by Roz Marshall
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Description
A Dream for Hogmanay
A note from the author
Other White Cairns Ski School books
Copyright © 2014 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. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please visit your favourite online ebook seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Printed in the United Kingdom
First published, 2014
Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.rozmarshall.co.uk
About this story
It's Hogmanay in White Cairns, and cuddly, bubbly ski instructor Debbie Easton is hoping that she might meet Mr Right — or even Mr Okay — at the 'Hogmanay Hooley', for a kiss at midnight which will start 2006 in the way she'd like it to continue. But her naivety is nearly her undoing and her dreamy New Year's kiss isn't quite as she imagined it might be…
"LIFE'S NOT LIKE a romance novel, Debbie, you need to get out there and get yourself a real man, instead of sitting around with your nose buried in trashy chick-lit." Zoë's tone was scathing as she looked down her nose at the paperback in Debbie's hand.
Debbie looked up at her room-mate. "It's not a romance novel," she replied, surreptitiously sliding her hand up to mask the illustration on the cover, "it's about time travel."
Zoë snorted. "I'm sure the only science in that fiction is the 'magnetic attraction'," her fingers made the quotations marks in mid-air, "between the two star-struck lovers."
"Star-crossed, not star-struck," Debbie corrected her.
"Whatever." Zoë rolled her eyes. "So, tonight — are you going to come out and live a real life instead of dreaming about fantasy lovers? It is New Year's Eve, after all."
"Hogmanay. We call it Hogmanay in Scotland."
"Yah, of course, that time of the year when everyone up here gets 'steaming' on whisky and sings indecipherable Burns' songs and then lets tall dark strangers carrying lumps of coal into their house so they can be 'first-footed'." Zoë flared her nostrils, which made her nose stud glint malevolently. "Makes perfect sense."
-::-
Debbie was saved from replying when the door crashed open, revealing Marty, in a kilt, with his arm round a sultry redhead.
"What on Earth are you wearing, Mart?" asked Callum, his eyebrows rocketing northwards.
"S'for the ceilidh," said Marty, throwing an arm out and striking a pose. "Julie here's got a spare ticket so I'm going dancin' and we are going to paaaar-tay!" He grabbed the girl's hand and began to jig her round in a parody of a polka, but quickly stopped and collapsed in a heap of giggles when they crashed into the back of the couch.
Debbie wrinkled her nose. He's tipsy! She'd never understood the attraction of getting drunk, so she tended to watch from the outside as others over-indulged and lost control.
"Where's the ceilidh?" asked Ben, who was lounging in front of the fire, flipping through a magazine.
"At the Regal," said Marty, "the 'Hogmanay Hooley'. S'only five pound for a ticket. You should come." He turned to the others and opened an arm. "You should all come!" he added, expansively.
Julie dragged him round onto the couch, and he sat down heavily. She squeezed in beside him and addressed the others. "I think it's sold out, though, I got some of the last tickets."
She sounded quite sober, so Debbie guessed that Julie was driving. Marty liked his girlfriends to be mobile — it meant he always got a lift home after a night out. He also liked to think of himself as a 'new man', and was quite happy for them to pay for stuff for him. Like ceilidh tickets.
Debbie didn't drive and she didn't have much money, but despite that, she sometimes found herself wondering what it'd be like to be Marty's girlfriend. When he looked at her, the hint of danger in his brown eyes made the pit of her stomach tingle and burn, and she found it hard to look away.
Normally, she was so exhausted from the physical work of teaching skiing in all weathers that she'd read her book and fall asleep without any trouble. But on the few occasions when she'd struggled to reach the land of dreams, she'd tried to travel there under her own steam by imagining what it would be like to be kissed by him, to have those sensuous lips travelling over her face, to feel his breath on her neck… She shivered involuntarily, which brought her back to reality, and the realisation that Zoë was speaking.
"I'll phone and find out if there's any tickets left. Who wants to go?" Zoë asked. "Ben?"
"Aye, count me in!" said Ben, closing the magazine.
"Debbie?" Zoë pulled a mobile phone from the pocket of her ripped black canvas jeans. "Now's your chance to meet your magnetic man."
Debbie chewed her lower lip. She'd been quite looking forward to seeing Texas playing in Princes Street Gardens on 'Hogmanay Live' on BBC. They were one of her favourite bands. And she had nearly finished her book. If she stayed in, she'd find out if Dr. Kendrick could find a cure to help Henry survive the time-travel. Anyway, she had no money for the ticket. "Nah, I'm skint. I spent all my cash on Christmas presents. Payday can't come soon enough!"
Zoë tutted and turned to Callum with a questioning look.
Callum met Debbie's eyes for a moment, and was about to answer when there was a buzzing sound from the vicinity of his hips. "Oh!" he said with a lift of an eyebrow, "my vibrator's going off!"
He pulled the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Yo!" He listened for a moment, then checked his watch. He caught Debbie looking at him curiously, and she dropped her eyes. "Yeah, sure, I can do that." He looked at his watch again, calculating. "See you about seven… Okay, bye!" He pocketed the phone and shrugged at Zoë. "I've got to go. So no ceilidh for me, sorry."
He turned to the rest of them. "Have a happy hogmanay, you lot!" He waved and disappeared off to his room.
"Just you and me, then, Ben," said Zoë.
"And us!" said Marty.
Zoë looked sideways at him, then stood up. "I'll just go and get my card and phone for the tickets."
In the quiet after Zoë went out, Debbie heard the front door bang and the noise of Callum's car crunching up the driveway and chugging along the street. She glanced round at the others. "Shall I put some music on?"
"Don't mind us," said Marty, standing up and pulling Julie to her feet. "We're goin' through to ma room for a bit."
Ben looked after them as the door closed, then looked at Debbie from under his eyebrows. "There'll be enough noise and stramash later. Let's just make the most of the silence for a while."
"Okay," she said and curled her legs up onto her chair, opening her book again. She hadn't taken Ben for the quiet, reflective type. Interesting.
-::-
The peaceful crackling of the log fire was interrupted a couple of minutes later by Zoë flouncing into the room. "They were sold out!" she announced, and flung
herself down on the couch with a sigh. "New Year's going to be so boring!"
Ben looked across at her, and put his magazine down again. "How about we all go into the centre, anyway? There's bound to be something going on." He shrugged. "I'll drive." He glanced at Debbie and made a face. "I'll just have to join Debbie in drinking oh-jay all evening."
"That's wicked awesome!" said Zoë, the slang expression sounding discordant in her cut-glass accent.
"Are you sure?" Debbie asked Ben. "You don't mind not drinking?"
He shook his head. "I'll survive." Turning his wrist, he glanced at his watch. "Who's for some toasted cheese before we go?"
Before they had time to answer, the door swung open and Simon loped in. "Dudes!" He raised a hand in greeting.
Debbie rubbed her lip. It was ages since the last bus would've passed through the village, and she was never very sure how Spock got himself from A to B. Sometimes she wondered if he managed to teleport, like his namesake.
Spock was brandishing some pieces of paper. "Who's coming?" he asked.
Zoë sniffed. "Coming where, darling? We're not mind-readers, you know."
"To the Hooley," he said, turning his face towards Zoë. It was as if his head was on a pole, and turned without affecting the rest of his body.
Ben sat up. "Did you get tickets?"
Spock's head rotated again, and he smiled at Ben. His smile always reminded Debbie of a child's drawing — it was almost a pure semi-circle shape, and showed most of his less-than-white teeth. "Four. From Jude."
"Well, that means we can all go then, yah?" said Zoë, bouncing up off the couch. "I'm going to get ready. Could you bring the cheesy toast through to my room, Ben, darling?" she flung over her shoulder as she went out.
Ben's raised eyebrows seemed to indicate what he thought of that, but he just shook his head resignedly and glanced at Debbie. "You coming, then?"
Is he asking me to go? Debbie wondered briefly, and then remembered this was her life, and not a storybook. No, he's just being kind. "Well, yeah, I guess so, since there's free tickets. Thanks, Simon." She smiled at Spock. "I'll come and help you with the toasties, Ben," she said, and uncurled herself from the armchair.
"No, don't worry about it," Ben waved her away as he stood up, doing that guy-thing, where they stand straight up from a cross-legged position on the floor. "You go and do whatever it is you ladies do to make yourselves pretty, and I'll bring your toastie with me when I take her ladyship's through."
She laughed. "Are you sure?"
He mimed draping a cloth over his arm, then made his voice sound obsequious and decrepit. "Glad to be of service, ma'am!"
-::-
Debbie opened the wardrobe and riffled through the hangers on her side of the shared space, feeling uninspired. I really don't have anything nice to wear. If she and Zoë were better friends — and had similar taste and body types — then perhaps they'd do the clothes-swapping thing that she read about in books. In a story, Zoë would give her a make-over and she'd end up having her choice of suitors and marrying Prince Charming. But in reality, any make-up Zoë painted on her would probably make her resemble Marilyn Manson more than Marilyn Monroe, and send all the guys running for the hills. She sighed.
Black. Black is always a good idea. It's thinning. She pulled out some dark jeans, and then remembered that the button had popped last time she'd worn them. Dressed-up denim? She had a flowery scoop-neck t-shirt she'd never been brave enough to wear that might look good with jeans. Perhaps tonight was a good time to debut her cleavage?
She threw the t-shirt and jeans on her bed and took one last look through the hangers. Nothing else inspired her, so she pulled out a lilac fleece that would match the t-shirt, wondering how long it would be before Zoë vacated the bathroom so she could take a shower. I might have time to fix those black jeans after all.
-::-
"About time!" Debbie heard Zoë mutter under her breath as she walked into the lounge.
She looked round and realised that everyone was ready, and waiting for her. Ben sprang up, clutching his car keys. "Let's go, people!" he said.
"Sorry if I've kept you waiting," she apologised, "but I needed a shower and there was a queue for the bathroom." With difficulty, she resisted the temptation to give Zoë a dirty look. Not only had she managed to fix her jeans while she waited for Zoë to emerge from her ablutions, but she'd also had time to read another two chapters of her book.
Marty and Julie were making their own way to the party, so the rest of them piled into Ben's beat-up two-door Fiesta. Typically, the boys assumed they'd sit in the front, leaving Zoë and Debbie to clamber unceremoniously into the back seat.
Before they left, Debbie remembered to ask Spock, "Simon, have you remembered the tickets?" He'd forgotten various essential pieces of ski kit, such as his lift pass, gloves or goggles, on more than one occasion. Their boss, Jude, had started to keep an emergency 'lost property' box, which Debbie suspected was mainly for Spock's benefit, up at the ski school hut, so she didn't feel at all guilty about checking.
Simon patted his chest pockets, then frowned and felt his jeans pockets. He started to say something, but Ben interrupted. "Try your back pockets," he said, and, sure enough, Spock produced the tickets and looked at them curiously.
"What is a hooley, anyway?"
Ben laughed. "Wouldnae expect a Sassenach like you to know, Simon. It's a Scots word for a party, or a knees-up."
Spock nodded slowly. "Trippy."
The car was too noisy to encourage much more in the way of conversation, and Debbie was secretly rather glad. Now that they were actually on their way, she was starting to look forward to the event. Who knew who'd be there? There would probably be a bunch of locals from the town and workers from the ski area, plus some holidaymakers. Maybe, for the first time in her life, she'd find someone to kiss at midnight as the old year gave way to the new one, with all its infinite possibilities. Perhaps I can start 2006 the way I'd like it to carry on? From that perspective, though, a holidaymaker didn't seem such a good bet. I'll just have to try and find someone new from the resort, then. Or hope he finds me.
-::-
As they whirled round and round in the cavorting polka steps that were part of a 'Gay Gordons', Debbie threw her head back and laughed. At least Ben knows how to dance! She'd made the fatal mistake of accepting the offer of a 'Military Two-step' from Spock earlier in the evening, and her knees and toes were still suffering.
As they completed their last spin and changed hold back into the more sedate walking steps that made up the beginning of the repetitive dance, she glanced down the room and saw Spock almost send some poor girl into orbit. "Where did you learn to dance, Ben?" she asked him.
"Och, just at school," he said, as they turned and walk-stepped in the other direction. "And weddings. It seems to be wedding season just now, all my pals are getting hitched." He rolled his eyes.
Debbie couldn't think of a reply that wouldn't implicate or insult one or other of them, other than, "Expensive time!"
"Aye." Then his eye was caught by movement at the other side of the room, and he nodded his head in that direction. "Look at Marty, over there!"
Debbie looked and saw Julie sitting alone at their table, foot jerking angrily in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the Scottish reel the band were playing, and looking daggers at Marty, who was strutting his stuff on the dance floor with a blonde whose legs were longer than a downhill racer's skis. "Uh-oh!"
"Aye, better hope she's got a car or he'll be hitching back to White Cairns th'night."
When the dance finished, they started threading their way through the throngs of dancers to get to their table, when Debbie decided she'd take the opportunity to visit the Ladies’. "Just going to pop to the loo," she mouthed at him, and he nodded in return.
-::-
Five minutes later she was wending her way back through the crowd to rejoin her friends when someone put a hand on her arm, and a voice that seemed somewhat
familiar exclaimed, "Debbie!"
She turned, and recognised Colin, the snowboarder who'd applied for an instructor job with White Cairns but now worked for Ski-Easy. "Oh, hi, Colin, how are you?"
"Great, great." He eyed her up and down. "You're looking lovely tonight. Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, motioning in the direction of the bar.
Debbie's heart leaped in her chest. Someone wants to buy me a drink! "Er, yes, thanks." She followed as he sauntered off towards the three-deep crowd surrounding the bar.
"What're you having?" he asked.
"Em, just an orange juice, please."
"Oh, come on! Surely you'll have something stronger than that? A martini, maybe? Shaken, not stirred, of course." He paused. "No, wait, a classy bird like you probably drinks G and T?"
She shook her head. "An orange juice is fine, thanks — I don't like alcohol."
His eyebrows shot up under his floppy fringe. "A ski instructor who doesn't like alcohol? That's like a bear who doesn't like woods, or an actress who doesn't like bishops!"
She shrugged. "I don't drink. Sorry. Don't like the smell of it."
He looked at the press round the bar and then back at Debbie. "Why don't you wait here till I fetch the drinks." He made a face. "I may be some time!"
Despite his predictions, she spotted him worming his way quickly through the pack before he disappeared from sight behind a huge guy that looked like he played rugby on a regular basis, judging from the state of his ears. Minutes later Colin was back, and handing her a tumbler of juice.
"It's carton stuff, sorry, looks like some cheap knock-off from CostPrice or somewhere."
"I'm sure it'll be fine," she said politely, taking a sip. It tasted a bit weird, but she smiled at him anyway. "Thanks."
He took her by the elbow and steered her over to a table where some of the others from his ski school were sitting. Waving a hand in their direction he said, "Hey everyone, this is Debbie. Debbie, this is everyone."
-::-
They'd only just sat down when the music finished, and the band announced a new dance. "You dancin'?" Colin asked her.