by Roz Marshall
As he passed the ticket office, he slowed, stopped, and looked left and right. The place was deserted. His shoulders slumped.
The last rays of solstice sun slanted across the snow-crusted surface of the car park as Sandy approached the ski school. The door opened, and a couple of the younger instructors spilled out, laughing and jostling each other as they headed for the brightly-lit bus idling in the lay-by on the main road.
He lumbered up the wooden steps and wearily pushed the door open, dragging the red hat off his head with his other hand.
A warm, humid, fug met him; a familiar mixture of ski wax, coffee and aromatic ski boots. All the other instructors were already away home – the shorter days at this time of year meant that there was little time for 'free skiing' together after lessons before the lifts closed and it got dark – apart from Mike, who was updating the whiteboard ready for tomorrow, and Jude, who was pulling her jacket on, obviously just about to leave.
"Hi Sandy, you're late back. How did your day go?" she asked.
"It was, uh, okay, thank you, Jude," he replied, nodding slowly. "They were an interesting group." He slotted his skis into the rack by the door and turned towards the bench to take his boots off.
"I'm pleased you had a good day," she said, and waved as she took her leave. "I'm off to collect Lucy now – I'll see you both tomorrow."
Sandy pulled his boots off and leaned back with a sigh of relief, wiggling his toes inside damp socks, trying to restore sensation to the nerve endings in his feet. After a minute, he felt recovered enough to lace his shoes on. He stood up to take his jacket off, looking sideways at Mike, who had his back to him.
"Mike," he said as he hung the jacket on a peg, "would you like to join Jean and I for Christmas lunch?" The younger man turned round, marker pen in hand. "We're having my son and the grandchildren round as well, so I've realised that one more will be no bother." He crossed his fingers behind his back. I just hope Jean will feel the same way.
Mike raised his eyebrows. "Oh, that's very kind of you, Sandy, but I've just been invited to Jude's — she's having Zoë and Spock around as well — everyone else is going home for Christmas, so I think she felt sorry for us."
Sandy was surprised at how disappointed he felt. He tried not to let it show on his face as he said, "I see, of course, not a problem, not a problem."
"Sorry," said Mike.
Sandy straightened his cap. "Okay, I'll see you back at North Lodge, then." He zipped up his anorak. "Are you getting the bus or would you like a lift?"
Mike checked his watch and said, "I'll get finished here and get the last bus, no worries."
"Okay, see you later." He took a step towards the door, then stopped for a moment, turned back and picked up the red tunic and hat from where he'd left them on the bench.
-::-
As he drove through the main street of the ski resort, Sandy's eyes scanned left and right, until he saw what he was looking for. Outside a brightly-lit store, someone was clearing the wares displayed on the pavement, stowing them safely inside the shop. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 16:56. I might just make it. He pulled into the first parking space he found, a little way up the street, levered his way out of the car and blipped it locked over his shoulder as he hurried back to the shop. He made it through the door just as the assistant approached with a jingling set of keys.
"Good evening," he wheezed, catching his breath, "I want to buy a Christmas tree. I saw you had some on the pavement."
The shop assistant jerked his head back, as if surprised to have a sale this late in the day, and then motioned Sandy to the firs which had been propped in the corner. "There's just a few left, over there."
"Thank you, son." Sandy walked across, pulled out the first tree, frowned, and then tried the one behind it. "This might do. How much is it?"
"Twenty-five pounds to you, pal."
Sandy nodded and made his way to the till. On the way, he passed a display of ornaments, and stopped, his attention caught by a Christmas tree angel in the form of a skier. His face softened and he picked it up. "I'll take one of these, as well."
-::-
Jean was peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink when she heard a bang on the front door. She put the peeler down, shook her wet hands and wiped them in a tea-towel, before heading out to the hall. Patting her grey curls into place, she opened the front door and did a double-take when she saw the large fir tree, and recognised her husband holding it, wearing a red hat and tunic. "Sandy?"
"I got us a new tree," he said, peering at her from behind the branches. "Could you open the door to the lounge and I'll put it up?"
She blinked in surprise, then stepped across the hall and let him into the living room. "I thought you said we couldn't afford one?" she said as he passed her, grunting as he tilted the trunk and manoeuvred the tree into the front room.
He shuffled the tree into the bay window, and plopped it down on the carpet, then stepped back, putting a hand on his stomach as he admired it. He nodded, then delved in his pocket and pulled out something small and white. As he held it towards her, she realised it was an angel, but wearing a white ski suit, with skis crossed on its back instead of wings. "I had an interesting class today," he said, "and they made me think about what Christmas really means." He tilted his head. "I realised that some things are more important than money, that Christmas is about what you can give, not how much you spend."
She took the angel from him, stroked the satin jacket with her forefinger, then turned it over and saw the price tag on the underside. '£3.99 SALE PRICE'. Last of the big spenders! Then she looked across at him and noticed that his face seemed softer, somehow; that it had lost the world-weary expression he usually wore. Perhaps I'm being too harsh on him.
"Thank you, Sandy," she said. "I'm sure the children will love it."
"Yes, I wanted to make a nice Christmas for the family. It is all about family, after all, isn't it?" He smiled at her. "Now, let’s get those decorations out so we can sort the tree."
"Wait!" she said, and he looked at her quizzically. She held out the angel. "You should put her up, first."
He nodded, and dragged a chair over to the tree, then stood on it and held out his hand for the ornament. She handed it to him and he took it carefully, stretched up and placed it reverently on the top of the tree.
-::-
What happens next? Find out by reading the next episode:
Buy 'Fear of Falling' from Amazon
An extract from:
Fear of Falling
Secrets in the Snow, Episode 2
-::-
DARK EYES STARED INTO infinity, haunted pools shadowed by sorrow. A solitary tear faltered its way over a smear of freckles and down a sun-kissed cheek to land on a pristine white pillow.
Fiona swallowed, and her eyes widened slightly as a hand inched over her shoulder.
She caught her breath as the hand continued its investigation southwards, cupping, converging, caressing.
Her eyes closed.
Then memory overcame sensation, and an expression of pain crossed her face. In one explosive movement, she leaped out of bed, crisp white bedcovers flying everywhere in her wake.
As she headed to the bathroom, Geoff extricated himself from the tangle of sheets and threw himself back onto the pillow, banging his fist against the mattress in frustration.
-::-
Early morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, reflecting off white and chrome kitchen units. A pot bubbled on the cooker, stirred thoughtfully by Geoff — ski patroller by day, good-natured husband by night — a bear of a man in a frilly pinny.
He shouted through the open door to the living room. "D'you want sultanas in your porridge?"
In the lounge, breakfast news accompanied Fiona's exercise routine. Neat, disciplined and defined, in tracksuit bottoms and a sports top, she was stretched out on the floor, arms crossed over her chest as she counted sit-ups under her breath. The room was as tidy as its owner — a medley of beige
and Ikea.
Her rhythm didn't alter. "Ninety-six... ninety-seven... "
She shouted back, "Yes, please," and completed her set. "Ninety-nine... hundred."
Routine complete, he saw her sit up, and shake her head briefly as if dizzy, before getting up and heading for the kitchen.
He caught her around the waist as she came in, and kissed the back of her neck. "Good workout?"
Her arm went up and round him in a quick hug, before she broke free and made for the kettle. "Fine, thanks," she replied. "Want some coffee?"
"I've already made some — here." He handed her a mug.
She looked up at him. "You're too good to me."
"I know. You don't deserve me!"
She turned away quickly, and put the mug down on the counter.
He went back to stirring the porridge, and took a deep breath, not daring to look at her. "So, you're not ready yet." A statement, not a question.
She turned, misunderstanding. "Yes, I am."
"But... You..." He reached out, as if to touch her arm.
"I need to get back to work. To take my mind off... things."
His arm dropped. He nodded slowly and turned back to the porridge.
-::-
The school bus belched diesel fumes into the frosty morning air of White Cairns village as the small group of uniformed children filed on. The last teenager turned from the step to shout to a blonde woman standing at the kerb. "Don't forget — I've got drama tonight."
The woman nodded and waved. "Of course, see you at four thirty!"
-::-
Some miles away, an air of subdued excitement permeated a single-decker coach as it wound its way up the ski road. Assorted items of skiwear adorned seat backs and were strewn about the gangway, with obvious disregard for their replacement value.
In the front seat, Mr Paton, the brusque, balding, forty-something head of P.E. typed a text message into his mobile phone.
A few seats back, ten-year-old Johnny was so entranced by a spider painstakingly making a web in the corner of the window that he was oblivious to the fact that his collar was tucked inside his fleece and that he was wearing mismatched socks.
Further back, Natalie, the type of girl who thinks she's seen it all at sixteen, was giggling with her friend over a celebrity gossip magazine.
At the back of the bus, Amanda, twelve going on twenty, queened it with her cronies, making fun of her supposed friend, an unfortunate who was wearing last season's antiquated ski suit. Being a rather spoiled only child, she had no real understanding of the sacrifices less well-off families made in order to kit out their children for expensive sports.
-::-
Further up the road, in the middle of swirling snow and a busy car park, a sign on a pine hut proclaimed ’Lessons today!’ in bold sans-serif, underneath a smaller sign saying ‘White Cairns Ski School’. Inside, a radio blared, unheard in the background, as blue and red uniforms blurred in a flurry of activity.
The instructors were variously munching on junk-food breakfasts, exaggerating the previous night's exploits, fighting their feet into neat-fitting ski boots, reading the tabloids or stocking their pockets with the hats, goggles and the other paraphernalia needed for a day in the mountains.
The shrill of the phone fought to be heard over the hubbub of noise, and was answered by Jude Winters, the fragile-looking blonde ski school owner. She looked concerned, said a few words into the receiver and then put the handset down.
She crossed to the whiteboard on the wall where Mike, who had stepped in as chief instructor this season, was writing up class allocations. "You’ll never believe it — that was Zoë, she's phoned in sick."
The tall, spare-looking Kiwi raised his eyebrows. "And guess who was still at The Rowan when I left last night? Looking very cosy with some guy with an eyebrow ring?"
Jude made a face and shook her head despairingly.
"She'll be right," said Mike, "I'll sort something out."
He rubbed Zoë's name off the board, then paused for a moment, rubbing his nose, before shouting over to the others. "Simon?"
Simon Jones, also known as Spock for his space-cadet tendencies, looked up from clipping on his ski boots.
"Could you take boarders today, instead of skiers?"
Simon nodded, and started undoing the ski boots, pulling snowboard boots out from under the bench and lacing them on instead.
A gust of wind rustled the pages of the newspapers on the table as the door opened and Fiona entered.
Jude noticed her and went over to greet her with a shoulder-hug. "Fiona! It's wonderful to see you!" She gave her a kiss on the cheek, noticing from her friend’s unyielding posture that Fiona was a bit tense. She lowered her voice. "Are you really sure you're ready to come back to work?"
"I'm fine, really," Fiona replied. "Anyway, it'll do me good to keep busy."
Jude looked at her sideways, and nodded. "I know what you mean." It was Fiona's turn to give her a look.
-::-
Mike had noticed Fiona's arrival and went over. "Fiona, I'm really sorry but I'm having a 'mare. I was going to put you on adult ski school, but I've been let down, and I need you to do a school group today. D'you mind?"
"Don't worry, I'll be fine, honest," she answered, glancing at the unfamiliar faces across the room.
"Have you met the others? You know Sandy, and Zoë's off today," he pointed at the younger instructors in turn, "but here we've got Debbie, Marty, Ben, Callum and Simon."
She replied to the chorus of greetings from the new members of staff with a small wave and a smile, before putting her daypack on the bench and starting to wrestle with her ski boots. They always felt two sizes too small in the morning, especially when they were cold, but the close fit helped her to ski with precision.
Once the boots were on, she stood up to retrieve her jacket from her peg, and realised that the other instructors were gossiping about ski patrol, which piqued her interest.
Sandy Potter, a rotund, balding, rather jaded fifty-something, known as Santa when not in earshot, was holding forth. "I mean, I don't know how Ski Patrol are going to manage without him. Doug practically ran the place, single-handed."
Fiona was surprised. Geoff hadn't mentioned anything about Doug.
"And nobody's sure if he jumped — or if he was pushed," Sandy continued.
Callum narrowed his eyes. “Probably the latter." He shook his head, making his messy ginger hair stick up at even more extreme angles. "But I thought they were short-handed? They'd better watch they haven't thrown out the baby with the bathwater!"
A sudden silence filled the room. Everyone looked at Fiona. She studied her boots as if her life depended upon it.
In the background, the radio Weatherman reported, unheeded, "...will be worsening, with poor visibility and blizzards later..."
-::-
If you liked this extract, you can buy the full novella on Amazon:
Buy 'Fear of Falling' from Amazon
In this series:
The Secrets in the Snow books, in chronological order:
Episode 1, "Winter Arrives"
Short Story 1, "Skiing with Santa"
Short Story 2, "A Dream for Hogmanay"
Episode 2, "Fear of Falling"
Episode 3, "My Snowy Valentine"
Episode 4, "The Racer Trials"
"Secrets in the Snow, Volume 1", the early season Collection, contains Episodes 1-3. It is available in both eBook and trade Paperback formats.
Episodes 5 and 6 will be published in winter 2014/15, and will complete the series.
A note from the author
Thank you for reading, and I really hope you enjoyed the story. If so, please take a moment to leave a review and tell a friend!
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About the author
Roz lives in Scotland w
ith her husband and the obligatory dog and cat. Her writing experience includes screenwriting, songwriting, web pages and even sentiments for greeting cards!
Books: www.rozmarshall.co.uk/books
Facebook: www.facebook.com/rozmarshallauthor
Characters
Ben Dalton
White Cairns ski instructor
Callum Johnstone
White Cairns ski instructor
Debbie McNeill
White Cairns ski instructor
Fiona Easton
White Cairns ski instructor
Geoff Easton
Ski patroller. Fiona's husband
Hester
Ski pupil
Jean Potter
Sandy's wife. Runs North Lodge B&B
Jude Winters
Acting manager, White Cairns Ski School
Marty Ferguson
White Cairns snowboard instructor
Mike Cole
White Cairns chief instructor
Morna
Ski pupil
Sandy Potter (Santa)
White Cairns ski instructor
Simon Jones (Spock)
White Cairns ski/snowboard instructor
Trudy
Ski pupil
Zoe Agnew
White Cairns snowboard instructor
Copyright © 2013 Roz Marshall
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.You must not circulate this book in any format.
The characters, places and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
Printed in the United Kingdom
First published, 2013