Girls on Tour

by Nicola Doherty

  Out of nowhere, I’m remembering Sylvain again, and our fateful kiss. I completely misjudged things with Leo; what if I did the same with Sylvain? What if there was genuinely something there? Well, it’s too late now.

  Everyone’s busy kissing and hugging, exchanging Happy New Years. I’ve had it: I’m going home. I’ll sleep in our room and Leo can damn well bunk in with Jenny in her single bed. His feet will probably stick out of it but I can’t help that.

  As I trudge back to the chalet, I keep on having flashbacks of seeing the two of them together. And I keep on wondering what on earth he could see in her. But even though my feelings are bruised and my pride is dented, there’s a part of me that feels as if it’s coming awake after being asleep for a year. It’s the part of me that would always rather be alone than with the wrong person.

  ‘Maggie!’

  I stop and slowly turn around, barely daring to hope. But it’s him. I knew it from the way he put the accent on the second syllable. Maggie. He’s wearing a Barbour-type jacket, with a scarf thrown around his neck in the way that only French men can. He walks towards me, hands in pockets.

  ‘Alone again?’ he asks, grinning. ‘One hundred years of solitude?’

  I nod. ‘Alone again,’ I agree. ‘Alone for good.’

  ‘Bonne Année,’ he murmurs, looking down at me.

  ‘Happy New Year.’ I feel a stupid grin growing on my face.

  We stand there for a minute longer, and then he leans down, and kisses me. I kiss him back, hungrily. His cheeks feel cold, but his stubble is so sexy and his lips are warm. He tastes of vin chaud, and I can smell that gorgeous faint aftershave again. When he puts his arms around me, I realise I’m shivering – but it’s from excitement.

  ‘You’re cold,’ he says, rubbing my arms. Then he adds, ‘We could go inside … back to my place?’

  Uh-oh. I barely know him, and I’m on the rebound, and he’s younger than me, and he lives in France, and it’s not going to go anywhere, and the others will worry if I stay out late. I definitely shouldn’t go home with him.

  ‘OK,’ I agree.

  As we walk, I pull out my phone and text Rachel. All over with Leo, am with a friend. Will explain later. Tell the others I’m fine. She’ll probably think I’m a complete slapper, but I can’t help it; I’m not coming home now.

  I’m expecting Sylvain’s digs to be in some giant cheerless apartment block, but instead he leads me to a chalet on the edge of the village that has been divided into studios. He unlocks a door and leads me into a cosy studio with a bed in one corner and a sofa and table in another. There’s a fire burning low in the grate, and a sheepskin rug in front of it.

  He takes my coat and hangs it up very carefully with his own, then puts a couple of logs on the fire before asking me if I want some tea with rum.

  ‘I’d love some.’ A Frenchman who drinks tea: is this a sign? He goes off into a little kitchen alcove and puts on a saucepan of water, and I find myself wondering how on earth the kettle hasn’t made it to France.

  ‘Do you like Saint Etienne?’ he asks.

  ‘Sure!’ He walks over to the CD player in the corner, and I imagine myself walking up behind him and putting my arms around him.

  Forget doing more cultural things: my New Year’s resolution is to say things out loud instead of thinking them in my bubble, and to do things instead of imagining them.

  I walk over to him and put my arms around him. He turns around and we kiss again as the music starts. God, this is magic. He kisses my throat and my collarbone while I run my fingers through his gorgeous, untidy tawny hair, inhaling the smell of his skin. We’re so carried away that we barely notice the bubbling noise getting louder, until we look over and see that the saucepan of water has boiled over.

  ‘I forgot the tea,’ he mutters. His breath is fast and he looks as dazed as me.

  ‘Don’t worry about the tea.’ He goes to turn off the gas, and when he comes back, we start kissing again. He’s stroking my skin through the cut-out on my back; now he’s undone the clasp of my dress, and he’s kissing my shoulder.

  ‘Let’s lie in front of the fire,’ I murmur, letting the dress drop around my waist. I don’t know what’s got into me, aside from some Kir Royales and a couple of vin chauds, but I like it. He takes my hand and leads me over to the fire, then lies down beside me on the rug. It’s a little itchy, but I don’t care: I feel incredibly sexy, half-naked and bathed in firelight.

  ‘Ah, Maggie,’ he groans, looking down at me. ‘You are so sexy.’

  It might be corny, but it’s also irresistible. He starts unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the most gorgeous chest I’ve seen in real life, probably ever: strong and athletic without looking Photoshopped. I undo his belt and fly, tugging his trousers off. He pulls my dress down completely and lies on top of me, boxers still on, and we move together for a while, kissing and touching every inch of each other that we can reach.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh God, yes,’ I say, panicked that he’ll change his mind. And then he fishes a condom out of his trouser pocket, and pushes himself inside me, and I stop thinking about anything at all except how incredible we feel together.

  Afterwards we lie together looking into the fire, my finger lazily tracing circles over his chest and stomach. From where I’m lying, I can see a desk with some textbooks neatly laid out. Sylvain is obviously a conscientious guy: the perfect scientist. We have our work in common – sort of. Maybe there’s something in this. Maybe we could visit each other … I could come back here and learn to ski … He could get a job in London …

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asks, drowsily.

  ‘Oh! Um …’ I’m wondering how I can reply without either lying through my teeth or sounding completely sad. ‘How unexpected this is.’

  ‘You’re right. I didn’t expect.’ He drops a kiss on my collarbone. ‘I hoped, but I didn’t expect.’ He sits up, and holds out a hand to me. ‘Do you want to go to bed? To sleep?’

  I don’t even consider putting on my clothes and facing the cold world outside again; I just nod, and we make the short journey across the room to get into his bed. The sheets are icy, and we curl up together to try and warm up. It feels so incredibly weird to be with someone who’s not Leo. Weird, but wonderful. I’d love to stay awake longer to enjoy being wrapped in his gorgeous arms, but I’m shattered after the dramas of today, and I know I’m going to be asleep within minutes.

  Beside me, I feel Sylvain look up.

  ‘Look, Maggie,’ he says. I follow his gaze and see that he’s pointing out of the window at the full moon. I smile to myself as I drift off to sleep.

  The next morning, I’m completely disoriented for a good few minutes before I remember what has happened. I don’t know which headline in the Maggie Times is most startling: that Leo and I are finished, that Leo kissed Jenny, or that I went home with Sylvain. Thank God I remembered to text Rachel, or else the others would have had the local gendarmerie combing the streets of Méribel for me.

  Sunlight is coming in through the windows; I smell coffee, and toast. And there’s Sylvain, dressed in his instructor gear, his tawny hair falling over his beautiful bronzed forehead as he prepares something in his little kitchen.

  ‘Good morning,’ he says, smiling. He brings over a big cup of milky coffee – practically a bowl – and some buttered toast.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ I murmur. I sip the coffee and eat the toast, feeling awkward after my wild abandon last night. I must look a state, with all my make-up smudged and my hair on end; it’s always crazy in the morning. Whereas Sylvain looks as gorgeous as ever, except his eyes are slightly tired. His beautiful greeny-gold eyes.

  ‘Are you taking lessons today?’ he asks.

  ‘No. We’re leaving today! Shit. What time is it?’

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘Oh God.’ I know we’re meant to check out at ten. ‘Um … hang on a sec.’ I throw on my dress, which was lying near the bed, and rus
h into the bathroom. I look every bit as awful as I’d expected: deathly pale, with smudged clown eyes. Thankfully there are some make-up removal wipes, so I clean the ruins of my make-up off my face.

  Hmm. Make-up removal wipes? Unless Sylvain is a fan of make-up, which I don’t think he is, surely these indicate the presence of some other girl … or girls? I rinse my mouth out with water and toothpaste and splash water on my face before going back out to him.

  He’s looking at his watch, but glances up as soon as I appear. I know it wasn’t meant as a hint, but it’s a good reality check. Make-up wipes in his bathroom are sort of irrelevant. I’m on a skiing holiday where I just broke up with my boyfriend, and Sylvain is a ski instructor-slash-student. I don’t think either of us believes that this is the beginning of a new relationship. But it’s a wonderful start to the new year.

  ‘Sylvain, I’d better go.’ A silly grin is spreading over my face again as I look at that sheepskin rug and remember what happened on it last night. I don’t feel embarrassed any more; I feel sexy, and confident, and more grown-up than I did twenty-four hours ago – certainly more confident than after I saw Leo kissing Jenny.

  He helps me find my tights and shoes, and then helps me on with my coat in a very gentlemanly way. Then he walks me to the door.

  ‘So … good luck in your studies,’ I say, and then feel an urge to giggle as I realise I couldn’t have come up with a more grandmotherly way to say goodbye to him if I’d thought about it for weeks.

  ‘And you. Do you want me to walk you home to your chalet?’

  Part of me quite likes the idea of turning up at the chalet on Sylvain’s arm, but I think the situation is complicated enough already.

  ‘No, that’s OK.’ I reach up and kiss him on the cheek. ‘Thanks for a wonderful night.’

  In response, he bends down and kisses me properly. It’s a truly passionate kiss … all the more so because we both know it’s the last one.

  He opens the door for me, and I trot down the stairs, turning to wave at him still with a silly grin on my face. He waves back, then closes the door. And I’m alone in the snowy street, under a bright blue sky on a beautiful winter’s day. The snow is sparkling in the sun; the air is crisp. I should be devastated at the end of my relationship with Leo, but I’m not, because I’m beginning to realise how unhappy I was while I was with him. I’m sad, of course, but I also feel hopeful, as if life is full of possibilities.

  I do feel nervous as I get closer to the chalet. I have no idea what things will be like with Jenny and Leo, or if everyone will know about what happened. I’m dreading the questions and discussions and odd looks. I’m getting up the courage to walk in when Rachel emerges wearing her coat, her dark hair gleaming in the sun.

  ‘Maggie!’ she exclaims, running down the steps. ‘There you are! What happened to you last night?’

  I explain briefly about breaking up with Leo and going home with Sylvain. I leave out the part about Jenny; if Leo hasn’t mentioned it, then I don’t want to either.

  But something in Rachel’s face tells me that Leo and Jenny have already taken care of that.

  ‘Oh. Did they spend the night together? Actually, wait. I don’t want to know.’ I shake my head. ‘I just want to go home.’

  ‘No, no, they didn’t. And I don’t think the others know about any of this – I just wondered about it. I won’t say anything. Look, why don’t you go and have a coffee down the street, and I’ll pack for you. You can come back here in an hour and we’ll all get the bus.’

  ‘What? Would you really do that?’

  She nods. ‘Of course!’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ I say, touched. ‘Honestly. I need to face Leo; I’ll have to do it sometime anyway. But listen, would you like to swap contact details? It would be nice to meet up when we’re back in London … if you’re free …’ I stop short, thinking that maybe Rachel will be too busy with work and Oliver, or that she might find it odd to keep in touch with me once Leo and I have broken up.

  But she says, ‘Definitely! Have you got your phone handy?’ We exchange email addresses, and Rachel says she’ll find me on Facebook too.

  Next minute, the door to the chalet crashes open. It’s Jenny, wearing Ugg boots, jeans and an Abercrombie and Fitch hoodie, hair practically standing on end with rage.

  ‘My fur hat is missing!’ she says. ‘I had it last night when we came home from the fireworks …’ She looks down at me and for the first time seems to realise who she’s talking to. But she doesn’t break stride. ‘I definitely had it, and now it’s gone and I can’t find it anywhere. It cost two hundred quid! I’m not leaving until whoever has it gives it back.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re not suggesting that one of us is holding your hat hostage,’ Rachel says in her most lawyerly, reasonable tone. ‘You probably dropped it in the street somewhere. Maybe you should go and take a look.’

  ‘No! I definitely had it!’

  ‘Well it wasn’t me,’ I tell her. ‘I wasn’t even here last night. I was in bed with one of the ski instructors.’

  She blinks at me and I grin back at her. I can’t believe I just said that. This is a whole new me.

  ‘Maybe you should ask Nina,’ Rachel says. ‘She might have seen it. Although she’s quite keen on animal rights, so you might want to be careful … Was it real fur?’

  ‘Of course it was real fur!’ Jenny turns on me. ‘You stole it! Because you’re a vegetarian – and you’re angry at me for stealing your boyfriend!’

  This is just so ludicrous, it makes me snort with laughter. ‘Jenny. Come on. I did not steal your fur hat. Any more than you stole my boyfriend. He’s got a mind of his own and we’ve broken up for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with you. So don’t flatter yourself.’ I feel more liberated with every word, realising that though I do mind that Leo kissed her, a lot, my night with Sylvain has definitely eased the pain.

  ‘Hang on,’ says Rachel. ‘I see something.’ She goes around the side of the steps and retrieves something from under a bush. ‘Here is it! You must have dropped it when you were coming inside.’ Her tone is almost soothing as she goes up the steps to hand Jenny the hat, and I realise that she must be feeling sorry for her. I do too, really: anyone who can lose their mind like that over a missing hat is a bit pathetic.

  Jenny grabs the hat, dusting it down protectively. ‘I’ll have to dry it with my hairdryer. Probably ruined,’ she mutters. After a minute she says, ‘Thanks, though. And soz,’ she adds to me. ‘About the hat, and about … last night.’

  I have to take a deep breath first, but I’m able to say the right thing. ‘It’s OK.’ And I mean it. Eighty per cent, anyway.

  Jenny mutters something else and goes back inside. Rachel and I look at each other and laugh, shaking our heads.

  ‘God, that was nuts,’ she says. ‘Fur flying, literally. Look, I’m just going out to meet Oliver for a last hot chocolate. You’re sure you’re OK? Come and join us once you’ve packed.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m fine! Go!’ And it’s true. Yes, I’m dreading the journey home – I can already picture the hours of awkward travelling, sitting beside Leo in silence, or worse, sitting on my own or playing gooseberry with the others while he keeps Jenny company. And yes, I wish my relationship with Leo hadn’t ended the way it did.

  But I feel free, and optimistic, and braver than I have in ages. As I watch Rachel going down the snowy street, I realise that Jenny was wrong about something else, too. It’s never too late to make a new friend. Smiling, I run up the steps to the chalet, ready to face the first day of the new year.

  2 January

  From: Maggie

  To: Lily

  Well, you were dead right: New Year WAS special. Can we Skype this evening – maybe 10 p.m. my time (that’s 6 a.m. your time?) Lots to tell you.

  Mx

  2 January

  From: Lily

  To: Maggie

  It was good to talk just now. I’m sorry, Mags, I didn’t think your
holiday would be that memorable. You seem in really good form considering. I’ll let you know the dates I’ll be over in Feb as soon as I’ve cleared it with work. And maybe I’ll see your new apartment? I think your parents are right to insist on you moving house. I’m all for cheap rent, but not when you might die.

  Lots of love,

  Lily xxx

  PS I just googled ‘Sylvain ski instructor Méribel’ and I found a pic. Is this him? If so … GOOD JOB, as they say here.

  3 January

  To: Lily

  From: Maggie

  Yes, that is him! Though the picture doesn’t do him justice. I just found him on Facebook (didn’t know his surname before!!) but I decided not to friend him. It’s better this way. We’ll always have Méribel.

  I am fine about Leo really. In a way it was such hard work dating him, the break-up is easy in comparison. I forgot to tell you Dad’s theory. He reckons it was always a bad sign that Leo doesn’t support a football team (?) He says football teams are how young men learn loyalty and commitment and no wonder Leo was a wrong ’un because he never had that. I tried to explain that actually Leo was TOO team-spirited and always put other people ahead of me, but Dad’s convinced he’s right. Who knows, maybe he is.

  Mxx

  6 January

  From: Lily

  To: Maggie, Poppy

  Hi girls,

  Some dates for your diaries: I’ll be in the UK from the 9th to the 18th of February. I am slightly in trouble because I’ll be away over Valentine’s weekend, which also happens to be Jesse’s mother’s sixtieth birthday. But that was the only time I could get off work, and as I said to Jesse, it’s not as if we would have had time to do anything romantic anyway. It’s typical Diane to have her birthday on Valentine’s AND to mark it with a weekend-long festival of events. Quite frankly, I think I’ve spent more than enough time with his family over the past few months, they must be sick of me by now.