The Racer Trials: Secrets in the Snow, Episode 4

by Roz Marshall

  She gave him a watery smile, "Thank you," then leaned down to whisper in the old man's ear. "Get well soon, Papa." Briefly, she brushed her lips on the sunken cheek, and then stood up. "Let's go find that doctor."

  Scotland

  BEN SCANNED ROUND the group of kids. Alongside Neil's charges from Dundee, there were a minibus-full from Edinburgh and the central belt of Scotland, plus another batch from the Glasgow area. "Guys, I've changed the course for the afternoon, to set you a different test." He pointed down the slope. "As you can see, it's a slalom, so that'll give you some different challenges. Can anyone suggest what you'll need to do differently, compared to this morning's course?"

  He was met with blank looks. Why is it kids are always scared to speak out in front of their peers? A tentative hand went up. "Make more turns?" the voice said.

  "Yes, the gates are set closer together so you'll need to turn more, so that will mean moving faster. The ice at the top of the course will be a test, too, so you'll need to be quick and light to avoid skiing out of the course." He stood up. "I'll do a demo to show you how it's done, and then I'll wave you down, one at a time, like I did before."

  There were some nods and he pushed himself into the start, stretching his calf muscles one at a time, as was his superstitious habit, before setting his ski poles and pushing off through the timing wand.

  It felt good to be racing again, even if it was just a demonstration. He'd enjoyed the ski school race earlier in the week, despite the shenanigans with Ski-Easy, and it had made him hanker after the race circuit. But when he'd popped into the ski school hut at lunchtime, Jude had told him about the coaching programme opportunity and it had set him thinking. Do I want to teach, or race? That was the million dollar question. At moments like this all he wanted was the elation of speed, the euphoria of power, the exhilaration of adrenaline. But he'd learned the hard way that it only took a tiny mishap to stop you in your tracks — literally — and put you in hospital for weeks. Was the transient joy worth the risk, or should he take the safe option and become an instructor?

  He zoomed through the finish and slammed on the anchors, realising that he'd skied the course on auto-pilot. Lucky I got away with that! He'd better concentrate next time or he'd end up in hospital again.

  Neil was waiting at the finish. "Hey, pal, you look miles away."

  "Aye, doing all this racing's got me wondering if I should go back to it." He sighed, and slid forward to reset the finish timer. "I really miss it."

  "So why did you stop?"

  Ben clipped out of his skis and looked sideways at Neil, trying to work out if he could trust him. But sometimes it was easier to talk to a stranger, and this stranger seemed easy to talk to. "Well, I got injured; that was the official story." He raised his arm to start the first racer from the top of the hill.

  A tilt of Neil's head asked the question. "And the unofficial story?"

  "I got injured. And—" he glanced at Neil, holding his gaze for a moment, "you don't work for the tabloids or anything, do you?"

  Neil held up his hands. "You got me! You weren't supposed to spot that secret camera in my hat, the microphone behind my lapel, or the tape recorder in my pocket." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "They've promised me a whole fiver for the inside scoop!"

  Ben laughed. "Is that all I'm worth?"

  "Yeah. So, help me become a multi-millionaire paparazzi sleaze-bag." He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  "I slept with my trainer's wife."

  "Ah!"

  "Aye. Well, had an affair with her, I guess. She kind of pursued me, and it was kind of easy. And fun. Until we got found out…"

  "Uh-oh."

  The young skier flashed through the finish and Ben pulled out his notebook to record their number and time, before waving to start the next racer. He turned to Neil. "I think that's how I got injured. I was thinking about the mess I was in, rather than thinking about my skiing. And I blew my knee again." He made a face. "But it gave me an excuse to come home to recuperate and, when I got better, this job came up and teaching sounded like a good option…" He looked up the slope and realised that the next candidate had missed a gate, and was skiing down the side of the piste.

  He motioned the kid to come over. "Are you okay?" He could see the boy's eyes brimming with tears. "D'you want another go?"

  The boy nodded mutely, so Ben took a note of his number and tried to make his voice stern. "One more chance. Take it easier on the top section, okay?" The boy nodded, quickly wiping his eyes with the back of a glove, and skied off to the lift.

  Ben turned to Neil again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bore you with my life story."

  "No, it's interesting. You hear the headlines, but often the real story is different. It makes you seem more like a normal person, and makes me feel less like a fan boy."

  This admission made Ben's head jerk back. "Fan boy?"

  "Yeah, you're a famous ski racer." He smiled. "Nobodies like me never expect to meet somebodies like you."

  "But I'm not a 'somebody', I'm just me, I'm just Ben." He frowned. "I'm not even a qualified instructor, yet. I'm a nobody here."

  "Well, I'm starting to see that now. Especially since you've forgotten to start the next racer!"

  Ben turned, partly to hide the blush that was creeping up his neck because of the teasing, and partly to start the next candidate. This one was a snowboarder, and he used that as an excuse to keep looking up the hill. It felt really weird that Neil saw him as something special. I'll have to try and show him that I'm just an ordinary person.

  -::-

  When the snowboarder had finished, Ben recorded his time and motioned for the next candidate to start. A skinny girl pushed out and zig-zagged through the first few turns with a recognisable style. "It's Trudy," he said to Neil.

  "Yeah. Go girl!" said Neil, taking a deep breath, and balling a fist against his mouth, as if to stop the breath escaping.

  Ben looked back up the slope and saw that Trudy was travelling well. He glanced at the time-clock. She was making good time. He found himself making fists as well, willing her on. "Come on, Trudy," he mouthed silently.

  As she flashed through the finish, they both pounced on the timer. "Yes!" Neil grinned. It was the best time they'd seen so far that afternoon.

  "Good girl!" said Ben.

  "How'd I do?" a small voice gasped behind them, and Ben saw that Trudy had pushed back up the hill to find out her time. She's keen!

  "Good!" he said. "Very good, in fact. Well done." He tilted his head at her. "What made the difference?"

  She took a couple more deep breaths while she thought about this. "I just really wanted this, y'know? I really want to race. I want to be the fastest. And the best."

  Ben nodded slowly. She's got that fire in her belly. I was right about her. She'll make it. "You might just do that, Trudy, you did well. Good girl!"

  -::-

  After Trudy skied off to the lift and Ben had started the next racer, he turned to Neil. "Do you get to go free-skiing once this is finished?"

  "Normally, yes, but since there's only the two of them, I have to stay with the kids today." He raised a shoulder in a half-shrug. "But I'm coming up again tomorrow — the forecast is good."

  Ben nodded, watching the boy zipping his board around the slalom poles. "I could meet up with you after work, give you some coaching." He looked sideways at Neil. "Prove to you that I'm not a 'somebody'."

  "Cool." Neil looked at Ben over the top of his sunglasses and said with a smile, "I'll be sure and bring my autograph book with me!"

  -::-

  New Zealand

  Mike's steps dragged more and more slowly as he got nearer to the turning. C'mon mate, you're being stupid. But he wasn't being stupid. Well, no more so than he had been for the last two years. He squared his shoulders. You can do this.

  Unsurprisingly, the garden looked tired and unkempt and the windows looked grimy. But the pink rays from the setting sun caused the wood cladding to glow and made
the house seem warm, almost inviting. Mike's steps faltered again. He stopped and took a deep breath. C'mon, you can do this.

  Crossing the lawn, he lifted a large stone in the rockery below the wide porch, and picked up a key. Still there, even after all this time.

  His hand trembled when he fitted the key in the lock, so he steadied himself with another deep breath before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

  Through the gloom he could just make out the hulking shapes of furniture and the empty maw of the fireplace. A faint sheen of dust covered everything and the air smelled stuffy, as if it hadn't been disturbed for a long time.

  He moved down the hall and found the breaker switch in the cupboard under the stairs. Lights made a huge difference. They illuminated paintings he didn't recall hanging, and curtains he didn't remember choosing. Perhaps Emily chose those.

  Emily.

  Up the stairs, he stopped in the huge bedroom they'd designed around its view of the mountain opposite; the bed positioned so they could see the distant snowy peak through the huge A-frame window built into the chalet's gable.

  He'd thought this would be the hardest part but it wasn't, actually; he found himself drawn to the view rather than to the bed, and looking at the house as if he were considering buying it, rather than wondering whether he could sell it, finally.

  From the window, he let his eyes trail back around the room; at the mis-remembered furniture illuminated by the aurora of evening; at the shadows he'd forgotten; at the memories he'd left behind.

  It seemed like the time away had done what he'd hoped — even though he'd been obligated to come back rather than feeling ready — and that the house he'd built all these years ago, with such high hopes and great love, no longer felt like his.

  With this realisation, he dropped heavily into the nearest chair and stared around him. Yeah, it doesn't feel like my house anymore. The relief was like the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders, and he suddenly felt lighter; felt free. Free. Not forgiven, but free, and that was a start.

  Emily isn't here any longer. She'll stay in my heart, but she's not here.

  He nodded to himself. He understood, now, that he'd never live in this house again, and that he could safely leave it behind him without recrimination.

  It was a part of his past that didn't need to be a part of his present.

  He'd contact an estate agent in the morning and get it put on the market — it deserved to be loved and lived in by someone. But that someone isn't me. He nodded again, and gazed out of the window at the distant mountain. My future is elsewhere.

  Sunday 19th February

  Scotland

  BEN LEANED ON the handles of his ski poles and gazed up the hill at a skier in black carving down the hill. "That was better," he said when Neil stopped beside him in a flurry of snow. "I could see you working your skis that time. Well done." He glanced at his watch. "Time for one more run — let's head up the Highlander and see if you can do the same on the red."

  "Cool," said Neil, and pushed off in the direction of the chairlift.

  A couple of minutes later they were winging their way over the snowy landscape as they were carried towards the top of the hill. Ben looked round at Neil, sitting beside him in the two-man chairlift, and discovered that he was being observed. "What?"

  "I was just thinking."

  "Don't strain yourself, now."

  "Cheeky!" Neil flashed dark eyes at Ben. "Yeah, I was just thinking; don't take this the wrong way, but — you don't seem like a ski racer to me."

  "Why not?"

  "You're too nice. I always imagined that top racers would be really arrogant and full of themselves. But you're not."

  Ben shrugged. "I told you I was a nobody." He frowned. "And — thanks, I think."

  A smile twitched at the corner of Neil's mouth. "Don't mention it."

  "Anyway, you've heard my boring life story. What about you? How did you start skiing?"

  Neil looked down at his gloves for a moment before replying. "Well, it was sport really, not skiing." He glanced across at Ben again. "My dad died when I was five, and," he shrugged, "I was a really shy kid."

  Ben frowned. "But you're not shy now. What changed you?"

  "My mum encouraged me to join the swimming club — I think she thought it would bring me out of my shell — and then I got into athletics." His eyes took on a far-away look. "I suppose sport gave me some confidence." He turned to Ben. "I was never good at anything in particular — not like you. I could never decide what to concentrate on. I just liked sport. I liked the buzz it gave me, and the feeling of control. Then, after uni, this job came up, working with the charity." He shrugged. "And here I am. Boring, really."

  "Did you do Sports Science or something at uni?"

  "No, Marketing."

  Ben nodded. "I never made it to uni. I got into the development squad right after Ski Academy, and I've been skiing ever since."

  "And now you're thinking of going back to racing?"

  "Aye. Well, I'm not sure. Maybe." He looked at Neil out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe I'm not arrogant enough to be a winner."

  "It's not a requirement, though, is it?"

  It was Ben's turn to stare into the distance. "I hope not."

  Monday 20th February

  BEN STARTED THE engine and looked across at Debbie, who was struggling with the seatbelt. He took it from her and clicked it into place, then glanced at her face. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah. I'm just a bit nervous about working in the hut. But I'm sure I'll be fine once I get started."

  Ben nodded and started to reverse out of the driveway. When the car bumped down off the kerb and he swung the wheel to turn into the road, he heard a gasp from Debbie. He braked, and looked across at her again. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "Yeah, but just watch out for bumps and potholes, if you can? Or I might end up wishing I'd got the bus!"

  He smiled and started to ease the car forwards. "Okay."

  Debbie was silent while he drove through the village and onto the back road to the ski slopes, but he noticed that she seemed rather tense and was holding her arms across her chest, as if to protect her damaged rib.

  "How long before that rib is healed?" he asked.

  "About another five weeks, they said."

  He changed gear to negotiate a narrow bridge, and nodded. "It'll be a wee while before you get skiing again, then?"

  "Yeah, unfortunately. I'm a bit worried about doing my Grade Three. I'm so out of practice. And I really want to pass." She glanced across at him. "This coaching thing you're doing today, what happens if you get picked? Does that mean you could coach someone like me?"

  He laughed. "Only if you want to do downhill or slalom! It's purely a racing coach thing. They want us to train youngsters, I think. They've got some development scheme in mind for next year or something."

  "Do you think you'll still be here next year?"

  Did he imagine it, or did he hear a touch of anxiety in her voice? "Who knows? I probably won't get picked , there'll be loads of candidates."

  "Don't say that. I bet you'll be really good, with all your racing experience."

  He glanced across at her. "To be honest, I'm not even sure if I want to be picked. I'm really missing racing and I'm thinking about going back to it." Debbie let out a small gasp and he darted another quick glance at her. "Sorry, did I hit a bump or something?"

  "No, sorry, I was just surprised that you wanted to go back to racing."

  "I'm just thinking about it. I've not decided yet."

  "Is it not really hard, living out of a suitcase and never seeing your friends or family?"

  "Aye, but you make friends on the race circuit, so it's not all bad."

  "I don't think I could handle the pressure to win all the time, and the constant training." She looked down at her hands. "I think I'd rather be an instructor."

  "I thought the same thing at the beginning of the season. But the ski school race made me realis
e how much I missed it. So this coaching thing might help me to make up my mind."

  Her voice was so soft that it seemed to fade like the morning mist before the words were even out of her mouth. "Good luck with that."

  -::-

  Ben was first to arrive at the rendezvous point outside the café. Time for a quick brew, since nobody else is here yet.

  His mind wandered while he waited to be served, only to be brought back to reality by the Irish brogue of Linda, the ski area administrator.

  "Ben Dalton, would you look at you?"

  "What have I done now?" he said with a grin.

  "Well, nothing — yet! But how come we never see you out on the razz down the town? You're missing all the craic."

  "Och, we just go to The Rowan in White Cairns. That way I don't have to drive."

  She looked at him from under her eyebrows. "Yeah, but sure if you got lucky you wouldn't have to drive home now, would ya?"

  It was his turn to raise his eyebrows. "Aye, but I'm never that lucky."

  "And why wouldn't you be? A big strapping lad like you, wi' your fair hair and all your stories about ski racin'. You'd have the ladies queueing up." She dropped her chin. "I know I'd love to hear all about your racing exploits."

  Is she coming on to me? Surely not? He felt heat at the bottom of his neck. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with Linda — with her cheery personality and copper-coloured hair she was an attractive enough woman, but she just wasn't his type. Whatever his 'type' was. He'd always been too into his skiing to chase after girls. I suppose Gabbi must've been my type. Perhaps I just like older women. Or dark hair. Maybe one day he'd work it out.

  He was saved from answering Linda by the counter attendant asking him for his order. "A tea, please, for take-away. Milk and two." By the time he turned back to her, he'd straightened his expression. "Next time you're in The Rowan, you can buy me a beer and I'll tell you some racing stories."