Girls on Tour

by Nicola Doherty

  ‘Your chef, Gavin, has left a menu for you and he’ll be here shortly to make dinner. Tomorrow you can either order dinner from him, or we can give you a list of excellent restaurants in Méribel, including several with Michelin stars!’ She smiles and leaves us to it.

  A chef? Michelin stars? I’m beginning to understand why this holiday ate up such a big chunk of my savings. Not that I’m complaining.

  After toasting our holiday, we go off to explore the place, champagne in hand, and everyone starts shrieking over the facilities.

  ‘Look, there’s a jacuzzi!’

  ‘This room has a heated floor and heated things to leave our boots on!’

  ‘Look at the view from this bedroom!’

  Opening the fridge, Jenny says, ‘Dammit, there’s no DC. We specifically asked them to stock it, Dave, didn’t we?’

  ‘What’s DC?’ Rachel asks.

  ‘Diet Coke,’ David says briefly.

  ‘There’s a supermarket in town,’ Oliver says. ‘But you’ll have to call it CL: Coca Light.’

  ‘I’m going to go and get some. Dave, will you come with me?’ Jenny says.

  David looks undecided, glancing at Nina and then back at Jenny. I watch the three of them, thinking how bizarre this dynamic is: it’s as if David’s got two girlfriends. Although I do have a glimmer of sympathy for Jenny’s addiction. I brought a box of Twinings English Breakfast myself; I can’t survive without at least six cups a day, or more when I’m in the lab.

  ‘Wait,’ says Oliver. ‘First we need to decide which room everyone’s having.’

  There’s one room that’s much bigger and nicer than any of the others, with its own fireplace and a spectacular view of the mountains and sunset. Everyone clearly wants it, but because we don’t know each other very well, we all hang back politely.

  ‘You and Nina should have it – you organised the holiday,’ Rachel says to David.

  ‘Let’s toss a coin for it,’ suggests David. ‘Or draw cards. I saw a pack of cards downstairs.’

  We go back downstairs and draw a card each – including Jenny, which seems strange. It’s a double room, and there are three doubles and one single. Which couple is going to take the single room if Jenny gets this one? I look at Leo, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed anything odd.

  In the end, Oliver draws an ace and there are jokes about the honeymoon suite; we assign the rest of the rooms painlessly. Then Jenny and David go out to buy Diet Cokes. I wonder if this bothers Nina at all, but she doesn’t seem to mind, going into their room and shutting the door behind her.

  ‘That was weird about the rooms, wasn’t it?’ I ask Leo when we’re in our bedroom, which is the smallest double, with blue-and-white painted walls and an attic ceiling; it’s lucky I’m not tall. He could easily have taken the second-nicest one, which had an en suite, but he hung back and let David and Nina have it.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  I lower my voice. ‘You know – how Jenny wanted it when it was a double and she clearly was meant to have a single.’

  Leo shrugs. ‘She probably just didn’t think it through. Anyway, the couples had a double probability of drawing it.’

  One of the things I like most about Leo is that he never bad-mouths anyone, no matter what they’ve done. But sometimes I wish he would just agree with me, especially when someone is blatantly being crazy.

  I start unpacking, enjoying the sight of my perfect capsule wardrobe hanging up neatly together. I have to do this, even if I’m only staying somewhere for a night: I hate living out of a suitcase. In contrast, Leo chucks everything on the floor. He says it’s a reaction to the enforced tidiness of boarding school, but I’m not so sure.

  ‘I’m going to have a quick shower,’ he says. ‘And then we can have a drink with the others.’

  ‘Sure. But wouldn’t it be nice to … relax here together for a while?’ I pat the duvet seductively. ‘Relax’ is our code word for sex. Which we haven’t had in a while, what with being at home with our families for Christmas and everything.

  Leo grins, then comes over and gives me a kiss that makes me weak at the knees. A proper kiss. A holiday kiss.

  ‘I intend to do lots of relaxing with you,’ he says. ‘But it’s the first night, and David and Ol were talking about heading to some place that does the best vin chaud in the French Alps, apparently. So I think we should go – to be sociable.’

  I smile. ‘OK, party animal.’ He’s right: it would be odd if we didn’t emerge from our room. And there’ll be plenty of opportunity to ‘relax’ after dinner.

  The vin chaud is lovely, and so is the food that our chef Gavin has whipped up for us when we get back: scallops and black pudding to start, and beef bourguignon. I don’t eat meat, but I can eat the scallops, and the garlicky, crispy, creamy potatoes and green beans. I’m about to tactfully remind Gavin, for future reference, that I’m a vegetarian when Leo does it for me.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Gavin says. ‘I’ve made a mushroom bourguignon as well.’

  ‘Oh, brilliant. Thank you!’ I also shoot a grateful smile to Leo.

  Jenny, of course, instantly wants to know why I’m a vegetarian.

  ‘Do you think it’s cruel to animals or something?’

  The answer is yes, but I don’t want to insult everyone else, so I murmur, ‘It’s just a personal preference.’ My other personal preference would be for her to shut up, but I don’t see that happening any time soon.

  Gavin asks if we want him to stay and serve up, and thankfully the consensus is no.

  ‘I’m pretty glad he’s gone,’ I confess, once he’s left and we’re all sitting down at the candlelit table. ‘I’m not used to staff.’

  Jenny gives me a puzzled look. ‘Aren’t you?’ she says.

  I don’t know what to say to that, but luckily Oliver saves me.

  ‘Come on, Jen,’ he says, laughing. ‘I’m not fooled by the rocks you’ve got. I know you’re still Jenny from the block.’ Jenny – who’s clearly never been near any kind of block – rolls her eyes and says, ‘Whatevs, weirdo,’ while everyone laughs. I’m so relieved the others are normal; I don’t know what I’d do if they were all like Jenny.

  ‘Cheers, everyone,’ David says, lifting his glass. ‘Here’s to blue slopes and red wine.’

  ‘Blue slopes and red wine!’ everyone chimes in, clinking glasses. Leo gives me a wink and I wrinkle my nose back at him, thinking: this is going to be the perfect holiday.

  The next morning, we all get dressed in our ski gear and head out to hire our skis. I’m hating my bulky navy all-in-one, which last saw action circa 1998 and makes me look like the Michelin man. I hadn’t realised that it’s actually held together under one arm with bits of duct tape. Duct tape! I can’t even bear to wear tights with ladders in them.

  ‘Oh my God, I haven’t seen a suit like that in decades,’ Jenny hoots at me in her foghorn voice as we leave the chalet. Of course her outfit is like something out of Harper’s Bazaar: cream-coloured separates with an enormous fur hat and Chanel sunglasses – cow. ‘Where did you get it, an antique shop?’

  I wish I could think of something cutting to say in return, but she’s already bounced ahead to David, and is stuffing a snowball down his neck. She obviously has a crush on him; he doesn’t seem to return it, but all the same, it must be very annoying for Nina. At least it’s a gorgeous day: blue skies, blinding sunshine, crisp but not too cold.

  ‘You don’t have to do ski school,’ Leo says, as we clunk around the hire place sorting out boots and skis for me, Rachel and Nina – the others have brought their own. ‘I’m sure I could teach you the basics this morning.’

  I’m tempted to take him up on it – it would be lovely to spend more time with him. Dinner ended so late last night that there was no time for anything romantic; we just fell asleep. But he’s clearly dying to get out on the slopes, and I don’t want to deprive him, especially as we’re here for such a short time. Not to mention that I can’t even figure out how t
o put these boots on, so I don’t think I’m going to be a quick learner. I run and swim and go to the gym, but when it comes to anything involving balance, I’m like a baby hippo.

  ‘Here – tighten them a bit more. They have to be tighter than normal shoes. That’s it.’ Leo gives me a pat on the bottom. ‘I’ll text you at lunchtime and we’ll see you at that café at the bottom of the ski lift.’

  ‘Which ski lift?’ I ask, but he’s already clattered away after the others.

  Nina is doing ski school too, and the two of us clump off together to find our instructor. I’m envious of her cute little separates, which are black and white with a snowflake pattern, teamed with a pink bobble hat. She’s as quiet as ever, and in my attempts to make conversation, I feel as if I’m practically interviewing her.

  ‘So you and David both live in New York, is that right? What do you do there?’

  ‘I’m a vet.’

  ‘Oh, cool. I’m a clinical microbiologist.’ Silence. ‘What made you move to New York? You’re not American, are you?’

  ‘My mom is, so I have a US passport.’

  ‘And did you know anyone over there before you headed over?’

  ‘No.’

  I wouldn’t consider myself a chatterbox, but in comparison with Nina I’m practically Graham Norton. I’m relieved when our lesson begins and I don’t have to try and talk any more. Our instructor is Roy, a middle-aged Yorkshireman with a pot belly and a moustache. He looks understanding, and the slope is reassuringly gentle; in fact I have to admit it’s practically flat.

  We start with snowploughs – aka stopping – which are reasonably easy, and then move on to going very slowly across the slope in a diagonal line, one after the other. Nina is pretty good and gets the hang of it quickly, but I keep grinding to a halt in the middle and holding everyone else up. They can’t even ski around me because we haven’t learned to turn yet.

  ‘Knees bent and lean forward, Maggie,’ Roy calls. I thought I was leaning forward, but apparently not, hence the stopping. All at once I feel an almighty shove from behind, and I’m zooming forward. The bastard: he pushed me! Surely that’s not allowed. But everyone’s cheering and clapping, and I realise I’m doing it! I’m skiing! This is a piece of cake! Until my skis cross over each other and I fall flat on my face.

  ‘Well done,’ says Roy.

  As I pick myself up and dust off the snow, I’m beaming: I did it! And now that I’ve fallen over once, I’ve realised the snow is quite soft, and it’s not the end of the world if I fall again. We move on to turning, and I can’t believe how well I’m suddenly doing. I must be a natural! Left, right, up mountain, down mountain: it’s all coming together. I can’t wait to show Leo my new skills. I’m picturing us slaloming down a dazzling white slope together when I see Nina waving to someone, and I realise the others have arrived – they’re leaning against the fence of our baby field, watching us with big grins on their faces. I hadn’t realised we’d be getting an audience.

  ‘One more drill before lunch,’ says Roy. ‘Just start up here’ – he indicates with his pole – ‘and go around each marker and finish here at the bottom.’

  I can do this. It’s the same as the drill we just did. But I’m feeling self-conscious, especially when I see Jenny’s smirk under her huge sunglasses. She’s still rocking her massive fur hat, even though it’s warm and sunny.

  Nina goes ahead of me: she glides down steadily and makes all her turns, only knocking one of the poles slightly. I start off reasonably smoothly, but as I approach the first pole I lose my nerve and my left foot starts sliding out of control. I lean back to try and get my balance, but my foot shoots away from me, and to my mortification I slide across the poles, knocking them all over, and skid the rest of the way down on my bum before landing at the bottom covered in snow. The others are all clapping and laughing, so I pick myself up and pretend to bow.

  ‘Brilliant, Maggie,’ Leo calls, wiping his eyes, as I join them.

  ‘You’d better not have been taping that,’ I tell him, giving him a little shove.

  ‘I wasn’t! You did great. Come and have some lunch.’

  We click off our skis and stump across the road to the nearest restaurant in our ski boots, walking like people on the moon. My shins are aching now, and my thighs are shaking, and I’m starving. I notice that David is carrying Nina’s skis as well as his own, and I wonder if I should mind that Leo’s not carrying mine. But that would be unreasonable; Nina is smaller than me. Leo obviously feels bad about laughing at me earlier and has his arm around me as we wait in the queue to get into the café.

  As we stand there, we see an incredibly cute sight: a group of young kids, no more than six or seven years old, zooming down the slope on their miniature skis. They’re not even using poles, just bobbing along like little wind-up toys with their brightly coloured suits and helmets. It’s depressing to think that they’re already better skiers than I’ll ever be.

  ‘How sweet is that?’ says David. He looks fondly at Nina and is about to say something else when Jenny jumps in and starts asking him some technical question about his skis.

  I’m still watching the kids, and I notice one little girl at the end falling over and howling in despair. Within seconds the instructor is by her side. He pulls his visor off to talk to her, and I do a double-take, because he is gorgeous. He looks like a young lion: all messy tawny hair, bronzed skin and golden stubble, tall and lithe in his blue and white ski suit. And he is so cute with his little pupil, dusting her off and talking to her reassuringly until she’s calmed down. I stare at him, thinking: that little girl doesn’t know how lucky she is.

  ‘Was your instructor anything like that?’ Rachel murmurs to me as we go inside the café. I shake my head wordlessly. I’m tempted to stare at him again over my shoulder, but I don’t want Leo to see me perving over the local talent.

  ‘Let’s order some beers, seven croque-monsieurs, a giant side order of raclette and some frites,’ says Oliver, looking at the menus. ‘And whatever the rest of you are having.’

  ‘That’s the brilliant thing about skiing: to hell with the diet,’ says Rachel.

  ‘You are the last person in the world who needs to diet,’ Oliver says adoringly.

  Meanwhile, David is quietly telling Nina that she looked ‘sensational’ on skis. I feel as if I’m on some kind of double honeymoon. Shouldn’t Leo be telling me I don’t need to diet, or that I look sensational on skis? But then I remind myself that that slushy stuff doesn’t last for ever. It’s much better to be able to laugh at each other.

  We all order beers – I opt for a special raspberry one – croque-monsieurs and fries, and then chocolate profiteroles for dessert. All around us people are lounging at the tables, eating, drinking and chatting under the blue sky. I can’t believe we’re sitting outside in the sunshine, with our sunglasses on, in December. I don’t even care when the tea I ordered with my profiteroles turns out to be lukewarm water with a tea bag bobbing on top, or when Leo makes us all pose for a billion photos; this is definitely worth some Facebook boasting.

  ‘So what do you think of skiing?’ he asks me.

  ‘I like this part,’ I say through a mouthful of profiteroles. ‘No, I do like skiing … there was a moment there when I had it. Sort of.’

  Leo nods. ‘I’d say you could come out with us tomorrow.’

  ‘Cool,’ I say, thrilled.

  I notice that Oliver and Rachel are both looking alarmed, though. ‘There’s no rush,’ Rachel says. ‘I did a week of ski school before I went on the big slopes.’

  I’m thinking that maybe they’re right and I should do a few more lessons when Jenny says, ‘Yeah, don’t push it. You’ve got a way to go.’ Which makes me all the more determined to make her eat my snow dust. I notice that she’s offering David, and no one else, her extra frites. She’s pretty deluded if she thinks she can win him over with a few chips.

  After we’ve finished lunch, we go our separate ways: the others to the big slop
es and Nina and me back to ski school. Except Nina seems to have changed her mind about ski school.

  ‘I’m going to go home and read my book,’ she says in her quiet, growling voice, and off she trots, taking the key David left with us. I’m tempted to join her, but I want to pack in as much practice as possible while we’re here.

  On the way home after the lesson, I make a quick detour into a shop and buy myself some proper snow boots, black with a hot pink trim. It would be a false economy to let my suede boots get wrecked, and these are so much cosier; I love them.

  I’m so knackered when I get in that I pull off my ski gear and crawl into bed. After what feels like ten minutes, I wake up to find Leo sitting on the bed beside me. It’s dark; I must have slept for hours.

  ‘How was ski school?’ Leo asks.

  ‘Fine,’ I say, yawning. ‘I think I’m getting the hang of it. How was your afternoon?’

  ‘Great,’ he says. ‘We’ve got a good standard in the group.’ He puts a hand on my thigh underneath the duvet. ‘It’s six now. I said we’d go for a drink with the others at seven. Which means …’

  ‘Means what?’ I ask blearily, rubbing my eyes and hoping I wasn’t drooling.

  ‘We’ve got some time to relax …’ He slides a hand up my leg.

  Oh. I want to relax with Leo, obviously, but I didn’t realise it was going to be squeezed in so efficiently between naps, showers and drinks. Do we really have to meet the others at seven on the dot? But then Leo starts kissing me, and I feel the familiar thrill working its way through my body. The fact that we haven’t been together in so long – since 15 December, in fact – makes it even more exciting.

  It’s just a pity we’re on such a tight schedule and there’s no time to lie around together afterwards, let alone get dressed up for dinner. I barely have time to pull on my favourite skinny jeans, a stripy grey and white knit from Maison Scotch and my new snow boots. My face is so flushed from the day outdoors that I tone it down with some colour-correcting base and pile on the mascara as a sort of distraction.