Five Ladies Go Skiing

by Karen Aldous

  Angie leaned across and kissed my cheek. ‘And, our pleasure from the bottom of our hearts; everyone’s effort has been tremendous.’

  A flutter I hadn’t felt for ages flapped in my belly and I was keen to keep up this joyous momentum. ‘And, whilst we’re all together, and not to put a downer on this evening, because I feel it should be more of a celebration …’ I felt all eyes on me, but it was important. ‘I’d like to do a memorial lunch for Mike on Monday.’

  Beside me, Kim thrust her arm across my shoulder and pulled me to her chest. ‘That’s a brilliant idea, Ginny.’

  ‘Yes,’ they all chanted in agreement.

  Cathy put down her glass flute. ‘I did wonder if you were going to do something. I said as much to Anthony. He thought we should if you didn’t.’

  ‘Aww, bless him.’ I sighed as a stab of guilt sliced through me. ‘I think Anthony and the boys would have loved to have been part of it.’

  ‘No, darling, you mustn’t worry about the boys,’ Cathy pleaded. ‘You’re here with us and it’s about you and, to some extent, closure. It’s that first milestone and very significant. So, where were you thinking of?’

  I shut my eyes and, clenching my teeth, gave a shrug. ‘Oh, well I haven’t thought about that yet. Somewhere beautiful, I think. Maybe Angie can help me there. But I’ll come back to you on that. Let’s enjoy our evening. I think this is our food coming.’

  Lucien, the younger of the waiters, was indeed bringing the first course: lavaret, he told us. Whitefish from Lac Léman cooked with roast cabbage, mushroom teriyaki and truffled mayonnaise. It was delicious.

  Small taster dishes then arrived one after the other, as fast as the waiters could carry them. Didier, another waiter, introduced himself, fetching out beautifully pan-fried scallops with a caramelised crust and a tasty splotch of pea and mint puree. These were followed by a creamy pasta enriched with fresh herbs, spinach and finely chopped lardons, which Cathy actually picked out one by one, so the pasta must have been special. She wouldn’t touch meat on the basis her parents had always made her eat it. She can be quite a rebel on the quiet. Whereas Angie just couldn’t bear eating an animal, even as a child.

  We decided on Gamay wine to accompany our dinner but with so much focus on the food, not much was drunk at that point.

  I lay my hand over my bulging stomach. ‘Mike would have adored this. Such a shame there’s so much. I’m not going to need skis tomorrow, I might just roll down,’ I said as Lucien delivered a succulent veal escalope with creamy mash for us carnivores next.

  Cathy screwed up her nose at the freshly pan-fried trout in front of her. ‘Seriously, we can’t physically eat all this. Who wants mine?’ She tossed a plate of bean stew to one side.

  ‘We should have brought a doggie bag. It looks divine but quite where I’m going to fit it all in, I’ve no idea.’ Angie grimaced.

  Lou cut into hers. ‘It would be criminal to leave it. Perhaps we can take it slower. Wash it down with wine.’

  ‘Totally agree,’ I said, as I cut the veal into small manageable pieces and sat back with my glass allowing the light-bodied Gamay to slide down my throat, before tackling any more.

  Clearly Stefano and Francesco’s passion for food hadn’t waned over the years, assuming they were older than us. It was evident that sourcing and creating delicious food for their customers kept their relationship dynamic. As Stefano had proudly announced in the kitchen, they used the finest produce the seasons provided.

  To my stomach’s relief, only ice cream followed the savoury dishes but that didn’t stop me feeding it with lots more wine, including three flutes of Prosecco which, along with the vibrant atmosphere and the wine we’d already had, soon went to my head. By then the music had started, and although there wasn’t a dancefloor as such, as soon as the first chords of Abba’s ‘Super Trouper’ came on, we leaped from our seats and into the aisle.

  With my friends around me, I let the music pulsate through me as I swayed and let it take me, chords hitting chords of memories of happier times with Mike, with our friends. The music we shared, at concerts, parties, garden parties, balls, even in our homes, dancing, just having a blast. I was lifted to another world, singing the words and giggling with the girls, eagerly anticipating the next track, Abba or not. We danced to Queen, Bowie, T. Rex, Donna Summer, Bee Gees, all familiar Seventies tracks, then The Rolling stones, Chuck Berry, Bill Hayley and the Comets, The Supremes, fast, Sixties rock and roll, then back to Abba and ‘Dancing Queen’.

  I lost myself deep in the moment, ignoring tears burning the back of my eyes, letting the cocktail of grief and joy stream onto my cheeks. I must have been aware of the energy lifting in the room too, as others took to the floor and … tables. Up I climbed, first on an empty chair, then up onto a table, still in my boots, with others on a cleared long solid-wood table; Kim behind me, Abba urging me. Angie followed. I boogied with complete strangers, high and crazy, whirling and … feeling winds of change, possibly living again as though the cracks in my broken heart were binding back together.

  Feeling as jubilant as I did, I could have danced all night, but the music faded, and thirst and exhaustion were taking over. Angie and Kim assisted me down and back to the table where Lou had organised water already. She also mentioned something about indigestion, clutching her tummy whilst twisting, chatting with Cathy to three guys on the next table. I remained standing, still wide awake and buzzing.

  After two glasses of cool water, I calmed and began chatting with a couple of ladies who were a part of a large group we had danced with, discovering they had their own chalets or apartments and got back here at every opportunity. Everyone was so friendly. I spoke to another Kent couple, a young family from Surrey and a group of five girls from London – like us, only thirty years younger! They were a lively mix and great fun. Nipping to the loo I also discovered a whole other room leading off the main restaurant, with parties of Danish guests who were staying in the accommodation above.

  I think I’m safe in saying we all embraced our first après-ski experience, particularly dancing the night away to Abba, Queen and Sixties rock and roll, and thinking it hilarious telling all and sundry we were Flowers on the Piste!

  Chapter 5

  Ginny

  I woke early the following morning, having visited the bathroom three times already. My head throbbed as I watched the bedside clock flick down the minutes. I was afraid to move in case I woke Kim or Angie. I guzzled down the remainder of my water and two more paracetamols then lay back down. As much as I adored the fun and dancing last night, I was wobbling now. What I really needed was diazepam to get me up and out on that mountain and through my first skiing lesson. Unfortunately, all the chemist offered me last week was a small bottle of Bach’s Rescue Remedy.

  ‘It’ll work wonders. Just spray as directed before you go out and carry it with you,’ the assistant in the chemist had told me handing me a tiny bottle.

  ‘Oh, you’d best give me twenty of those,’ I’d replied in jest, but purchased four.

  I turned onto my side and sat up, tapping off the alarm, which had finally gone off, and clasping the side of my head. I looked over at Angie and Kim who were snoozing, so I thought it might be a good time to nip into the shower, hoping it would wash away the hangover. It had been a wonderful evening and just the tonic I needed after such a shite couple of years. Now all I had to do was get rid of this hangover and get out onto those slopes.

  The lovely warm shower hadn’t dissipated my nervous energy and I tiptoed as quietly as I could back into the bedroom, tightening my towel and trying not to wake the others. Placing my pyjamas onto the bed, I bent down to the cabinet and opened my undies bag in the drawer. I’ve never been one for properly unpacking. At once my gaze met my thermals. I shrieked.

  ‘Oh, thank God. Fantastic!’ Looking round, I quickly covered my mouth with my hand and pulled out the rolled-up thermals.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Kim sat upright in a panic and imme
diately squinted her eyes. ‘You OK, chook?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I got excited. I have them.’ I let the bundle unfurl as I held them up. ‘My thermals. One pair at least.’

  ‘That’s ace,’ Kim said, probably wondering what all the fuss was about.

  ‘I thought I’d forgotten them,’ I said, updating her. ‘Sorry to wake you. I couldn’t sleep so I got in the shower.’ I didn’t mention the times I’d been back and forth to the loo.

  ‘No worries, I probably need to get up anyway,’ she said giving a yawn.

  ‘It’s only seven-thirty.’

  ‘Oh. I’m awake now anyway, honey. I think. My head feels like someone’s got inside and sand-blasted it.’ Kim grabbed her water glass and then realising it was empty, slammed it down again. ‘Pfft. Sorry, my vision isn’t operational yet this morning.’ She reached for her glasses.

  I saw Angie’s body jolt and she stirred into consciousness.

  Kim combed her fingers through her short tresses and threw back her duvet. ‘I’ll go and get some more water. Would you like some? I’ll make coffee while I’m down there too and get something for my head.’

  Angie stretched out and groaned. ‘I’ll have coffee, too. If you don’t mind. And paracetamol if you have some please, Nurse. I don’t know why I didn’t pack any.’

  ‘I’ve brought a couple of packs,’ I said opening my drawer to retrieve one. ‘Help yourselves.’

  ‘No worries but thanks,’ Kim said padding to the door. ‘I’ve some in my first-aid kit in one of the kitchen cupboards.’ She turned to us scratching her brow. ‘I just have to remember which one.’

  Angie chortled half-heartedly, heaving herself up then pulling back unruly black curls. She snatched a band from the bedside cabinet and tied a simple bun on the back of her head. ‘Our reliable Nurse Kimmy. prepared as ever.’ She then sucked in her cheeks. ‘Though, I should have known better. That was one excessive night. Ooh, ah!’ She creaked her neck, grabbing the front of her head as she got to her feet. ‘Oh God, it’s Sunday. I’ve got to get you all your skis and to your lesson.’

  ‘Angie, we have almost two hours. I couldn’t sleep. Don’t panic.

  ‘Oh, but there’s sure to be queues this morning.’

  * * *

  Half an hour later, we managed to get downstairs in various states of recovery. As Angie suggested when we had shopped for our ski-gear, we wore our thermals or a lounge suit, otherwise we would bake like potatoes. Angie often came out with snippets of advice when we grouped for our ski trip. I remembered thinking in that instance, she doesn’t realise what a cold-bod I am, but she’d been right, the chalet was incredibly warm. Sexy I wasn’t, but I was comfortable.

  Lou and Cathy joined us in the kitchen also poisoned by alcohol and appearing faded with a light shade of green around the gills. After an uncoordinated attempt at making coffee with the new state-of-the-art coffee machine, and serving croissants Lou and I had bought in the supermarket, we gathered at the table and collectively empathised in silence.

  Ten minutes later, Angie rose like a rocket had shot up her back end. ‘Right, my beauties. We’ve got to collect our skis and boots, so—’ she looked at her watch ‘—twenty minutes to get dressed and in the boot room.’ By that I assumed she meant the large entrance with all the shelves, and like frightened five-year-olds meeting their scary teacher for the first time, we jarred to attention checking phones and watches. ‘Don’t forget ski socks, helmets, gloves, snoods or scarves, ski passes, goggles, sunglasses,’ she continued. ‘And phones and money. Carry as little as possible,’ she finished. Then added. ‘I’ll wash up quickly.’

  Mentally trying to absorb the list, we scuttled from the table and back to our rooms. I’d tried on every item – the ski pants, the thermals, the T-shirt, the roll-neck, the fluffy fleece, the jacket – individually, as and when I had bought them. As I added the layers, I looked in the mirror. Even allowing for the weight I’d lost, I was the Abominable Snowman. I could barely move and, inside it all, I was quickly melting. Looking at Kim, then Angie, who had taken half as much time as Kim and I to get ready, I could see I wasn’t alone. Beads of perspiration were sprouting around their hairlines and alongside their noses.

  Angie stuffed all her accessories in her helmet and reminded us again what not to forget before racing out the door panting. ‘Sorry, I need air. See you down there.’

  I quickly chanted off the checklist once more so that Kim and I could test one another’s memory just to make sure nothing was missing, and we waddled off to the stairs, our helmets acting as brimming handbags. Angie came out of Lou and Cathy’s room shaking her head. Cathy followed, her helmet crammed too.

  ‘Lou’s just putting on the essential lip gloss. Let’s go,’ Angie said.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Cathy asked us as we trooped down the stairs.

  ‘Like Michelin Man in the outback,’ Kim answered blowing out a big sigh. ‘I think we ought to fill up with water before we all wilt.’

  Cathy nodded. ‘Good idea, darling. Maybe some mints too. There’s still an oppressive odour of alcohol and garlic hanging in the air. And you, Ginny? Looking forward to getting on those skis?’

  I could think of nothing worse at that moment in time but replied with conviction in my voice: ‘Can’t wait.’ But with the mention of alcohol, I was reminded of the one essential item that I’d left in my toiletry bag. I stepped aside. ‘Walk on, I’ve forgotten my Rescue Remedy.’

  * * *

  Collecting our boots and skis wasn’t as easy as I’d imagined. You would think we were auditioning for X Factor the way the queue snaked around the square outside the rental shop. Then when we finally reached the front and paid our Swiss Francs, we were delightfully rewarded with yet another queue.

  Ushered to one side by a bored-looking young lady dressed in what appeared to be the hire-shop kit – navy trousers and yellow polo shirt – we shuffled obediently to the next counter.

  ‘Jesus, it’s getting hot,’ I said, removing my ski jacket and hanging it over my arm. One by one the others removed theirs, cheeks flushed. We shuffled along for a further ten minutes before we got to a seating area where a purple-haired woman who must have been in her seventies, along with a young stout lad with long hair, signalled for us to sit on the benches. Swiftly, lifting each foot into a wooden device, they measured our feet and moved on to the next customer, whilst two athletic-looking girls assisting them ran off to rows of high mesh racks and returned with our size. Two other older women moved to our bench asking us our comfort level as we staggered along a short rubber mat in our weighty boots.

  ‘More pitbull than Hush Puppies,’ Lou replied as we stood with our boots ready to move on. ‘They’re pinching my calves.’

  One of the women adjusted the front clips and when Lou still complained, she told Lou to remove the boots, pull her socks up to remove any creases and put them back on. This, they said, would ease pressure.

  Lou shrugged, helpless.

  ‘We should have done this yesterday; you’ll be late for your lesson,’ Angie complained, looking at her watch and switching legs in agitation.

  ‘That’s much better,’ Lou said as she tried walking in the boots again. ‘Worth the effort and a few minutes of waiting.’ She stared at Angie.

  Then, suggesting we leave our boots on, one of the girls directed us to the stairs to join another queue. We followed the queue slowly filing down the stairs, eventually landing in what looked like an enormous industrial cave. Two beefy guys stood behind wide benches, whilst a team of what I can only describe as ants bustled around them, searching, fetching or depositing pairs of skis. Our turn came to hand over a boot to one of the assistants who asked us our weight and height.

  I glared at Angie. ‘He thinks we’ve come for a medical check-up.’

  Angie grinned then answered. ‘I’ll go with 155s, and I imagine these four to be the same or 150s,’ she told him, then shrugged. ‘You’ll need to tell them if you know.’

 
I looked at Angie, bemused.

  ‘They work by weight and height, but you don’t want them too long to begin with. I remember getting them crossed a few times when I started out and wishing I’d chosen a smaller length.’

  I puffed. Why tell us that? Dread surged through my veins, triggering the familiar burn at the back of my eyes and throat. I looked down to hide moistening eyes, wishing with all my heart that Mike was with me. I missed how his presence could comfort me. With the panic, I yearned for free hands at least to spritz additional Rescue Remedy onto my tongue. I shouldn’t be here. I should be cruising the Caribbean with Mike and soaking up the sun. I tightened my lips, steeling myself.

  ‘Hope you’re OK, Gin?’ Kim whispered as she handed me my skis and Angie continued overseeing Cathy and Lou’s. I clutched them in my right hand, forgetting how heavy skis were, as I shuffled along to collect my poles.

  ‘Darling, I can see you’re still struggling,’ Cathy continued. ‘Shall we sit over on the bench there for a bit?’

  Please don’t fuss – you’ll make me cry. I shook my head, clenched my jaw and gazed down at the rubber matting covering the concrete floor. The boots and skis weighed a tonne and with everything else in my arms, I couldn’t decide how I should best carry them. I clamped them together against my waist, clinging to everything and hoping I could manage to get up the stairs.

  ‘This way,’ Angie called, and automatically I crooked my neck to see her pointing to a glowing green sign saying ‘exit’.

  I quickly swung around and collided with Kim. All four of our skis crashed to the ground with everything else and we both collapsed in a heap, legs entwined under the bulk of ski boots. Blurry-eyed, but steeling myself again, I quickly tried to grab the sprawling contents of my helmet before they were trampled on and then I caught sight of Kim. I swear I saw tears in her eyes.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked, while feeling warm fingers slide into my left hand.

  ‘Embarrassed, but yes. You?’

  ‘Ladies, can I help?’ a well-spoken English voice boomed. ‘Most people have their skis on before they take a tumble,’ he said, unhelpfully.