Meet Me at Fir Tree Lodge

by Rachel Dove

  Twenty minutes later, she was downstairs in her uniform of black slacks and matching black short-sleeved T-shirt, both bearing the Alpine Bites logo, where a happy cartoon mountain took a bite out of a doughnut, all embroidered in a hot pink against the pitch black material. She’d tied her hair up as usual, tight to her raven-haired head. She’d even bothered with a little make-up too. Her mother’s influence across the miles leaving her feeling just a little bit shit and in need of a bit of war paint to face the day. One red slick of lipstick daubed across her face felt like a shield of armour against the gauntlet of daily reality. Praise be to the goddesses of the concealer stick.

  Unlocking the connecting door that stood at the bottom of the lodge stairs, she closed it behind her and walked out into the huge open plan space that was Alpine Bites café. Or as Hans called it, the jewel of Alpe d’Huez. The lodge upstairs, her home with the icy floors, was called Fir Tree Lodge. It suited the place too, it was cosy. Hans loved his business babies, and he named them well. Rebecca did feel at home here, and oddly territorial. For the first time that morning, she smiled to herself as she looked at the expanse of tables and chairs, sofa areas surrounding little nooks and coffee tables, and glass and light wood walls all around. The walls were mostly thick panels of highly polished glass that ran from floor to ceiling, with thin but solid beams in between, making it look like an ultra-modern lodge against the backdrop of the ski slopes around them.

  This café had some of the best views of the slopes, and a birds-eye view of the main arena, the largest slope that Alpe d’Huez had to offer. Rebecca loved it, and not just for the views, or the hit of adrenalin that she passively smoked all day long. People talking about their days on the slopes, dissecting their errors and achievements. Laughing at the one who ate the most snow as they lost their balance falling in the fresh powder. She loved it because it kept her tethered to the edge of what was once her reason for living. At least here, she got a hit of the ‘old days’ now and again. She used it to confirm to herself that she hadn’t always been one of the most miserable people on the face of the universe. That once upon a time, she’d been just like them. One of the gang. Ish. She still lived like a hermit outside of work, but then she had cake.

  Locking the door to her apartment, she tucked the key in an apron hanging on a nearby hook and wrapping it around her, she stepped down a couple of further steps and was immediately in the baking and serving area. It ran along one long wall, an oval shape that left the front of the café open for seating in front of those big wide windows. In this little egg, Rebecca spent her days serving, baking … and people watching. She could almost smell the holidaymakers as she got to work opening up the café for the day. She preferred to blend in these days; with her new hairstyle and the fact that she was a bit of a recluse from the media in the first place, it wasn’t hard to work behind the counter and serve customers without them so much as batting an eye about her previous life. If she’d been Kim Kardashian, and her face was known everywhere, she’d have had to move to a deserted island and would have done willingly. No doubt her mother would be parachuting in supplies and eligible bachelors every month. Well she was through with that. Robbie was the ultimate eligible bachelor, and she didn’t like the cut of his bloody jib these days. She was a lot of things, but willing arsehole magnet was not one of them. She shook off the memories that tried to settle around her and got to work.

  Being an early riser had its perks, once she had shaken off her righteous indignation at waking up as she did every morning, alone but henpecked from home, in the dazzling white of the French resort. It had gone seven now, and she needed to get the display cases filled with her creations. Ready for the families, the professionals, and the thrill-seekers. It was Monday morning, the middle of the competition season, and today would be no different to the past few months. The resort would spring to life as soon as the sun was up with the babble and bustle of the thousands of people who visited every single day. She could smell the adrenalin and excitement in the alpine air already, but it wasn’t just the competition hopefuls she looked forward to seeing. It was the snarky couples, the over-the-top proposals, and the full-on family fights. The minutiae of life laid bare whilst they guzzled coffee and cake in her little hideaway. Little goldfish for her to observe, only she was on the same side of the glass. If life was all around you, it meant you were still part of it, right? A bystander maybe, but that suited Rebecca just fine. Who needed to be in the spotlight, when all that did was expose the chinks, the ugly cracks and flaws? She was much better in the shadows of life.

  Scars don’t show in the shadows. It was one of the first things Hans had said to her after the accident. He didn’t mean her to take it so much to heart, but at the time, it saved her. She took the café job he offered, with no experience or inclination. It was a lifeline. A moment of anonymity in the place she still wanted to be a part of. A reason to stay. They’d had some laughs along the way too, it hadn’t all been doom and gloom.

  Checking the calendar on the wall behind the large till, she smiled once more. This time a far broader grin, one that Alice in Wonderland might baulk at on sight.

  ‘Croissant Death Day,’ she declared to herself excitedly. ‘Oh Hans, my friend, you are in for a treat.’ Reaching for one of the files on her recipe bookshelf, she thumbed through her scribblings, looking for something special.

  The very fact that she owned a book full of recipes would have been unheard of half a decade ago, but now it felt like home as she flicked through the handwritten pages. An occasional mark from a bit of dropped batter punctuated the pages of cut-outs from magazines and little photos of Rebecca’s handiwork; on some of them, Hans and Holly had rated them Bake Off style. That was back in the early days, when Hans lived here and he was showing her the waitress ropes. She had recovered enough to go home, but the ticket for the flight had been stuck in her bag since her mother had sent it. Hans and Holly gave her the means to stay, and she had fallen right into the gig without really thinking about her next move in life. Little did I know I’d end up running the place. Rebecca smiled at Holly’s moist rating on one of them. Her strawberry tart design had gained the coveted five tongues for supreme moistness, and it still made her laugh every time she saw it. Not today’s chosen recipe though. Today she knew exactly what she was looking for. One of her first creations. The one that made Hans and Holly shudder at the thought of. After the pressure of her morning, she was ready to have a little fun with her friends. Get her routine right back into its happy little rut.

  *

  Luke ruffled his hand through his sandy-brown hair with an un-gloved hand, the index finger of the thick material dangling from his mouth as he looked up at the gorgeous wood and glass café in front of him. His footwear was now as much use as a chocolate fireguard, and his feet felt like blocks of ice. Or more like concrete, truth be told. He couldn’t feel anything below the waist, so even seeing his boot-clad feet still attached to his legs gave him a flooding sense of relief. Squinting against the bright glare of the snow, he took off his black-rimmed glasses and peered once more at the screen on the phone in his frozen hand. This was the place, and it looked even better than the pictures he’d been poring over in the taxi. This was something that he was discovering more and more in recent days. Luke’s learning curve was not really a curve, but rather more of a vertical incline. He still had nausea from the last-minute white-knuckle plane dash across the world. He wasn’t exactly an experienced flyer, in fact, he’d never really been anywhere before this. Work had always offered him the opportunity to travel, see more of the world, but he’d never pulled the trigger. He’d been busy enough staying close to home.

  His phone hadn’t stopped bonging at him since he’d landed either. His clients were in some kind of meltdown, it seemed, and standing there, he could jolly well relate to how they felt. He felt like he could throw up or pass out, or an eye-boggling combination of the two. Right now, he didn’t just wish for better boots, he wished for sparkly re
d shoes. Christ, he would bang those things together three times before anyone could even utter the word wimp. No wonder his dad hadn’t wanted him around. Luke had called again the second he landed but the news was still the same.

  He’s comfortable. No, he’s not talking yet. No, he still doesn’t want to speak to you.

  He sighed to himself, putting his glove back on and heading for the entrance. He wouldn’t have the heels anyway. If this was Oz, he’d have the paws of a cowardly lion. Following some crazy dream his parents had before he was born was uncharacteristic, sure, he was crapping his pants at the prospect of actually following it through. But the memory of watching his old man in that hospital bed spurred him on, Luke could see in his withdrawn expression that he had given up on life, and now it was his responsibility to show his dad that he still had something to live for.

  Standing right outside the entrance to the café, he gathered himself, taking a breath.

  ‘Well, old man,’ he muttered. ‘Here goes nothing.’

  He grappled to open the door with his numb, thick, sausage-like gloved fingers, before yanking it open and promptly pitching forward. He ended up hanging half in, half out, dangling there like a puppet with a string caught. Pulling his glove free of the thick metallic door handle, he straightened himself up and stepped over the threshold. Looking around, it seemed for once his rather less than elegant entrance had been missed. No one was looking, and that left him free to let his own eyes roam.

  What struck him immediately was the smell of the place. His friend had told him about the food, but it wasn’t the same as inhaling it firsthand. A metaphor for his life up to that point, he supposed. The warm air enveloped him, stopping his body from shaking quite as vigorously as before, and drugging him into feeling sugary-safe. He found himself stopping dead in the doorway, closing his eyes and taking a deep, long sniff of the heavenly scent into his lungs. Coffee, warm air, and baked goods. Wafts of fruit flavours that made his mouth water. He hadn’t exactly been fine dining lately, and his stomach had started to revolt against him. He just wanted a moment to just be here, to relish in the fact that, he alone, took this trip an—

  ‘Are you going to order, or just stand there gawping all day?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Did you ski into a tree or something? The medical centre is back down there.’ The woman speaking to him was standing behind the corner, hands on her hips. She looked familiar somehow, but he couldn’t quite place the deep brown eyes and raised eyebrows. She was dressed in black, and it made her look a little scary. Witchy even. Hot witch. More Morticia Addams than hag, but still.

  A woman came into the café, walking around him after a moment of confusion and smiling at the witch. Err, woman.

  ‘Hot chocolate and a croissant please, and do you have any apple squares?’ The customer gave her order with a big smile, and the woman behind the counter gave Luke another long look and got to work on the order. The customer, all long blonde hair in a tight pink skiing outfit, started chatting away.

  ‘Been fun on the slopes today, you ever get out there?’

  The woman behind the counter gave a little snort. ‘Nah, not my thing.’ Luke noticed a name tag, pink with black lettering. REBECCA.

  ‘Oh, well that’s a shame. You’re missing out.’

  Rebecca passed over her order with a smile.

  ‘I’m really not, but thanks. Have a good day now, and take our card.’ She beamed at the blonde, passing over a black and pink piece of card. ‘We’d love to see you again.’

  The blonde opened her mouth to say something, but then smiled back, taking the card.

  ‘These smell amazing, I will. Thanks!’

  She twirled around, almost knocking into Luke, who jumped out of the way like a dancing monkey. He whirled the whole way around like a carousel, stopping in front of Rebecca as the woman opened the door and headed out into the great outdoors. The blast of icy air she brought with her was enough to make his leg muscles contract, till he was bent like a pretzel in front of the counter. He was still trying to slap some heat back into his body when Rebecca spoke again.

  ‘Look, can I help you?’ She leaned closer, till they were at eye level. ‘I feel like you just fell out of a plane.’ Looking at his suitcase behind him, abandoned at one side, and his jerky body, she narrowed her eyes. ‘Or a spaceship. Where are you booked in?’

  He knew he was gawping at her again, but he couldn’t find his words.

  ‘Hello? Do you need assistance?’ She was openly staring at him now. Luke, speak mate. She was tapping her foot and looking around the café nervously.

  ‘Are you always so … edgy?’

  Her head snapped back a little, and he shrank his own head back into the comfort of his body. Worked for tortoises.

  ‘Edgy?’ She echoed. He opened half an eye out of his shell, and she was still glaring at him. ‘Are you always so articulate with your words, or is it just the mountain air inspiring you?’

  Luke cleared his throat, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. That’s it. Insult her and rock the nerd look. Great start, Lukey boy. ‘Sorry, I’m not explaining myself very well, am I? I’m here about a room.’

  *

  Dammit. Such a shame that people don’t research their trips properly before swiping the plastic at the airport. He had left it far too late, everything would be booked up well in advance. Even the townsfolk who rented rooms out would be taken by now.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know of any spare rooms. You’ll be hard pressed to find accommodation anywhere now. Packages are usually the way to go.’ He shivered, just at that moment, and her eyes jumped to his chest area. He didn’t look scruffy as such. A little harassed and scatty maybe. His clothes were nice. He had a designer jumper on, but it was far too thin for the resort’s weather. He looked as though he’d walked onto the wrong plane and just never realised. He looked a little lost. The guy must be freezing, she thought to herself. She felt a little bad that she’d been short with him, but she didn’t take kindly to people hanging around her like that. It was then she realised he was speaking again, and she didn’t like what she heard.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she said, dumbly. ‘Did you say you were staying round here? Where?’

  A couple walked in at that moment, heading straight for one of the empty tables. Rebecca nodded distractedly at him, before passing another table a menu and grabbing her pad. Taking the couple’s orders quickly, she headed back to the counter to get it ready. Luke gave her an ‘I’ll let you get on’ look and took a seat near the counter. The man of the party complimented her on the café, and she beamed with pride. She did love the place. She would never deny that.

  She got to work, chatting to the customers, making sure the tables were happy, checking on her baking, but all the while she found herself peeking at one particular new face. He looked at odds with the landscape she was used to. He looked like he was having some sort of crisis for one. His hair was dishevelled and he was tapping away at his phone, swiping screens on his iPad, and stuffing bits of paper back into his bag, which was filled with little notes. She smiled to herself, thinking that he looked a bit like a student about to take his final exams on five hours’ sleep and a ton of energy drinks. Still studying the menu, taking his time, he placed his fingers near his chin, and she noticed the light stubble running across it. As he was reading the list of dishes for the twentieth time, the glasses on his nose steamed up. He needed little wipers for his Clark Kents. Rebecca found herself wondering what the guy’s deal was, but that wasn’t part of her day. She had a plan, and helping weirdos wasn’t one of them. Distracting herself, she gave a couple their orders, and started to clean the empty tables on her way back, stacking the dishes in the dishwasher ready to go. After the weird morning with her mother, she needed the guy to leave so she could switch her brain off once more. Thinking too much about things was never good.

  ‘Nice place, it smells amazing walking in here.’

  He was looking right at her
now.

  ‘Thanks. It’s not mine actually. My friend Hans owns it, I’m just the live-in manager.’ She turned her back to him to clean a tabletop, hoping he would get the message and return to the note-strewn workspace he was currently creating in her sacred, neat café.

  ‘Well, it’s nice,’ he added, looking at her intently now. ‘Hans, eh?’

  Rebecca nodded at him. ‘Yep, he’s the boss. You want anything?’ She raised the order pad, tapping on it with her pen in a determined manner. She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes on her pad.

  ‘I’ll just have an Americano for now. I think I need to thaw out a little before I get some food. I didn’t mean the edgy comment, by the way. I just meant that you had a bit of an edge to you.’ He continued the conversation like they’d never missed a beat, and it was then that she realised what had been irking her so much. He was really annoying, sure but the thing that irked her was that she wanted to know more about him.

  She passed him his coffee, taking the money and trying not to react as his hand brushed hers. She felt a push and pull towards him that was getting a little bit weird now. She wished he had a label, like a trinket on a shelf. She wanted to find out more about him, what his deal was, but she also wanted him to go away and never return so she could get on with her day. Hans would be here later, and she had stuff to do. He’d taken a high seat at the counter, taking his satchel type bag off the seat next to him and taking out a newspaper. Great, he’s really staying. Close too. Shurrup, Rebecca. He’s a person, remember? A customer. Feeling like she needed a distraction, Rebecca returned to her baking. She was soon back to her old self, though her eyes were a little busier than usual. Mr Scruffy, as she had now nicknamed him in her head, was reading the paper, she was doing her thing, and the other café-goers were all happy in their own little caffeinated bubbles. After looking at the perfect creations on her tray, she loaded them into the oven and started to clean up again to set up for the next rush.