by Roz Marshall
Debbie looked round, as she wrestled with the spare key to the ski school hut, and saw the bristly moustache and peppery hair of Forbes, the ski area manager. "No, she's not here yet. Can I help you? "
Was it her imagination or did he look relieved at this information? He followed her into the hut. "I just wanted to hand this in." He put an envelope on the desk. "UKASI are considering running some instructor training courses here at the end of the season, and we want to get an idea of numbers."
Debbie felt a brief thrill of excitement, and then her heart fell. Her broken rib was a lot better, but it wasn't quite mended enough to let her ski. "What dates are they thinking of?"
"Just after Easter, I believe. If we get enough recruits."
"Cool." She did some arithmetic in her head. Five or six weeks. Would that be time enough? She had a lot of improving to do if she was to pass her Grade Three. "I might be interested, if I'm recovered enough."
He looked at her speculatively. "Ah, yes, you—you er, hurt yourself, didn't you?"
"Yes, a snowboarder crashed into me and broke my rib. But it's nearly better."
"First class." He turned for the door. "Well, pass the information on to Jude, if you will. Ciao."
"Ciao." Why am I speaking Italian? She shook her head, and turned her thoughts to how quickly she could improve her skiing.
The door opened again and Callum bounced into the room. Debbie felt a little tingle of excitement in her tummy. How could she not have liked him before? He was such a lovely guy — and the way he made her feel…
"Hey, gorgeous," he said, and leaned over to kiss her, momentarily driving all sentient thought out of her mind. When he stood up again, she put a hand on his arm. "We should probably — y'know — keep it professional when we're at work? Not that I don't like kissing you." She screwed up her nose. "It's just…"
Callum made a face, but nodded. "Aye, you're probably right."
"Sorry."
His green eyes flashed cheekily. "You'll just have to make it up to me when we get back home."
Debbie could feel the colour rising in her cheeks, and she looked down to hide her embarrassment, spotting the envelope Forbes had left. "Oh, guess what?"
"You're going to take the morning off and take me home right now?"
She swatted a hand at him. "No, silly. Forbes was in earlier. They're running some UKASI courses after Easter, if they get enough people. Would," she glanced up at him, "would you help me — train me — so that I can pass my Grade Three?"
"Aye, of course." He knitted his brows. "But you're no' back skiing yet. How long till the doc says you can ski again?"
"Week after next. But you know what they're like — always over-cautious."
He grinned down at her. "Didn't seem to bother you last night."
Debbie felt her cheeks redden again. "Shush!"
Callum crossed the room and sat down on one of the benches, the smile still playing on his lips. "So, when do you want to start skiing again?"
Before Debbie had time to reply, Mike came in, carrying two cups of take-away coffee.
He looked around the room. "Jude not here yet?"
Debbie shook her head.
Mike set the cups down and leaned over to look at the bookings diary. "Looks like a busy day," he said.
"Yes, there's a school bus, our usual adult groups, and a couple of tiny tots kids classes," said Debbie.
Mike picked up the diary and walked across to the whiteboard. "I'd better start doing class allocations, get us all sorted."
Mike had only just reached the whiteboard when the door crashed open again and Allan strode in.
"Morning, morning," Allan said, looking around the room. "Where are all the instructors?" He looked at his watch. "It's eight forty-five. We open at nine o'clock. Why isn't everyone at work already?"
Callum waved a hand at the clock on the wall. "The ski bus doesn't usually get in till ten to. They'll be here soon."
"Well, that's just not good enough. I can see Jude's let things slip around here in my absence."
"Where is Jude?" Mike cut in.
Allan's head jerked round, and he glared at the Kiwi. "She's at home. I'm going to be running the ski school from now on." He jerked his chin at the empty seats around the table in the instructors' area. "Seems like it's not a moment too soon." He held out a hand. "Now, can I have the diary so I can divvy up today's classes?"
A muscle clenched in Mike's jaw, but he remained silent as he handed the diary over.
Allan ran a finger down the entries. "Who else is working today?" He directed the question at Debbie.
"Eh, Callum and Mike," she pointed at each of them, "and Ben, Sandy and Fiona for skiing; Marty and Zoë for boarding and Simon can do either. Fiona usually does the tots groups," she added helpfully.
Allan grunted and his eyes narrowed speculatively. He looked across at Mike. "It's not good to get stuck in a rut as an instructor. You can do the tots groups this morning, Mike, and the adult beginners group this afternoon. The rest can do the school groups and you," he pointed at Debbie, "can do the other two adults groups. I'll pick up any private lessons that come in."
Debbie's mouth opened in shock before she could stop it. "B—but — I'm covering the office just now. I've got a broken rib. Jude said—"
"No matter what Jude said." He turned sharp eyes on her. "Weren't you employed as an instructor?"
"Y—yes, but—"
"She canny ski just now." Callum stepped between them and squared his shoulders. "Her rib's not fully healed. But she'll be better in a couple of weeks."
Allan shrugged. "Not my problem. She's employed as a ski instructor."
"But, who'll run the office?" Despite how hard she'd tried to steady it, her voice still quavered.
"Me. Or nobody. We don't need someone in the office full time." He shook his head. "Waste of money."
"That's funny," Callum intervened. "Jude was just saying last week how bookings had gone up by twenty percent since we'd had someone in the office. It more than covered Debbie's wages."
"Rubbish." Allan waved a hand dismissively. "Takings are always up at this time of year after half-term. Now," he turned back to Debbie, "can you do those classes today or not?"
Debbie was saved from answering immediately by the arrival of a group of the other instructors, piling into the hut en-masse with a clatter of feet and a clangour of ribaldry.
"Tell him you canny do it," hissed Callum in her ear. "You can't risk breaking it again."
"But — I need the money," she whispered.
"Debbie?" Allan's voice cut through the hubbub.
"I—I'll do the classes."
Mike quelled the annoyance rising inside. I'll have to have a word with him; remind him about our agreement. Allan seemed to have conveniently forgotten the fact that Mike had seen him in New Zealand with a woman who wasn't his wife.
He contrived a neutral expression on his face. "Mate, since you're worried enough about contracts to make an injured girl work, can I remind you — my contract is chief instructor, and I usually do class allocations." He raised an eyebrow. "I'll let it slide this time, but I'll pick things up again tomorrow. Right?"
Allan opened his mouth as if to say something, and then narrowed his eyes. "Rrr—ight," he said slowly.
"You can do the privates, though, if you like," Mike conceded. "Seeing as you like those." Perhaps if Allan's busy with private lessons at lunchtimes, I'll get a chance to speak to Jude. Since the talent show, his attempts to speak to Jude had been thwarted; he just hadn't been able to get Jude on her own to tell her what he'd seen. And get Allan off the scene.
He shook his head, picked up his skis, and parked those thoughts till later. This morning he had a bunch of kiddie skiers to deal with. His private life would have to wait.
Chapter 8
THE JOURNEY TO Lucy's school passed in silence, as Jude gathered her thoughts and decided on the best way to approach the issues that had been raised back at the paddock.
Once she'd parked outside the school gates she turned to her daughter. "Lucy, have you been smoking for long? We could see about getting you onto a quit smoking programme?"
"I don't smoke."
"But — we saw you."
"That was my first time. I just wanted to try it." She screwed up her face. "It was horrid."
"But — you had a cigarette. How did you get it? Did you buy a packet in the village?"
"No, I bought one off a boy at school. Cost me a week's pocket money. I'd been saving it till I got a chance to try it alone."
Jude raised her eyebrows. Entrepreneurship was obviously alive and well at Lucy's school; it was just a shame it wasn't in a more healthy area. She looked sideways at the girl. But at least it seems to have taught her a lesson.
She softened her voice. "Lucy, why didn't you want to go to school today? Is there something wrong?"
Lucy stared down at her hands, picking at some rough skin beside her thumbnail. "Everything's been wrong since he got back," she muttered.
"Lucy, you shouldn't talk about your father like that. Show him some respect."
Green eyes flashed resentfully. "He doesn't deserve my respect. I told you what he did in New Zealand, but you believed him instead of me. And now the girls at school are teasing me about him. S'not fair." With that last pronouncement, angry tears welled in the corner of her eyes, and she dashed them away with the back of her hand.
"Why are they teasing you?"
"Because." A muscle twitched in the corner of Lucy's jaw. "Because I said he was dead."
Jude pressed her lips together as she remembered the confusion she'd felt when village gossip had been the first to tell her about Allan's supposed avalanche accident, a story that had been made up by Lucy to explain his non-appearance at home. She took Lucy's hand. "Well, there's a moral for you there then, Lucy, isn't there? It's better to tell the truth; there's less to catch you out that way."
"But I told you the truth about what I heard, and you didn't believe me."
Jude squeezed the girl's fingers. "I did believe you. But your father had an explanation for what happened — it was just one of the other guests, annoyed at his loud voice keeping her awake. Just a misunderstanding." So he said.
Lucy's head jerked up as a bell sounded from the clock tower on the school building. She glanced at the clock on the car dashboard. "That's for first period. I'm late!"
Jude opened the door and started to climb out. "C'mon. I'll tell them we had car trouble and that's why you're late."
"I thought you said it's better to tell the truth?"
Jude glanced at her daughter over the bonnet of the car and stifled a smile. "Do you want me to tell them the truth?"
The girl's head dropped, and in a small voice she said, "No."
Setting off for the school gates, Jude called over her shoulder, "Well, come on then, before you miss too much."
Sliding off the tow at the top of the run, Spock followed Harry over to where the rest of the class had gathered at the side of the run. Beechfields were back again, and he'd been given the same group as last week.
As they approached, a snide voice muttered. "Trust Princess Harry to be last."
Spock glanced at Harry, whose cheeks had turned pink, then slid to a halt in front of the boys. Need to sort this out. "Dudes: today," he announced, "there's a prize. A prize for the most improved skier."
"What's the prize?" someone asked.
Spock narrowed his eyes. "A secret. But it's a good one." He thought through the logistics. Yep, he could do it. He'd be skint, but he could do it. "A piece of kit."
William puffed his chest out. "I'll win it, easy. I'm the best skier." He looked to the boys on either side of him for agreement.
"Most improved skier, dude, not the best skier," Spock said, fixing his gaze on William. "So whoever listens best and tries hardest, not necessarily the best skier."
"Still gonna be me," muttered William, stabbing one of his ski poles into the snow.
A load lifted off Callum's mind when he looked up from eating his lunchtime sandwich and saw Debbie enter the ski school hut. She made it. But his relief was short-lived.
Walking stiffly towards him, her teeth were clenched and her usual smile was absent. "Can you get me my backpack?"
He handed it up to her, and she dug around inside until she found a container of painkillers and her drink.
"How was your morning?" he asked, not sure he wanted to hear her answer.
Grimacing, she sat down beside him. "Awful." She swallowed a couple of pills. "The drag tow hurt like hell, and when I skied I felt every bump on the slope. I ended up just standing in the one place and circulating them up and down the run, giving them individual feedback. It's just as well they weren't beginners."
"Will you manage to do your class this afternoon?"
She took another swallow from her water bottle, eyes fixed on nothing. "If the pills work. Otherwise I'll have to go home." Brown eyes looked sideways at him. "They'll have to work."
Chapter 9
AS SPOCK LEFT the mountain ski shop after lunch, he tucked the package into the waistband of his salopettes and zipped his jacket to secure it.
His class were waiting over at the ski school hut, and he could see some jostling going on. "Dudes," he said as he approached. At the sound of his voice the boys straightened. He picked up his skis from where he'd propped them by the ski school hut. "Time for some skiing. Head over and up to the Sneachda Deàrrsach." He inclined his head, and — obediently, for once — they trooped off.
With a flourish, Spock pulled the package out from under his jacket and brandished it in front of him. "The prize!" he said. "The prize for the most improved skier."
Twelve pairs of eyes swivelled towards him, inattention and mischief set aside for a moment. In the quiet that followed, Spock cleared his throat. "Dudes, it's been epic today; we've ripped it up on some gnarlacious runs. But there can only be one winner."
William slid forward a few inches, puffing out his chest and taking a breath as if to say something. But Spock spoke quickly, before the boy could interrupt him. "Harry — come collect your prize for being today's most improved skier." He held out the bag. "You were wicked."
A few gasps and mumbles followed Harry as he shuffled forward and took the package from Spock. "C—can I open it now?"
Spock nodded, and the boy ripped the bag, revealing a baggy, lime-green ski jacket.
"For me?"
"Yep."
Harry pulled the jacket over his head, and stared down at himself in amazement. "T—thanks. It's well cool."
A flash of movement in the background caught Spock's eye, and he looked up in time to see William throwing a second glove to the ground in a fit of pique. Spock pressed his lips together. Unsurprisingly, the boy had something to learn about good sportsmanship.
The blade came out of nowhere; a heavy double-edged broadsword with a blazing jewel decorating its hilt.
Spock sprung to the side, raising his shield to catch the double-handed blow. With the other hand, he swung his longsword in a vicious slice aimed at the gorgon's massive thigh. Hit!
The monster roared as its sword came arcing back towards Spock, travelling more slowly now that it was losing blood — and energy — from the wound.
Spock jumped in the air to avoid the gorgon's blade, and used his momentum to kick the monster, knocking it off-balance.
He spun as he landed, aiming the point of his sword at the gorgon's exposed midsection and thrusting hard — Hit — dancing quickly to the right once his blow had landed, then touching the vial hanging from his belt to release the damage spell.
The gorgon landed hard on its knees, the ground under Spock's feet vibrating and clouds of purple dust rising into the air as the vile creature fell, face-first, into the dirt. Dead.
Victory.
Gain: 100 experience points. Reward: 2 diamonds.
Congratulations. You have achieved Level 61.
Return home or
proceed to next quest?
Spock couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. At last! It had taken him eight days to perfect the moves; a whole week that he'd had to wait before he could see EvenStar, but finally he'd beaten the monster of level 60. He clicked the 'home' button, and immediately his screen changed; the purple-tinged plain with the vanquished monster being replaced by blackness and a spinning icon.
Yellow words popped up at the bottom of EvenStar's screen: Incoming. Lancelot101 is entering the room.
She clicked her inventory window shut and opened an instant message window. 'Hey Lance. You made it :)'
Lancelot's avatar materialised at the other side of the room, shimmering slightly as its pixels focussed and solidified. His character matched its heroic name — a tall, lithe warrior with flowing brown hair clad in a studded leather jerkin, breeches and knee-length boots. Lancelot's head and shoulders were moving, indicating that he was typing. 'Totally pwned that gorgon.'
She smiled. 'Good to see you again. How's things in Scotland?'
'Cool. Busy.'
'I might be up in Scotland soon. Glasgow. Is that anywhere near you?'
'When? Why?'
'Couple of weekends' time. LegendCon.'
'Rad.'
She caught her breath. 'Tickets are 99 GBP for the 2 days.'
Lancelot's character stilled.
A moment went by with no reply from Lancelot. 'You still there?'
'Yep. Looking up convention'
It was difficult to type with crossed fingers. 'You going?'
'Maybe. Need to check bank balance. And get time off.'
'Hope you can make it.' Touching her forefinger to her lips, she pressed it onto the screen. 'Gotta go. G'night Lance.'
'Laters.'
Chapter 10
Wednesday 15th March
IT WAS THE first time Mike had been in the village hall, and he gazed around in surprise. Instead of the peeling institutional colours and cracked linoleum he'd been expecting, the walls were painted in pastel shades of blue and yellow, and underfoot was a modern polished wooden floor. In the centre, the rows of wooden chairs were filling slowly, but many of the villagers were grouped around display boards at the back of the room, poring over maps and plans of the proposed development.