by Roz Marshall
Retrieving his mineral water, he sat down beside her and mouthed, "Cheers," before turning towards the stage and pretending to watch Davie the liftie, who was doing an Elvis impersonation. Badly. Outwardly, Mike was calmly watching the 'talent' onstage. On the inside, he was debating whether he could bring himself to ruin someone's marriage.
If she left Allan, then it would leave the way clear for him to make his feelings known. But if he told her, would she hate him for being the bringer of bad tidings? And would he even want her in those circumstances — second-best to that deadbeat Scot?
He took a long pull at his drink. Would I want to know, if the tables were turned? The answer to that one was obvious; he didn't even have to think about it. Yes. And honesty demanded it. Even if it meant he lost his job.
As the last notes of 'Love me Tender' faded and lukewarm applause started, he squared his shoulders and turned to Jude.
Too late.
"Judith!" Jean and Sandy Potter appeared, wreathed in smiles, and dashing Mike's hopes of a confidential chat with Jude. "Is it okay if we join you?"
I'll tell her tomorrow. He'd surely get an opportunity to speak to her at work. If not, he'd make one.
Over the P.A. the compère announced: "Please give a warm welcome to our next act — Simon Jones!"
Kaitlyn stiffened slightly as the contestant walked on-stage. Wasn't that the cute snowboarding instructor she'd spotted earlier? What were the odds of him being at the talent show? She glanced at Ethan, careful not to move her head, but he was staring at the busty barmaid. She focussed on the stage again. He looks quite good in that mortar board, but I think I preferred the beanie.
"Hey," Simon said into the microphone, then shaded his eyes. "Is there anybody out there?"
She giggled. It sounded like a line from a science-fiction film.
"Dudes and dudettes, tonight I'm going to entertain you with magic." With a flourish, he pulled the sheet off an object sitting on the stage, and revealed an old-fashioned blackboard on a stand. "Magic numbers," he added. "But first, I need a volunteer."
A volunteer? Before she had time to properly think through the consequences, Kaitlyn shouted, "Me!" and raised her hand.
Ethan jerked his head round, his eyebrows in a line.
Shading his eyes again, Simon looked in her direction. "Come up, please."
Jumping out of her seat, she hurried over to the side of the stage and clambered up the steps, glad she hadn't worn heels.
Simon handed her a piece of chalk and pointed her at the blackboard. "I want you to write down your answers so that the audience can see them, but I can't."
She changed the angle of the blackboard a little, then nodded at him. "Okay."
"I'm going to do a mind-reading maths trick."
That should be interesting!
"What's your name?"
"Kaitlyn."
"Kaitlyn, I want you to think of a number between one and nine."
Nine.
"Write it down."
She wrote on the board, making the digit extra-large so the audience could see it clearly.
"Multiply it by nine."
Eighty-one. She had the answer almost before he'd finished speaking, but over-acted for the audience, raising her eyes heavenwards and poking her tongue out as if she was having trouble with the arithmetic, before writing 81 on the blackboard.
"If the answer has two digits, add them together."
Oh, I know this one! Kangaroos in Denmark! She had to work hard to stop the smile. Play along, or you'll spoil his chances. She scribbled with the chalk again. 9.
"Subtract five and write down your answer."
"Okay." 4.
"Convert that number into a letter of the alphabet, where A is one, B is two, etcetera."
Ham it up. Pretending to count on her fingers, she wrote E on the board, and there was a gasp from the audience. "Oops, sorry." Rubbing at the letter with the side of her fist, she wrote: D.
"Now think of a country beginning with that letter."
She scratched her head, then wrote: Denmark on the board.
"Finally, take the last letter of the country and think of an animal that begins with that letter."
When she'd finished writing, she smiled up at him. His eyes were really interesting. She couldn't decide if they were brown or grey. But she liked them.
A cough from the audience broke the spell. Ethan. He'd be annoyed at her for doing this, for making a spectacle of herself. Tough.
Putting a finger on each temple, Simon closed his eyes. "Dude, your mind, it's like… I'm getting lost in a maze. I'm delving into the depths, I'm looking for the answer, I'm getting — a kangaroo in Denmark!" There was a collective inhalation of breath from the audience and then an outburst of applause.
Dude? She couldn't recall being called a dude before, but it was refreshing. I like this guy. He's different.
Chapter 5
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," the compère's voice came over the speakers again. "The judges have made their decision. We'll announce the winner in a moment. Could all contestants please join me on the stage."
Spock bounded up the steps to the stage and stood at the end of the line-up of contestants. Callum will win. He was awesome. He craned his neck but couldn't catch Callum's eye, so he smiled out at the audience instead.
"Ladies and gentlemen, first of all we want to say 'thank you' to all our brave and talented contestants." The compère gestured to the line-up of performers with a sweep of his arm and turned back to the audience. "We're also indebted to our judges from Starstruck Agency, who've come up especially from London to be with us tonight." He cleared his throat dramatically. "And now, I am pleased to announce that our grand prize goes to…Simon Jones, for his magical numbers. Congratulations, Simon!"
The room erupted in applause, and Spock was thunderstruck. I've won? How did that happen?
Spock made his way down from the stage, awkwardly clutching his trophy and the Amazon voucher he'd won as a prize. He felt like a fraud. He hadn't meant to win. He'd only entered because Anna suggested it.
As if thinking about her had magically made her materialise, she appeared in front of him, holding out her hand. "Congratulations, Simon."
"Um, thanks."
She nodded at the stage. "You did well tonight. I could get you a place on a new talent show Simon Cowell's starting, if you were interested. Britain's Got Talent." Big brown eyes looked directly into his. "Give you a real shot at fame?"
Fame? He didn't want fame. Coding in the summer and winters in the mountains were his idea of a good life, and he was savvy enough to know that fame didn't make you happy. He'd seen what fame did to people. And a few minutes ago, Anna had been all over Callum. Did she really mean it, or was she just nice to everyone?
He lifted a shoulder. "Not my bag."
"There's good money in it, though, if you get through. And it only takes a couple of days if you don't." She held out her business card and gave him a winning smile. "In case you change your mind."
Kaitlyn poked a finger into her glass, trying to retrieve the slice of orange. She liked fruit. And oranges weren't just one of your 'five a day'; she'd read somewhere they were a super-fruit. Or was that kiwis? She was wracking her brain, trying to remember, when she noticed a pair of denim-clad legs halt in front of her. Looking up, she met Simon's dark eyes and a butterfly fluttered in her stomach. Yes, definitely grey.
"Dude," he said, "thanks for—" he waved an arm at the stage, "y'know, helping."
"No problem," she said, smiling. "It was fun. Congratulations on winning." He looked kind-of embarrassed when she smiled at him, like he wasn't sure what to do around women. But he's an instructor. He must have millions of women after him. No. Her mind clicked through the statistics. Dozens, at least.
"Um, would you like a drink?" he said, jerking a thumb at the bar.
Or maybe not. "That would be—" she started to say, when Ethan sat down and draped an arm across her shoulders.
"What's up, babe?" he asked. His breath smelled of ciggies. And he told me he'd given up!
Suddenly, Ethan's good looks seemed rather plastic. He doesn't really go much further than skin-deep, does he? And he'd obviously lied to her about smoking. What else hadn't he told her? "Simon was just going to get me a drink as a thank-you," she said, holding her breath.
"No need, mate, I've got it covered," Ethan said, leaning back in his chair and expanding his chest.
Simon looked confused.
He'll think I was leading him on. She let out the breath she'd been holding. He'll probably hate me.
"I'll get her a drink," Ethan said slowly, emphasising each word.
Simon's shoulders sagged. "Okay." He turned and headed back into the crowd.
"Why were you like that to him? He was just buying me a drink since I'd helped him win the contest."
Ethan shrugged. "He's weird. And you're my bird." He put a hand on her thigh. "Things are finished here. Let's get back to our room. We could make our own — you know — entertainment." He gave her a lop-sided smile.
No chance. Smiling sweetly, she said, "Oh, I forgot to tell you — I came on, earlier. So I won't be able to — you know—" she cocked her head at him, "tonight. Sorry."
Maybe it made her a bitch, but she didn't like the way he took her for granted. Once they got back home to Liverpool, Ethan was going to find himself unceremoniously dumped. And she might just find her way back to Scotland to try some more skiing, and maybe try out some of the talent. It looked like they had a better class of man up here.
Chapter 6
Monday 13th March
SITTING ON A camp seat in the makeshift 'hide' he'd constructed from fallen branches and bracken fronds, Spock had almost nodded off when a movement in the distance roused him to full alertness.
Peering through a gap in the branches, he saw the osprey dropping some moss onto the messy platform of twigs, grass and bark that had slowly materialised in the uppermost branches of the ruined tree over the days that Spock had been regularly watching him. Obviously the bird was nest-building, but Spock couldn't help wondering if its efforts would be in vain. The bird's mate had yet to appear. Anything could happen in the long migratory flight from Africa; there were no guarantees that she'd make it. Or perhaps he was a youngster, with no mate yet, waiting for a female to come along that he could impress with his home-making skills? Spock had no way of knowing, really; he'd just have to wait and see.
With a flurry of white feathers, the bird took off again, soaring through a gap in the trees towards the small loch — Spock had discovered the Scots didn't call them lakes, but he still had trouble with the soft 'ch' sound at the end of the word — that he could see glinting grey and glacial in the winter sunlight.
Lazily, the bird circled high above the loch, seemingly without a care in the world. But Spock knew what it was likely planning and pulled his camera out, zooming in on the distant body of water. At least at this distance I'll not have to worry about the bird hearing the camera clicking.
Within a couple of minutes, Spock's anticipation was rewarded. The bird suddenly dropped out of the sky, launched itself towards the water feet-first, and emerged moments later with a large silvery fish gripped in its talons. With a few powerful beats of its six-foot wingspan, it had returned to the nest and was tearing into its piscine dinner.
Re-focussing the lens, Spock took a couple of quick shots of the bird as it devoured its prey, and then dropped his head to check the previews on the camera's LCD display.
The photos in the nest were great, but the ones he'd taken of the bird diving into the loch were disappointing. They were just too far away — the osprey was swamped by its surroundings and the action was a little blurry due to camera shake which was accentuated by the extreme distance. The only way to improve his chances of getting a good photo of the bird in the act of fishing would be to buy a longer, stabilised lens — like the ones the paparazzi used when they were stalking actors or royals. But the four hundred millimetre lens he'd need would be expensive — four figures expensive, probably. Could he afford it?
He mulled it over as he packed up his things and headed back to the house in the fading light. It would use up almost all the spare cash he had left after buying the sound baffle. But this late in the season, he could survive for the remaining weeks on his ski instructor's pay, couldn't he? It wouldn't be that long before he'd be heading back to lucrative programming contracts in London where he could build up his financial reserves again.
He increased the length of his stride, decision made. He'd buy a longer lens — it would be a good investment, and it would give him a much better chance of getting great photos of the osprey. He'd go on the internet tonight and order one.
Tuesday 14th March
Jude pushed out of the door of the ski shop and walked outside, her mind reeling. Sell the shop — and the paddock? How could Allan think of doing that? But of course, he didn't know about her plans to run a mountain bike hire during the summer. Was the money that important to him? She leaned on the gate of the paddock, staring up at the lumpy grass, gorse and heather that covered the rising ground but seeing nothing.
Everything had changed since Allan got back… She stopped herself. Or had everything changed since he'd gone away?
She thought back to what she'd been like early last summer, before he went to New Zealand: downtrodden, lacking in confidence, not trusting herself or her own judgement. And then her mind tracked back to what she'd been like when they were younger and carefree, before the trip to Vegas that had changed everything; before the Elvis Chapel; before she'd become a mother and had Lucy. Lucy. Yes, Lucy. It had all been worth it for her.
Contemplatively, she gazed at the paddock, eyes focussing on the rundown shed that her summer plans had rested on; the shed she'd planned to make the store for the mountain bike hire. But Allan's return had changed that… She stopped herself again. No, Allan's attitude to the Haywoods' offer had changed her plans. If only…
That treasonous train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of the subject of her musings, as Allan leaned on the gate beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.
"Who'd have thought it, eh? A wee scrubby bit of ground like this, saving our bacon — and our bank account."
"Mmm." She shrugged noncommittally and then started. "What's that?" She pointed up at a wisp of smoke curling into the air from behind the shed.
Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she found herself clambering over the gate, and running up the slope towards the shed. Was it on fire? How could it be on fire? It was empty! Wasn't it?
The answer to that last question became apparent immediately she rounded the end of the shed, hotly pursued by Allan. There, sitting nonchalantly on her schoolbag, back to the wooden wall of the shed, legs sprawled out in front of her and a cigarette dangling between her fingers, was Lucy. "Lucy!" Surprise and anger made Jude's voice louder than usual, and the girl started guiltily and jumped to her feet as her father's voice joined in the admonition.
"Just what do you think you're doing, miss?" he roared, grabbing her shoulder and shaking it so hard that the cigarette landed on the ground.
"Careful!" warned Jude, stamping on the stub and grinding it out underfoot. "Don't want to start a fire." She rounded on the girl. "Why aren't you at school? You went off to get the bus ages ago."
Sullen eyes swivelled towards Allan, and Jude noticed with surprise the thick underscore of black eyeliner that had appeared since breakfast. It looked like Lucy had been taking make-up lessons from Zoë, their resident Goth and only female snowboard instructor.
"Answer your mother," Allan demanded, oblivious to the hateful look he was receiving.
"It's all your fault," she said. "Things were fine till you got back."
"Lucy!" Jude felt heat rising in her cheeks. "What a horrible thing to say to your father!"
Allan turned hard eyes on Jude. "Looks like I should've got back here so
oner. Not only have you employed a load of foreigners and idiots in the ski school; you've let our daughter get out of hand as well." He grabbed Lucy's arm and started dragging her down the hill, glaring over his shoulder at Jude. "You can take her to school in the car; I'll get the bus and go and sort the ski school out. And once you've dropped her off, you can tidy the house. It's a pigsty. Looks like you haven't vacuumed in months. It was obviously a mistake, letting you work outside the home. You know I expect better from you."
Jude's feet stopped working and she stumbled to a halt, feeling like she'd been slapped. "I—I…" But his retreating back was uncaring, and as her mind reeled, a part of her realised that he was right. She'd been so busy with the ski school, and then trying to keep up with her few graphic design jobs in the evenings, that housework had ended up very low on the agenda.
She'd changed massively since she'd been forced to take on the ski school, but perhaps she hadn't changed for the better.
Taking a shuddering breath, she started walking again.
As she clambered back over the gate, Allan held out the car keys. "I'll be back about six. I'll expect dinner on the table."
He turned to Lucy. "And you, miss. No after-school activities for you this week — you're grounded. And your mother will be taking you to school until you prove you can be trusted to get the bus. Okay?"
Sulky eyes stared up at him again for a moment, then Lucy's shoulders sloped downwards and she turned and stood beside the car.
"See you tonight," said Allan, turning on his heel and stalking off towards the bus stop.
Jude stared after him, shoulders sagging like her daughter's, wondering if that was a threat or a promise.
Chapter 7
"NO JUDE THIS morning?"