by Kiki Archer
Champagne Willington and Priggy Bunton-Chatsworth pushed in front of the wolf-whistling leather-clad French bikers and positioned themselves next to their teacher. Champagne placed her hand on the professor’s shoulder. “Number one, I’m eighteen, already legally an adult, and number two, I’d rather not know what you and Madam Quinn partake in, thanks all the same.”
Champagne Willington was a good five inches taller than her maths professor and he struggled to focus on her eyes, instead letting his gaze hover at breast height. “New top, Champagne?”
Priggy Bunton-Chatsworth laughed. “Ding! You’re one point up, Champs.”
Marcus frowned, turning his attention to the stocky brunette. “And what’s this new game?” he asked, noticing the top button of Priggy’s shirt had come loose.
Priggy licked her finger and made an imaginary mark in the air. “Ding! One–one! Come on, Champs, we’re not buying anything, let’s head back to the coach.”
Marcus Ramsbottom nodded. “Round up any stragglers for me, please, this queue just isn’t moving.” He lifted himself onto his tiptoes. “For goodness sake, is that Willamena Edgington and Eugenie Rohampton on the slot machines?”
****
Susan was standing on the tarmac outside the coach ticking off another two names as she watched the girls climb safely back into their seats. Six students left to return. She lifted her face to the sun. It was glorious. February was always the best month for snow, but the temperature could often vary. She opened her eyes and squinted at the dazzling glow from the blanketed mountains; it looked like they’d got lucky. Powdered snow and blazing sun. She took a deep breath, actually able to feel her skin absorbing some much needed vitamin D.
The holler was loud. “This is just too strange!”
Susan opened her eyes into the direct sunlight and blinked furiously, trying to clear the blinding haze of brightness.
The giggly voice continued. “Susan Quinn. Can you believe this?!”
Susan blinked even faster. She looked at the lady and stammered, “Jenna? Jenna James?”
Jenna nodded, bouncing her bunches around and adding to her already animated introduction. “Sure is. Jenna James, Club Ski, at your service. Assigned to St Wilfred’s All-Girls School.” She stepped forwards and gave Susan a full-bodied hug. “What’s it been? Ten years? I noticed last week that I was scheduled to be with St Wilf’s. Imagine me in charge of a group from my old school! I guess you can tell me what it’s like, can’t you?” Jenna smiled warmly. “So how come you’ve ended up back here?” She quickly clarified herself. “Not that there’s anything wrong with teaching back at our old school. This is just such a funny coincidence.”
Susan was physically shaking with nerves, unable to return the hug, making the whole introduction feel really rather awkward. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I’m surprised you remember me.”
“The classes were tiny. Of course I remember you.” Jenna saw Susan’s eyes dart away and clarified once again. “Sorry, no I didn’t mean I remember you because of that.” She paused. “Ten years, wow.”
Susan tried to act relaxed. “Yeah, wow,” she said, immediately realising that yeah wow, wasn’t a combination of words she used very often.
Jenna reached around and hugged her old classmate once more. “It’s good to see you again. I often wonder what happened to everyone in our year. I’m awful at keeping in contact. I really should make more of an effort. It’s so easy with Facebook and Friends Reunited, but I daren’t go on either. Too many skeletons in the closet, if you know what I mean? I like to live in the moment. Keep the past where it belongs. Focus on the here and now. Living in the past only inhibits our future. I’m sure one of our old professors taught us that.”
Susan wasn’t quite sure how to act. This was the most direct conversation she’d ever had with Jenna James. The Jenna James. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she wasn’t the spotty girl sporting an ankle length skirt any longer. She was the woman with lip gloss. The woman with recently pierced ears. The woman whose lilac fleece came from the expensive range in Cotton Traders. She moved her weight onto her right hip, slid her pen behind her ear and tried to play it cool. “I must admit I just spotted your name on the briefing sheet and I did wonder, but I never imagined—”
A voice interrupted her. “I’m back, Madam!”
Susan fumbled with her clipboard, searching for her pen.
“Priggy and Champs are here too!”
More bodies filed past Susan and climbed up the steps. “Here, Madam.”
“Madam Quinn, we’re back. We’re the last two. Professor Ramsbottom says he’ll just be a minute.” Willamena Edgington and Eugenie Rohampton boarded the coach with their hands full of dirty euro coins.
Susan yanked the ballpoint from behind her ear, catching a clump of mousy brown hair in the pen’s grip, trying not to wince as the pain shot to her temples.
“Do you need a hand?” asked Jenna, watching Susan Quinn desperately try to free the pen. She was twirling it the wrong way and making the knotting worse. “Please, let me help.”
Susan laughed as if this happened all of the time. “No, no, it’s fine,” she said, shoving her clipboard under her arm so she could use both hands. The clipboard slipped and Susan instinctively reached to grab it. She missed and quickly bent to retrieve it from the floor. By the time she stood back up the ballpoint pen was swinging gently at her jawbone.
“Here,” said Jenna, stepping forwards and taking control of the situation.
Susan breathed in the sweet smell of Jenna’s coconut suntan lotion, devastated by her ability to revert back to the nervous fumbling girl of her youth. “Looks like I’m the same old Susan,” she said.
“As long as you don’t…” Jenna stopped herself. A reference to the quiff this early on wasn’t appropriate.
“As long as I don’t what?” Susan froze. She remembers. Jenna James remembers. Of course she remembers. Her yearbook entry had her down as Susan Quiffy Quinn.
Jenna thought quickly. “As long as you don’t try and kiss me.” She nodded towards the coach at the girls peering down at their teacher. “We’re standing rather close.”
Jenna yanked the pen free and Susan stepped backwards. “Why on earth would I try and kiss you?”
“I’m just teasing,” said Jenna. “But we all had crushes on each other at school, didn’t we?”
Susan flattened her slightly static brown hair. “Well I certainly did not.” She saw Marcus approaching. “Not all women who go to girls’ schools end up like that.” She nodded towards her plump, ginger colleague. “I’m dating.”
Jenna didn’t turn around. Instead she fixed her eyes on her flustered classmate. “That’s a shame, because I did.”
Susan paused and slowly gained the confidence to look into the deep-set exotic eyes. “Have a crush?”
“No!” Jenna immediately realised she had said it too preposterously. “Sorry, no, I mean I ended up like that.”
“Sorry ladies, the French don’t know the first thing about customer service.” Marcus Ramsbottom wiggled the bottle of wine. “But hopefully this’ll be worth the wait.” He puffed up his chest and stretched out his hand to Jenna James. “Our ski guide, I take it?”
“Yes. I’m Jenna James. Nice to meet you…” She paused for his introduction.
“Professor Ramsbottom.”
Jenna tried not to smirk. “Nice to meet you, Professor.”
Susan was still trying to flatten the static in her hair. “Call him Marcus.”
“No Susan, she’s staff. Professor will be fine.”
Jenna nodded. “It’s okay, I understand how St Wilf’s works. Protocol is paramount.”
Marcus fingered his thinning hair, genuinely surprised. “Really? It often takes some getting used to for people who haven’t been through the private system.”
Susan attached the pen to the clipboard and held it against her chest, desperately trying to regain her composure. “She has. Jenna an
d I were classmates.”
Marcus took a visible step backwards, reassessing the lady’s childish bunches and over-familiar smile. “Never! Well would you ever?”
“I guess I don’t get a mention at the Presentation Evenings then?”
Susan smiled, aware that she too was never mentioned as one of St Wilfred’s greatest success stories. She shook her head at Jenna and giggled. “They’re too busy talking about Jemima Grice, MP, and the latest DNA discovery made by Flavia Simkins.”
Jenna laughed loudly, making Susan’s blush run even deeper. “You always were funny at school.”
“Inspirational women.” Marcus nodded solemnly. “And all down to the work we do with them at St Wilfred’s.”
Jenna eyed the young professor. “You taught them? Wow. Have you been there long? I was in their year at school and I don’t remember you teaching us.”
Marcus pulled on the corners of his moustache. “If I had taught you, you might not be standing there in that garish red tracksuit.”
Susan was aghast. “Marcus!”
Jenna tapped the company logo on the top of her jacket. “I own Club Ski, actually. I built it up from scratch. We’re worth millions.”
Marcus guffawed. “I’m such a tease! You’ll learn that quickly.” He nodded at Susan. “Tell her what a jokester I am, Susan. Non-stop gags.” He looked back towards Jenna and spoke seriously. “We churn out such entrepreneurs here at St Wilf’s.” He paused in the silence and stretched his arm out towards the coach. “Ladies, or should I say, entrepreneurs, after you.”
Susan momentarily tore her eyes away from Jenna and glanced at her colleague. “Have you double checked they’re all out?”
“Yes, yes. We’re on the home stretch now.” He ignored his own offer and pulled himself up the steps first. “Jenna James, you must regale us all with your rise to riches story.”
Susan stayed on the tarmac and fixed her eyes on Jenna. “That’s brilliant. I knew you’d make something of yourself. Owner of Club Ski? That’s incredible.”
Jenna stepped in closer and lowered her voice. “Am I bollocks. I’m just a bog-standard ski instructor.” She nudged Susan’s arm. “Took the gloat right off Professor Sheep’s-Arse’s face though, didn’t it? I bet he tells everyone he taught old Simkins and Gricey. What is he? Twenty-eight going on ninety-two?”
Susan didn’t have chance to reply. Jenna was already pulling herself up the stairs and into the coach. “Right,” she said to herself, clutching onto the clipboard for dear life, utterly unsure how she felt about the whole situation.
Chapter Three
Jenna had spent a couple of minutes with the coach driver outlining the best route up to the resort. Club Ski insisted the guides were with their parties for the final stretch of the journey, even though it meant a slightly monotonous trip out to the service station on the company minibus, and a guaranteed whiffy trip back with the tired students who were now on their fifteenth hour of travel.
It was the guide’s job to highlight the picturesque scenery and give a general insight into the area, most of which was ignored by the students whose ears were plugged with one gadget or other. Jenna always opted for a more personal approach, walking up and down the coach and introducing herself to each student individually, finding out a little about their skiing ability and their hopes for the week ahead.
It would take about another forty-five minutes to climb the steep, ever narrowing roads towards one of the most extensive ski regions in the Alps, Les Portes du Soleil, and Jenna knew she had time to get all of the girls on-side, even the ones who thought they were too cool to play childish games with the newcomer. She decided to break the ice with ski pass recognition, where she would hand the plastic card to the owner using a celebrity lookalike.
She stood at the front of the coach, spoke loudly and started with Marcus Ramsbottom. “So. This is an easy one. He’s the only male on the trip. It’s Mick Hucknall from Simply Red.”
“Who?” shouted Priggy Bunton-Chatsworth.
Jenna smiled. “Stop making me feel so old.” She held the pass up and pretended to study the photo again. “Okay, maybe he’s more like a short and rather plump Ed Sheeran.”
The girls started to laugh.
Jenna handed the lift pass to Marcus, giggling as he snatched it quickly, clearly not amused. She called for attention and pulled the next pass from the pile. “Right, here we have your favourite madam.” Jenna glanced back down at the passport-sized picture on the plastic card, noticing that it was actually rather flattering. “It’s Katie Holmes.”
Susan smiled and took the outstretched lift pass, using it to fan her face. “There’s a first time for everything.”
Jenna smiled warmly before turning her attention back to the pile of passes. She scanned up the coach, spotting its owner immediately. “J-Lo has joined us!” She walked up the aisle. “It’s Champagne Willington.”
Champagne laughed, thrilled with the comparison, smart enough to know it was the new lady’s way of currying favour, but shallow enough to let it work. “How do we address you? Can we call you Jenna?”
“Call me anything you want,” laughed Jenna, “as long as it’s not madam.”
Jenna moved back down to the centre of the aisle, having ignored Susan’s request to do all of the introductions with the coach microphone from the belted seat at the front. She looked at the next passport photo and panicked. She had a list of gorgeous celebrity names that she would assign to each student based on hair and eye colour. The similarity often ended there, but it was a positive way to break the ice. Now, however, she was struggling. She looked at the picture again. The little girl had white hair, white skin and a reddish tinge to her eyes, and the thick glasses she was wearing made her eyes look huge and fuzzy. Jenna thought of the Icelandic singer Björk, not quite sure why. She slipped the card to the back of the pile to give herself more time. Jenna knew she couldn’t tell an albino child that her celebrity lookalike was Björk. That would be cruel. Plus Björk had dark hair. This little girl’s hair almost glowed. She reached for the next one and shouted loudly. “We’ve got Kelly Clarkson on the coach! Sing us a song, Priggy Bunton-Chatsworth.”
Marcus Ramsbottom puffed up the aisle. “Excuse me, Madam James, that foie gras baguette I devoured at the service station seems to want out.”
Jenna tried to retreat into a seat, almost retching at the thought.
Marcus edged past her towards the tiny toilet. “Do wait for me though. This is most entertaining.” He pointed at sixteen year old Eugenie Rohampton. “You can’t help but notice how she’s been blessed with the body of Dolly Parton.”
Jenna raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “I think she’s more of a Scarlett Johansson.”
“That depends where you’re looking,” he hushed.
Jenna wasn’t sure whether it was his revolting remark that made her shudder or the stench from his breath. She shook herself free from his creepiness and wandered up and down the coach trying to get a better look at the young, white-haired, Björk. She paused and did a quick silent head count, checking her list and counting again. She slowly made her way down to the front of the coach and sat next to Susan in Marcus’s recently vacated seat. It was warm and made her shudder once again.
“So, who are you then?” asked Susan, directing her question towards Jenna. “Mila Kunis?”
Jenna ignored her. “How many students do we have on the trip?”
Susan wanted the chair to swallow her up. She’d been practising that line for the past ten minutes. It was meant to show off her jovial side. Jenna had already commented on how funny she used to be at school and she had just wanted to confirm that this was still the case.
Jenna was sharper. “How many girls should be on this coach?”
Susan forgot her embarrassment as she sensed the tone in Jenna’s voice. “Sixteen.”
Jenna handed over the lift pass belonging to Daisy Button. “Björk’s not on the bus.”
“Who?”
&
nbsp; “I couldn’t think of any albino celebrities.” Jenna calmed herself and hushed her voice. “Daisy Button’s not here.”
Susan unclipped her seatbelt and twisted onto her knees, her eyes drawn to the empty single seat in the centre of the coach. She was about to gasp out a cry that would have the other students searching in their foot wells for the youngest member of the group, when she felt Jenna’s hands pull her back down.
“Stop,” said Jenna, far more calmly than she felt. “Don’t say a word. Walk up and down the coach and double check that I’ve not missed her. This is a fifty-two seater; they’re all so spread out.”
Susan was frozen in panic. “I can’t. We must stop. Tell the driver to stop. She’s only eleven.”
Jenna gripped Susan’s arm firmly. “Do what I’ve told you. Stay calm. Don’t breathe a word to anyone.”
Susan’s legs wobbled as she hurried up and down the coach, checking, then double checking, each of the seats, her mind completely blank. She returned to the front with a face whiter than little Daisy Button’s. “She’s not here. Marcus is in the toilet, so she’s not in there either.”
Jenna took both of Susan’s hands and hushed her voice. “When did you last see her?”
“She got off at the services. I said she could use my mobile phone, but she never came for it.”
“That’s where she is then.” Jenna fixed her eyes on Susan. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”
Susan swivelled back onto her knees. “I’ll alert the girls. I’ll ask them who saw her last.”
Jenna pulled her back down. “No! How many of these girls have mobiles on them?”
Susan felt terrible. “All of them except for Daisy.”
“You announce that she’s lost and this group of dramatic eleven to eighteen year olds will be straight on their phones to their parents who’ll be chartering private jets and flying them out of here.” She shook her head. “You’ll be sued straight out of St Wilf’s.” She looked at Susan directly. “Stay calm and let me handle this.” Jenna jumped out of her seat and crouched down next to the driver, instructing him to turn back around as soon as possible.