of her other baked goods. She found herself wondering how much money he would take to feed, before she realised that it wasn’t her problem. She would feed him in here, for cash, but upstairs he was on his own. If he so much as breathed near her Rocky Road, it was his funeral.

  *

  Half an hour till closing time, and Rebecca was tired. She started to put things away, clearing the dirty tables and setting things up for the morning. She was almost done when she noticed Luke had his camera phone going. He was aiming at her glass cabinet. She cleared the final table in a hurry, putting the things into the kitchen and getting her cleaning supplies out to #hinch the cafe. Yep, social media lurker. I like to have things clean and squared away, so I can sleep easy. This café is my oasis. If it does well, so do I. Some ding-a-ling taking photos in here doesn’t sit right.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked him finally, when she couldn’t stand holding the question back another moment. Spraying one of the vacant chairs with cleaning spray, enjoying the hit of pine fresh smell it created, she looked at him for an answer. He snapped another photo, and she felt her fists tighten around the cloth. ‘Luke?’

  He looked across at her, a shy little smile on his face.

  ‘I wanted to photograph some of your stuff, it looks so good. Do you make all your own recipes, or do you use other people’s?’

  She shook her head before she answered. The cheek of it!

  ‘No, I use the basic recipes but then tweak them. I like to add my own ideas.’

  He nodded at her, looking right at her. She could almost feel him, but she kept working, not wanting him to linger too much. I have to share my lodge with him, and I can’t even stand in the same café as him without feeling annoyed that he’s here. Asking me questions.

  To make it even more awkward, the last customer waved goodbye and left. Closing time. Just the two of them. For the whole night. Alone. Rebecca gulped at the prospect and faffed with some napkins in a dispenser.

  ‘But where did you study?’ he persisted, as she headed over to the front door and locked up for the evening.

  ‘I studied here, Hans taught me.’

  She could feel him again, watching her movements, and she turned her body to face him. Hand on hip, she stared right back at him. His eyes narrowed a little.

  ‘I know you.’

  Shit. She hadn’t expected him to say that.

  ‘What’s your name again? Atkins, right?’

  She looked back at him, nodding slowly. Hans had used her real name. He usually left it out, or used the code word. Dammit. He must trust Luke. Did he … did he know? Rebecca felt like her jaw had locked shut.

  ‘Yep. You finished?’ She tried her ‘leave it’ look on him, but he just frowned, making his glasses move further up his big nose. Well, it wasn’t big exactly, more button-like. It wasn’t a bad nose, it just seemed to like inserting itself into things that were none of its beeswax.

  ‘You okay? You got a headache or something?’ She raised her brows in his direction.

  ‘No,’ he said after a moment, before looking away. ‘I’ll let you get on.’

  Moment gone. Thank Christ for that. She put her face straight and started putting the chairs up on the tables. He followed her lead without being asked and started putting them up with her. The two of them worked in silence, till the only table left was the one where his stuff was still laid out. He muttered ‘terribly sorry’ in a faux posh tone under his breath, starting to put things away, chucking pens into a case he produced from his bag.

  ‘Really, Star Wars? How old are you? And what’s with the telephone voice?’

  He looked at her and in his best Yoda voice said, ‘Doesn’t matter, age. Always cool, Star Wars is. Work tone, voice is.’ After a moment, when she was still scowling at him, he laughed sheepishly. ‘When I get nervous, I go all hoorah Henry in the voice department. I don’t know why. My dad does it.’

  She groaned, but it trickled into a giggle despite her best efforts. He laughed too, his deep voice chuckling along as he put his things away, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

  ‘I do know you from somewhere, it’ll come to me.’ Rebecca ignored him, quickly cleaning his table down and getting it ready for the next day. Taking her time till he went away. Then she realised he wasn’t going anywhere.

  ‘Right, well I’ll be off,’ he surprised her by saying. ‘Okay if I leave my bags with you? I only need my wallet, Hans is taking me out for a pint.’

  Rebecca mentally took out some of the pins from Hans’s voodoo doll in her head. Not the good ones like the goolies, just the boring ones, like an elbow.

  ‘Oh, that’s nice,’ she replied, as though bored. Really, she was thanking the god of pubs for giving her a little bit of time to come round to the idea of having this man in her personal quarters. ‘Well, have a nice time.’ Cloth in hand, she was waiting for him to say goodbye, see you later, and leave. He just stood there gawping back.

  ‘So,’ he says, looking from his feet to her face to back to his feet, which were encased in very unsuitable shoes. I’m surprised his toes haven’t dropped off yet.

  ‘So,’ she repeated, looking pointedly at the door.

  ‘Er, a key?’ he ventured. Oh dear Lord.

  ‘Hans wants to give you a key?’

  Luke ran his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. Good. You need to be nervous, asking me for a bloody key.

  ‘Er yes, he said you kept a spare for er … guests.’

  ‘Great. That doesn’t make me sound like a hooker at all.’

  His face fell. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she retorted, smiling through tight gritted teeth, taking a key out of the drawer next to the till. ‘Here’s the key. You’ll have to come through the shop, so please don’t forget to lock up properly.’

  He still didn’t move, so she went to him and held the key out, taking care to hold it by the string it was attached to. She didn’t trust herself to touch him flesh to flesh. He stood there a beat too long, staring.

  ‘What are you looking at?’

  ‘Nothing, sorry.’ He seemed to mentally shake himself together, before taking the key gently from her grasp. She could feel the heat from his skin. ‘I’ll lock up, don’t worry. Just leave my bags there, I’ll bring them up when I get back.’

  She nodded at him dumbly, having had no intention of carrying them up anyway. Who was she, Jeeves?

  ‘Fine, see you later then.’ She turned to leave to go upstairs, eager to wash the day off and frantically clean up the guest room.

  ‘Rebecca? Thanks again for putting me up. I really appreciate it, and I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

  She turned to say something to him, acknowledge him, but he was already on the other side of the door, locking up. She watched him put the key into a zipped pocket, and when he looked up, their eyes locked. She raised a hand and softly waggled her fingers
at him. He did the same with a gloved hand. It looked more like a lobster claw, but it still made her heart beat that bit faster for some reason. It was probably just the fact that she had given a total stranger a key to her castle. As he walked away in the snow, giving her another long look over his shoulder, she had one thought in her head.

  That man is going to be trouble.

  *

  Hours later, after a night of emergency cleaning, leg shaving, and hiding of personal information around the lodge, Rebecca turned off the radio and headed to bed. She did think about delving into her bedroom drawers for that slip she knew she still had kicking about, just in case they happened to cross paths in the middle in the night going to the bathroom, or getting a midnight snack. She soon talked herself out of it, seeing sense in favour of PJs and fluffy unicorn slippers, which were shrugged off at the side of the bed. She shouldn’t be embarrassed of her comfy clothes, he was the invader, after all. It was her home. Besides, he might think she was trying it on with him, all nipply from the cold floor and groggy from sleep. That would be far worse than him laughing at her oversized Disney nighties. Snuggling under the covers with a satisfied sigh, she finally felt herself relax a little. She had been thinking about waiting up for Luke, to check he locked up properly, but decided it would be better to get some sleep and get out of the way. What would I say to him anyway? It’s not like I even want him here.

  She’d closed her own bedroom door, leaving the guest room wide open to avoid any confusion when he got home. Picking up her Kindle, she thumbed through the covers to find her next read, and settled in, switching off her bedside lamp and snuggling into the pillows in the dark, the screen the only light in the room. Peace and quiet, just how she liked it. She sped through the first chapter of the book, where a dashing hero sidled up to a coquettish woman in a bar.

  Then she found herself wondering if Hans was having a good night. He’d seemed very excited to see Luke. Did Holly know him too? Rebecca herself didn’t recall a Luke in any of Hans’s ski stories. He wasn’t one of the scene, she knew that much. Even without seeing him trip over his own feet every fifteen minutes since she’d met him. The man walked like a newborn fawn. She read on, and the hero waggled his eyebrows, saying something charming and funny and making the woman in the book hang on his every word. Luke wouldn’t be able to do that. Hah! The man is awkward with a big fat capital ‘A’. I wonder what he looks like without his glasses on …

  Rebecca shut the screen down and punched the pillows beside her. Romance novels late at night were not always good for a woman who had … gone without for a while. A long while. Years. No wonder she was fantasising about what her squatter looked like without his bins on. He wasn’t exactly built like Dean Cain. More sugar cane.

  She turned her head to her window, looking through the ineffectual curtains at the mountains around her. They looked blue tinted in the dim light, beautiful. It made her long to get back out there, but after the accident, it was done. She’d never just be a hobby skier. It would be like licking the frosting and not eating the cake.

  Robbie had said the same, before they’d parted. How different she was now, how much she needed to get back out there. Back to reality. Easier said than done when you’d had as much time to sit and think as Rebecca had. Nothing but time to pore over the moments in your life where a decision led to something else. Another life entirely. Another person. Whoever she was that day, up there taking her next shot at the top, she’d left her up there. A piece of herself that she would never get back. What was the point in trying, when the last time almost broke you? Career, relationship. Both shattered. She wasn’t some old vase, the cracks in her body and soul were not fused with gold. They were creaky, chalky, jagged pieces. If she moved too fast, it would all crumble. Taking a last look, she turned her back on the mountain, flicked her book back on and waited for sleep to claim her.

  Chapter 3

  ‘Smug lil’ git, arent ya! I’ll get you, you … buffoon! Next time, you’s can fix your own ruddy dongle!’

  Rebecca was jolted awake by a deep voice, and a large crash. Her kindle, propped up on a pillow, pitched forward and smacked her straight in the face. Cursing, she flung it to the side, her back against the pillows, heart hammering, listening for whatever it was that woke her.

  ‘Awww shit!’ Her startled ears could make out the Yorkshire twang in the voice this time, and her heart started pumping again as realisation set in. It’s just my unwanted lodge guest. She squinted at her bedside clock. It’s 3.45 a.m. I have to be up in a few hours, and this gobshite is just rolling in. Not a good start to our enforced living arrangement.

  ‘Bloody Hans.’ She grumbled her way out of bed, shuffling around the room. She’d sent him a text earlier, basically asking him why he hated her and wanted to destroy her, but the big lump had never replied. Too busy with his new little bestie, probably. She heard an odd series of knocks. It sounded like someone was knocking on the interior door. Great.

  She headed straight down the stairs, only stopping to put her slippers on, and opened the door slowly. It opened inward, and as soon as she pulled down the latch, the door swung towards her, bringing with it a huge lump of something that smelled like it had been marinated in alcohol. He dropped backwards onto the stairs like a sack of potatoes.

  ‘Eugh, you stink!’ She pinched her nose, stepping over him gently. She was feeling a little drunk on the fumes, and felt an icy blast. I knew it, he’s left the flipping door open. I can see the snow falling outside, the door wide open, the key still in the lock. What a total twonk. She padded over in her slippers, cupping her boobs to prevent her nipples from shrivelling up and blowing away like tiny frozen peas. Getting to the door, she looked outside, but saw nothing except staggered footprints and tracks heading towards the scene of crime. Hans’s handiwork no doubt. If he wasn’t a first-time expectant father, he would be in a whole heap of rolling pin related revenge right now. ‘What did you drink, besides everything?’

  ‘I’ll get him, you know. He won’t get the better of Luke Sommersby. Lukey boy will win!’ He raised his hand in the air, managing to half punch himself in the face and not even noticing. ‘For Frank!’

  Rebecca looked down at the body that was currently sprawled out on the stairs up to the lodge. He was singing to himself now, a garbled version of ‘Eye of the Tiger’, with punching movements. At least, I think they’re pretend punches. He could be having some sort of dance party by himself. He turned his head and looked up at her, eyes bloodshot, a lazy, slow grin spreading across his face languidly.

  ‘Hey! Re-bakie! There you are. Got any of them croissants?’ He slurred out croissants like quix-sants, and then started talking about all the flavours of the food he’d scoffed that afternoon. ‘You should do cakes! Big cakes, with—’ he raised one hand and made a sprinkling motion with it ‘—stuff on it, you know?’

  Rebecca was already thoroughly fed up, knackered and freezing. Planting her feet closer to him to get a good grip of his arm, she got ready to pull the stupid dolt up. He looked down at her feet, which was when she belatedly realised they were clad in her unicorn slippers. He laughed, bopping one of them on the horn with his finger. Or trying to anyway. He more jabbed her leg.

  ‘Ha ha! Cute. Can you help me stand up? I need to pee.’

  ‘Lovely. Of course that’s something I want to be involved in.’

  He looked at her again, his eyes unfocused, his head tilting further back to the stairs behind him as he tried to focus on well, one of her, at least. Rebecca was pretty sure he was staring at more than one of her with his beer googles on.

  ‘Come on.’ She grabbed his arms as best she could whilst he was still waving them around and gave him a gentle tug. He didn’t move, just lay there, laughing to himself. Rebecca rolled her eyes and planted her feet firmly on the ground again, digging her toes into her slippers like little diggers.

  ‘Come … nnggggg … on!’ Heaving with all her might, she still only just managed to lift his back o
ff the stairs.

  ‘For God’s sake, what did you drink? You’re like a ton of lead!’ Trying again, she went to plant her feet a bit further apart, only to be kicked in the knee by him trying to get up, taking her off balance. Not surprising really when he was flailing like a tortoise on its back.

  ‘Lead! You can’t drink l … oooo, saucy!’ He giggled again, catching her as she crashed into his body, headbutting him for good measure. His head was flung back onto the corner of the stair, making a small thud against the carpet. ‘Oww, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!’ He grabbed at her to steady them both, and before Rebecca could even process what was happening, her face was inches from his, and his arms were around her tight, his grip now as solid as a rock. His hands were also however, planted squarely on her bottom. He literally has my butt cheeks in his hands. I can feel the heat coming through the flannel material.

  He lay back again, wincing at the pain no doubt caused by her collapsing onto him, but then he looked right at her, his piercing green eyes flicking all over the features of her face, his hands squeezing the globes of her backside still.