by Sue Watson
‘Yeah, Dad told you off, and you shouted back, and it ended up with you telling him to sod off.’
‘Mmm and reminding him he gave up any right to tell me what to wear when he walked out on me to live with “that slag”, your mum. I’m… sorry Jody,’ I added, feeling awful. I’d tried to forget about my difficult teens and how horrible I’d been.
‘It’s okay, she knew you were hurt. She wanted to help but your mum didn’t want you having anything to do with us.’
‘Well, Mum was hurt,’ I sighed. ‘And I wouldn’t have listened to your mum. To me she was the reason we were in that situation… I’ve realised as I’ve got older that it’s not quite as black and white as it all seemed.’
‘No, it was all about the grown-ups’ resentments, misunderstandings and simply falling out of love – it happens. But Mum tried with you, Jen, she really did.’
I nodded. I couldn’t look at Jody. I found it hard to face the past and the way I’d behaved. I’d ignored her mum and at times resented my little half-sister too – but I was just a kid.
We continued to stand in silence, gazing out over the snow scene, neither of us speaking, then she turned to look at me.
‘I miss the old Jen, the one who shouted and wore unsuitable clothes and drank too much.’
‘I don’t miss her. She was very angry.’
‘Well, she probably should have shown some of that anger to bloody Tim – he walked all over you.’
‘I think my anger was still there with Tim, but I just suppressed it. I wanted him to think I was the perfect girlfriend, never angry, never a hair out of place… I wanted him never to have an excuse or a reason to leave me.’
‘And ironically, that made you even angrier,’ she sighed.
‘Yeah, if I’m honest there were times I wanted to strangle him, especially when he was being pompous. He once tried to show me how to make Christmas trifle, my bloody signature dish… I wanted to push his face in it.’
‘But I bet you just smiled and said, “What a good idea, Tim!” You weren’t yourself when you were with him.’
‘You’re right,’ I said, and it was painful to think I’d smothered my personality for ten years. ‘I should have challenged him more,’ I conceded.
I could see that being with Tim had changed me, but I’d also grown up in that time, and he wasn’t completely responsible for my change in behaviour. Yes I’d stopped drinking and dancing on tables, but wasn’t that also about growing up? Then again, he said he hated seeing people drunk… and by that I knew he meant me, so I was always careful never to get even tipsy. I recall a Christmas a few years back when someone bought me a bottle of champagne for my birthday. We had some friends round for dinner and I’d only drunk one glass when one of the guests went to pour me a second one, and Tim put his hand over it. ‘She’s had enough,’ he said. There was a definite murmur of surprise around the table, but I just laughed along and pretended to agree with him. Going along with Tim was easier than rebelling then having to suffer his sulking all through Christmas.
‘Anyway, forget boring old Tim. This is the beginning of a new life for you,’ she said. ‘I have a good feeling about this trip.’
‘Me too.’ I pushed my arm through hers and continued to try and read from the distant posters lit by spotlights around the dreaded nightclub. ‘What’s an… après ski… sexy?’ I asked, hating myself for even saying those words together and out loud.
‘Who knows? But tonight we are going to find out,’ she said, slugging down the last of her snow-drenched drink.
I felt like I was already on that luge as my heart dipped at a hundred miles an hour. ‘Tonight? But we haven’t unpacked our cases yet.’
‘Oh love, never mind that now. Just grab something to wear and we can worry about unpacking tomorrow… or the next day even.’
‘We all start work tomorrow, Jody – we can’t be out late.’
‘Okay, Tim.’
‘No, I’ll just stay here tonight while you girls party,’ I said, ignoring the Tim jibe. ‘I can unpack your bags for you too while you’re out?’
‘We’ve got days to unpack, months even – hell we don’t ever have to unpack if we don’t want to,’ she said, a defiant twinkle in her eye. ‘You have to live for the moment, Jen. When was the last time you had the chance to get pissed and go down a luge with the girls?’
‘You’re so right – and being pissed on a luge? Oh it was at least a week ago,’ I agreed sarcastically.
But she wasn’t listening – she was heading back into the room, holding her arms in the air and singing ‘PARTAY!’ loudly. This was immediately repeated in the same sing-song voice by the other girls, like a tribal cry through the twenty-something jungle. I continued to look out onto the spectacular snow scene – it was a perfect, winter setting and with Christmas around the corner there was an added sparkle in the air. I was looking out at this from our fairy-tale, snow-covered chalet – we’d arrived, and I’d made my first leap of faith. Now I just needed to ‘chillax’ and stop living a ‘retro’ life – apparently.
Inside the girls began rifling madly through cases, holding up tiny pieces of material shaped like skirts and tops only to abandon them seconds later to the brightly coloured plumage emerging from their cases. Shoes were already on the floor with cast-aside T-shirts and a leopard-skin bra, which had to be Lola’s. I thought about Tim and how, on our first holiday together, he’d shown me a ‘system’ to pack and unpack a case. ‘It takes minutes and makes the world of difference,’ he’d said, folding shirts and towels and lowering them slowly into his case like a priest giving communion. He always packed life into little boxes, everything neat and tidy on its shelf and in its place – but spontaneity? Love? I don’t think he knew the box where those were kept.
Looking out of the window I could see the snow coming down heavily; I’d need my special clothing for tonight and was glad I’d bought myself a couple of lovely jumpers, as it was quite cold. I’d also gone mad and bought some nice new jeans, waterproof trousers and a jacket. I was pleased with my stylish but sensible purchases – good for work and play – and I put my case carefully on my bed, subconsciously planning to unpack properly like Tim had taught me. I hadn’t come out of that relationship with nothing after all, I thought to myself as I opened my case and reached in. I was anticipating my pristinely pressed wardrobe all placed in sections, socks rolled in the side pockets, underwear to the left of outerwear and thick, outdoor clothing on the top. But as I peered in, expecting a neat matrix of shades and fabrics, my eyes were greeted with alien colours and textures that I simply couldn’t process. At first I assumed this was because my clothes were new, but as I delved further into the case I found nothing familiar and, lifting out a pair of child’s dinosaur pyjamas, it dawned on me there’d been a mix-up. I had someone else’s case. And the owner of these dinosaur pyjamas with ‘age 8’ in the label was probably at this very minute looking at a pink size-twelve thermal nightie.
‘Has anybody got my case by mistake?’ I called out, hoping against hope that the M&S pyjamas meant for an eight-year-old boy were Kate’s idea of fashionable irony. It was a last-ditch attempt to make everything right, but within seconds it was established that everyone had their own cases and their own clothes. And it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work out by now what had happened… although it did take Kate a little while – as usual.
‘Jenny, what are you doing with dino jamas?’ she asked, smiling and wandering into my room. She picked them up and looked at me. ‘Oh I get it…’
I nodded. She wasn’t so daft after all.
‘You were hoping to slim down in time and get into these?’
I smiled. Was she joking?
‘Well don’t you worry, missy, we’ll keep an eye on you over this week.’ She wasn’t joking.
‘NO CAKE FOR JEN,’ she suddenly yelled, then gave me a wink. ‘We’ve got your back. I know how it is, as my mum’s getting on and it’s tough – your hormones shrink, don’t they?
’
‘Do they?’ I said, still holding up the pyjamas in vague horror.
‘Yeah. My mum’s hormones have shrunk right down, but her tummy hasn’t… just like yours,’ she teased, patting my stomach playfully.
I was too concerned about my case to be offended or try to defend my figure.
‘So keep the jamas in your case and trust me – you’ll be wearing them in a few weeks.’
‘Oh for God’s sake, do you really think I’d bring a pair of bloody dinosaur pyjamas on holiday?’ I asked, feeling extremely stressed.
She nodded, and as Jody walked into the room, I saw Kate roll her eyes in my direction, like I was the crazy one.
Once we’d established what had apparently happened with my case, I’d called down to reception, who said they would chase it up at the airport. It seemed things like this happened a lot here, and I was assured my case would be with me by morning.
Meanwhile, I had no choice but to take up the girls’ offer to help myself to the contents of their cases. It was a tough one. Jody and Kate were both a size smaller than me and twelve years younger. Lola, on the other hand, was nearer my size and age but had treated herself to a rather extravagant boob job and dressed more like a drag queen than a woman in her forties. Consequently, my breasts couldn’t begin to meet the majestic cleavage-revealing low-cut tops, but she insisted I try her favourite lime-green lamé jumpsuit with feather trim, and as I squeezed it on she shook her head. ‘Totally drains you of colour, my love.’
‘What a shame,’ I said, trying not to smile with relief. Whatever I wore I was going to look ridiculous, so I chose the least noticeable outfit, a short black skirt and snug white shirt from Jody’s case, which appeared to be the least offensive option.
Arriving inside the nightclub the girls ran to the bar shouting ‘drinks’ like it was a mirage in the dry desert. And as they screamed for ‘Orgasms in the Snow’, a cocktail apparently – well hopefully – I knew it wouldn’t be the log fires that were roaring – it would be the girls.
Once our Orgasms were delivered we sipped and stared as the first frosty revellers began their descent into the nightclub via the luge. They were hurtling down at quite a pace, thrashing and screaming down the long helter-skelter that snaked its way from the roof down to the middle of the dance floor.
While looking for the exit I spotted the musical accompaniment for the evening was provided by DJ Spinladen and DJ Vinyl Richie, who were shouting over their ‘tunes’ for everyone to ‘sign up for the hard ride’. I assured the girls and anyone else who cared to listen that I would not be hard-riding tonight or any other night, but as usual no one was listening.
Having downed her drink, Jody ordered everyone a ‘Sexy Snowman’, a white chocolate and rum cocktail, but as I reached for mine she smacked my hand gently.
‘This is yours,’ she said, handing me a glass containing bright green liquid with a funny little plastic glass ornament clinging to the side. ‘It’s a Grinch,’ she said, pursing her lips and giving me a look.
‘Okay, I get it, but I feel like I was… dragged here under false pretences,’ I started. ‘I didn’t expect to be in the snowy equivalent of bloody Ibiza! I thought it would all be lovely and white and Christmassy and everyone would be singing “Silent Night” in the snow.’
‘God, Jenny, how much “white” do you want for your Christmas. There’s a blizzard starting out there. And I’m sure Spinladen has a version of “Silent Night”.’
‘I’m sure he does, but I don’t want to hear it,’ I said.
‘Oh drink your Grinch… Grinch.’ She rolled her eyes and within a couple of slurps she was ordering more cocktails.
Unlike the rest of the party I stopped after the first two cocktails; we all had work in the morning, even if it was a holiday job, and I intended to turn up at The Ski Bunny coffee shop bright and breezy, without a hangover. So as the girls came screaming and swearing down the luge, I stood firmly at the bottom, minding their bags and taking their photos. As they screeched and hurtled, I smiled and snapped. Jody bought another round of Christmas cocktails, but I insisted on lemonade and as the ice became mushier and the girls’ landings soaked me to the skin, even home and the library were looking good.
‘Well, Jenny, you’re certainly advertising all your goods tonight,’ Lola said, handing me another lemonade as the last of the lugers landed. I looked down at myself in Jody’s ‘office’ shirt to see the water from the luge had caused the shirt to become completely see-through, premiering my new black bra for the whole nightclub.
At first I was horrified, but the girls and the music were infectious and as everyone was demanding I get on the dance floor, I suddenly let go and joined them. I was quite tipsy and didn’t care that my top was see-through and my dancing terrible – I just joined the girls, throwing myself into various shapes. I roared, laughing as loudly as they did, and was amazed at my own flexibility as I joined them in one of their impromptu cancans. But when Lola started using a random ski rod as a pole, I decided I was out of my depth. And not used to the drink or exertion, I was also feeling rather nauseous, which was compounded when I spotted myself in a shard of mirror on the wall (meant to look like ice) and saw my still-wet shirt and clear view of my bra. I suddenly felt naked.
It seemed I wasn’t the only one who’d spotted my fashion faux pas, because DJ Vinyl Richie was shouting, ‘Wet T-shirt competition,’ and making his way over to where I was leaning against the bar along with Kate, who was laughing and lunging at my chest.
‘No way,’ I called back, emboldened by the icy cold water – or perhaps it was the two cocktails I’d had earlier?
In the middle of this madness Lola quickly took me aside and asked if she could borrow the shirt the following evening. ‘That’s quite something,’ she said admiringly before Vinyl Richie embraced me like a long-lost friend.
I extricated myself immediately. My shirt was wetter than ever and I was concerned Spinladen might appear at any moment and get me in a pincer movement on stage with his mate Vinyl.
Refusing to take part in any competition, I eventually managed to escape from Kate, the DJ and the throng and took a stool at the other side of the bar. I was feeling extremely woozy now and keen to get away from the thumping noise, the slushing luge and the rampant DJs. ‘Ooh, Jen, who are you making eyes at?’ Jody appeared next to me and sat on the next bar stool. ‘He’s making eyes back at you since your shirt got wet,’ she said, nodding her head in the direction of a man who must have been sixty.
‘I’ve nothing against older men,’ I said, ‘but I draw the line at an OAP just yet.’
‘He’s not an OAP, he’s about your age,’ she said. I think she was joking.
‘Thank you, Jody, but age aside I really would rather not. It’s not that I’m fussy, I’ll do bald, fat, old and short – just not all at once.’
‘You’re such a misery guts,’ she said and laughed, ordering another round and insisting I have another lemonade.
I felt an urge to escape from this dark place filled with loud people and melting ice. It was like being inside a giant slush puppy. I’d wanted to come to Switzerland for the Christmas snow, but not like this – I had dreamed of beautiful glacial landscapes, Christmas markets and cinnamon-scented coffee shops filled with Christmas cake and gingerbread. I wanted to feel like Heidi skipping through snowy mountains – or a singing Julie Andrews at the very least. I didn’t expect the first night of my working holiday to be spent holding handbags as my sister and her friends hurled themselves at rampant DJs. I was momentarily distracted by Lola ‘lassoing’ some poor guy on the dance floor with her scarf and pulling him towards her until their bodies met and writhed together.
Dirty dancing had got a whole lot dirtier since I was in my twenties.
But Jody was used to Lola’s ‘dancing’ and was more concerned about finding me a man, any man, and continued to suggest various suitors dotted around the dance floor. I knew she wouldn’t stop so I told her I was about to vo
mit any second, which was an exaggeration, but also a strong possibility. The idea of me staying single wasn’t half as bad as the thought of my sick down her new cropped top, so she reluctantly but quickly released me from her clutches. ‘I’m going outside for some fresh air,’ I said, and she readily agreed, both arms in a protective gesture over herself lest the nausea took a quick hold.
I staggered out into the cold, neon-white evening to take a break and once outside the minty cool air filled my nostrils and my lungs. Invigorated and at the same time calmed after the damp, warm club, I leaned back against the brickwork, taking deep breaths and absorbing the grainy mountains in the dark distance, watching over us like guardians in the night.
I needed carbs and thinking space and, in the absence of a disabled toilet and a box of Krispy Kremes, the chalet and Christmas cake would have to do. I was about to head off into the night when I heard a foreign man’s voice behind me. ‘Where are you going… miss?’
I turned to see a tall, dark-haired man in a resort ski suit – obviously he was staff too.
‘I’m going back to my chalet,’ I said. ‘It’s a bit rowdy in there for me.’
‘You don’t like the luge?’
I shook my head.
‘Me neither.’ He smiled and I smiled back. ‘You aren’t wearing the clothes for the weather?’ he asked, and I looked down at my miniscule outfit, perfectly ridiculous for the cold night air.
‘No. It’s a long story. I’m heading back to my chalet now before this snow sets in.’ I looked all around me and thought what a ludicrous thing to say. It probably ‘set in’ thousands of years ago here.
‘I don’t think you should be walking through the snow like this, she is too cold – tourists have died here.’
I shivered slightly at the thought. ‘Oh it’s not far, really – it’s just over there.’ I pointed randomly in the distance. I didn’t want anyone else telling me what to do. Jody had tried to stop me coming out for a breath of fresh air, and now some stranger was telling me I couldn’t walk home on my own.