by Roz Marshall
As they disappeared from sight, he straightened and turned to the over-large group of pupils he was now responsible for. "Now, folks, I think that's been quite enough excitement for the day," he threw out an arm theatrically, "so can you all take it easy and follow me down — slowly — carefully — to the chairlift?" He put his skis back on, clicked his poles behind him, then skied off in front of his rag-tag group.
-::-
"That's such a shame for Debbie," said Jude, putting the phone down, "I hope she's not too badly hurt."
Mike's rich voice reverberated around the wood-lined interior of the ski school hut. "I wouldn't have wished it on her for anything, and I know she'll be worrying about doing her UKASI exam. But right now it's quite handy for me, Jude," he said, clipping on his ski boots. "It gives me a good excuse to get out of teaching that Monique."
Jude gave him a quizzical look. "It's not like you to talk like that about a client?"
"Yeah, I know," he said, straightening up with a sigh. "But she's been pretty full-on — flirting and dropping hints — and I think it's maybe a good thing that I can pass her along to Simon today."
"But it's quite common to have your pupils get a crush on you — it happens to Marty and Ben all the time." She raised her eyebrows. "In fact, I think Marty actively encourages them!"
"Yeah, but this one isn't a teenager — she's forty if she's a day — and she should know better." He waggled his left hand at her. "I've been sure to take my gloves off so she could see my wedding ring, but it didn't make any difference. She's a sad Sheila."
Jude looked at him, trying to see him through the eyes of a lonely pupil. He didn't have model good-looks like Marty, but he was an attractive man in an outdoors-y way — his direct, blue eyes were his most striking feature; he was tall and fit, and carried himself with a ski instructor's authority. She could see why Monique would be attracted to him. "Does she know about your wife?"
"No! I've been sure not to mention it to her. As far as she knows, you could be my wife," this made Jude look up sharply, "she only knows me as Mike."
"She must be one of those predatory women who just doesn't care, I suppose," said Jude.
"Well, she can prey on Simon today. He'll be oblivious," said Mike, heading for the door. "I sent him a text message to let him know, but can you make sure he hooks up with her at twelve?" He stopped himself. "Perhaps I should re-phrase that." He smothered a smile. "Could you make sure he meets up with her at twelve?"
Jude laughed, "Of course," and nodded goodbye to him as he went off to collect Debbie's class.
-::-
Jude looked up as the door of the ski school hut blew open, letting in a flurry of wet snow, closely followed by Geoff — newly-promoted senior ski patroller and husband of Fiona, her friend and one of her instructors. She motioned him to a chair.
He sat down heavily, taking off his hat and rubbing a hand through his short hair. "It's not looking good about Debbie," he said. "We won't know for sure till she's had x-rays at the hospital, but I think she may have broken a rib."
"Oh no!" said Jude, putting a hand to her mouth. Poor Debbie.
"She kept going on about the race on Wednesday," his mouth tightened, "but if it is a rib, she'll be off for a good few weeks."
"Oh, what a shame," said Jude, and then realised that it would leave them short of a female skier for the race. We won't be able to race. Her face fell. They wouldn't be able to win the Ski Development Trust contract either.
AS JUDE WAS pulled up the hill by the ski tow, she felt so nervous it was like the butterflies in her stomach were riding a roller-coaster. The skis on her feet felt alien, and yet strangely natural as well. What's it been? Eight years? She used to enjoy skiing, until Allan's constant criticism had convinced her that she was no good, and she'd given up.
Over on the slope, she could see the slalom course that Mike had set for the day's training. It looked daunting, and the butterflies started heading down a helter-skelter in protest. I don't even know if I can get off the tow without falling. How on Earth will I be able to ski down the race piste?
Nearing the top, she could see some of the others clustered round the start, and someone — Callum, maybe — practising through the course. He looked good, and it increased her misgivings.
Then she spotted Fiona in the group, and smiled. She'll be so surprised to see me here. She remembered some advice Fiona had given her back in December, when she had to take over the running of the ski school, against all her natural instincts and despite a massive lack of confidence in herself. Fiona had suggested that she visualise herself as someone who could do the job, and try acting the part.
What skier could I imagine myself as? She wracked her brains to think of a racer she admired, and then remembered Alain Baxter, the Scottish skier who'd won a bronze medal for slalom in the Winter Olympics at Salt Lake City in 2002. She could visualise him attacking the icy course, skiing with confidence and style through the red and blue poles until he crossed the line in medal-winning time. Yes, I'll be Alain Baxter, today.
As she slid off the ski tow and over to the group at the start, she squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and metaphorically put on her new ski racer persona.
-::-
He's getting faster, thought Mike, watching Callum negotiate the poles as if he were doing a particularly lively polka. All that advice from Ben must be helping. Then he became aware that the chatter and gossip from the other instructors around him had died away. He turned to look at them, and saw that they were staring across towards the ski tow.
He followed their gaze and saw a skier he didn't recognise at first — a woman, from her physique, in a turquoise jacket and black ski trousers.
For one terrible moment he thought Monique had followed him up here, and then, with a shock, he recognised the fair hair poking out from under a wooly hat, and the hesitant but determined smile.
"Jude!" he said as she joined the group, his brows furrowed. "I didn't think you skied?"
"I haven't, for a long time," she replied. "But I heard you were a racer down, and, well, I, erm, need us to win this, so — here I am!"
He nodded slowly, his mind assimilating this new information. Jude skis. She was a dark horse. "Have you done any racing before?"
"A little, when I was a kid. But that was a long time ago. I'm afraid I'll be very rusty."
"Have you had a run to warm-up, yet?"
"Erm, no, I got ready and came straight up the tow after Geoff told me about Debbie — he thinks she's broken a rib." This news provoked some exclamations and sighs from the others.
"Oh, that's a blow," said Mike, "she'll take a while to recover from a rib, so you're right, we do need a new member for the team." He looked at her, saw the only partially-hidden trepidation in her eyes, and remembered her lack of confidence when he'd first met her.
Mike scanned the group. "Ben," he said, "could you take over the training for a run or two, and I'll go and ski with Jude till she warms up and gets her eye in?"
Then he turned to Jude and nodded off to their right. "Let's go over to the side and ski down without worrying about the poles. You'll need a few runs to get your muscle memory working again. You can have a go through the gates after that."
-::-
Jude stood at the top of the Creag Dheighe run, thinking that the butterflies were whirling around on the waltzers, now. She took a deep breath to try and calm her nerves. I'll be sick if I'm not careful.
Mike put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Before you start off, I want you to sing to yourself. D'you remember that song from the eighties, ’Don't worry’—"
"Be happy?" she interrupted. "Yes, I liked that one!"
"Okay, well, it's a good theme tune for situations like this." He smiled at her. "Either sing it or whistle it to yourself whilst you ski down. Think about the song and the words, not what you're doing. Your body knows what to do, so just concentrate on the song."
"Okay," she nodded. Would Alain Baxter sing that
song? She took another deep breath and pushed off. Probably, she thought as she started humming.
She was aware of the hissing noise as her skis slid on the wet snow, and the effortlessness of the gliding motion as she moved across the mountain. Be happy! She hummed as she made her first turn. A dip in the snow a few yards ahead prompted another turn. Don't worry!
Trying to keep her mind blank apart from the song, and to let her body do the thinking, she found she'd got half-way down the run without really being aware of it. Be happy, ran the words in her head, and she realised that the butterflies had disappeared. Instead they'd been replaced by a little niggle of happiness, a kernel of joy blossoming in her chest as she rediscovered a lost passion. I forgot how much I loved to ski!
For the second half of the run, she allowed the thrill to take over, letting the metaphorical handbrake off and allowing her skis to run faster, faster, until she felt like she was flying; soaring like a golden eagle above a rocky crag and swooping like a kestrel homing in on its target on the heathery moors.
She skidded to a stop by the ski tow, and turned to look back up at the run. I did it! For years, she'd been intimidated by the same slopes, her confidence eroded by constant criticism. But I can do it. Why did I ever think I couldn't?
Mike, who'd followed her down, stopped beside her and held up a hand for a high-five. "Why d'you say you couldn't ski, Jude? That was sweet-as!"
She searched his face for signs of artifice, but his smile looked as open and honest as usual. "Thanks, but I know I'm not that good. I really enjoyed it, though."
"You did good. More than good, good enough for the team. In fact," he leaned forward and whispered, "better than Debbie — but don't tell her that!"
Better than Debbie? She felt a golden glow surround the nugget of delight, and her smile grew broader. She nodded her head towards the ski tow. "Come on, let's see if I can do it again!"
-::-
As they neared the top of the ski tow, Mike became aware of raised voices over by the start of the slalom course.
It had started snowing, and he couldn't work out exactly what was going on until he'd skied over, and discovered Ben in a heated exchange with Ed Griffiths, who was surrounded by several of the instructors from Ski-Easy.
When Ben noticed him and Jude arriving, he looked relieved. "Mike, Ed's trying to use our poles for some training."
"They're our poles, I keep trying to tell you that!" said Ed, a look of exasperation on his normally flaccid features.
"Erm, no, they're not, actually," said Jude firmly. "Allan—"
"Allan borrowed them off us, and never gave them back!" Ed interrupted her.
"No, Allan bought them off your boss — I've seen the receipt that proves it. In December 2004, if I remember correctly. I think Klaus needed the money towards new uniforms." She nodded at the lime-green jackets they all wore.
Ed was momentarily deflated, and Mike took the opportunity to speak to Ben. "Thanks for covering for me, Ben. Are the others on their way back up?"
Ben nodded, but before he could say anything, Ed tried another tactic.
"Surely you could let us use the course for some practice?" he wheedled, directing hang-dog eyes at Jude. "As compatriot ski schools? We'd be no trouble."
"But what would happen if one of you broke one of our poles?" asked Mike. "Would you replace it?"
"Or if someone had a bad fall and got hurt? You could blame us for setting the course," said Jude. She shook her head. "No, it's not possible." She gave Ed a steely look. I've never seen her look fierce like that before! "And now we'd like to get on with our training. Excuse me, please." She pushed past Ed and slotted in by Ben, beside the start gate.
Ed's face turned a deep red and he set his jaw. "You'll regret this!" he said through his teeth, and, motioning to his colleagues to follow him, he skied off, leaving a flurry of wet snow behind him.
"Well, Mrs Winters," said Mike, raising his eyebrows, "you sent old matey-boy off with a flea in his ear. Good on ya."
She bit her lip. "I wonder what he meant about us regretting it?"
"He's just bumping his gums. Ignore him."
CALLUM STRODE DOWN the middle of the ward on the ground floor of the county hospital, clutching his motorbike helmet in front of him like a shield, and trying not to look as nervous as he felt.
His eyes glanced right and left like a hyperactive green cross code man, until he spotted Debbie sitting propped up in a bed at the far right corner of the long room, surrounded by the usual hospital accoutrements of curtains, trolley table and bedside cabinet.
"Hey, Debbie, how the hell are you?" he asked, realising awkwardly that he couldn't really greet her with a kiss or a hug, and that a handshake was also inappropriate, for different reasons. He compromised by setting his helmet down on the bed by her feet and then clasping her shoulder briefly as he sat down. Despite her skin being paler than normal, she looked a picture of health compared to most of the other patients, with their white hair, rheumy eyes and translucent skin.
"That's a bit of a stupid question, isn't it?" she replied with a smile, quickly pulling the bedcover up under her armpits. "I'm in a hospital, after all!"
He raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly. "You can always rely on me to miss the obvious!" Then he slid his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a small package he'd stowed there. "I brought your book — I thought you'd be missing it — and a couple of ski magazines."
She took the bag off him and peered inside, saying, "Thanks!" Then she pulled out a bar of chocolate and raised her eyebrows at him. "You know I'm supposed to be on a diet!"
"Och — you know what hospital food is like, it's like Chinese takeaway — you'll be starving ten minutes after you've finished eating. You'll need it." He smiled at her. "Anyway, you look great the way you are, you don't need to lose weight." He stopped himself. Careful, don't want to give the game away.
She pursed her lips. "That's my new year's resolution up the Swannee!"
He smiled. "I think Jude's on her way in with some of your things. I let her and Zoë sort that out — girl stuff —" he made a face, "is not my area of expertise. But I know about books. And chocolate!"
"You're incorrigible!" she laughed, and then closed her eyes as a spasm cramped her shoulders.
"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly. "Shall I call a nurse?"
She exhaled slowly, then opened her eyes. "No, it's fine, it just hurts when I laugh." Her eyes rolled comically. "Or cough. Or sneeze."
"So, what's actually wrong? Jude said they wouldn't tell her 'cos she's not family. Geoff thought you'd maybe broken a rib?"
"Yeah, I broke a rib," she motioned at her right side, "I think I landed on the handle of one of my ski poles. But it turned out I'd punctured a lung as well; they didn't realise till I arrived at hospital and my lips started to turn blue." She lifted her right shoulder and pulled the bedclothes down slightly so he could see the strange lump under her armpit. "They put a tube in to drain the extra air from around my lung." She raised her eyebrows mischievously. "I got given morphine while they did it. The doctor said it would be worth a packet on the street!"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Watch and no get addicted."
"No chance of that, it was just a one-off."
He nodded. "That's good." An impish look crossed his face. "How much longer are you incarcerated here?"
She started to laugh and then stopped herself, clutching her sides. "Don't do that to me! It hurts too much!" But she couldn't stop the smile which crinkled the corners of her eyes and emphasised her high, celtic cheekbones. "I think I'm imprisoned here for another two or three days." She sighed theatrically. "If I'm not poisoned first by the hospital food!"
"And when will you get back to work?"
"Five or six weeks." Her face fell. "I don't know if I'll be able to stand it that long."
Callum felt a catch in his chest. Five or six weeks? "Will you be coming back to the village to recuperate?"
"I'm not sure �
�� it depends if I'm able to look after myself during the day when you're all at work. I might need to go home to Edinburgh." Callum's heart sank a little further. "And I probably won't be able to afford to stay in the house anyway — I won't earn anything if I'm not working, will I?"
There wasn't really any answer to that harsh reality of the ski instructor's lot. If they weren't working, they weren't earning.
"It's a real pain — I was so looking forward to the race." Her eyebrows drew together. "Will you still be able to race without me? D'you think Mike will be able to find another female for the team?"
"Yeah, and guess who's your replacement?" He waited for her interest to pique. "Jude!"
"Jude? But I thought she couldn't ski?"
"She's been keeping it quiet. She'd lost her confidence or something. But she did race training with us today and she's no bad." He winked at her. "For a girl."
He saw some of the sparkle leave her eyes. She really doesn't have much belief in herself, does she? "But of course she wasn't anywhere near as good as you!" He was glad she couldn't see the fingers he'd surreptitiously crossed.
-::-
Debbie looked up as a melodious voice interrupted them. "Debbie! It's so good to see you sitting up and looking so healthy. I had visions of you swathed in bandages and slings and all sorts!" Jude dropped a bag beside the bed, handed her a white envelope and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "How are you feeling?"
"Not too bad, Jude — thanks for coming. And thanks for this," she nodded at the card, as she started to rip open the envelope.
"I've brought you some nightclothes so you can get out of that horrible hospital gown," Jude wrinkled her nose at the light-green fashion faux-pas that Debbie was wearing, "and some of your lotions and potions." She nodded at the tote bag on the floor. "Zoë helped me gather your stuff, and she sends her love."
I doubt that. I'll bet she's just glad to have the room to herself for a while. "Oh, thank her for me. And thank you, Jude. You didn't need to come and see me."