Five Ladies Go Skiing

by Karen Aldous

  ‘No. Deary me. Are you ready in there, Cath?’ Angie shouted.

  Ginny got a woolly hat from her wardrobe that matched her sweater and peered across the landing and then mouthed back to us. ‘She’s on the phone.’

  Ten minutes later, parched but reluctant to open more wine and tummies rumbling for food, we climbed the icy path up to the road and along and towards the square we needed to cross to La Poste, the restaurant I ate at last night. Ginny walked beside me whilst the others followed.

  Ginny looked up at the navy sky. ‘So pretty here, isn’t it? Look, a full moon. Lots of stars. And over there, the long shadows of the tall trees on the snow.’

  I craned my neck to see, following the moonlight then immediately above us saw the hundreds of tiny twinkling stars.

  ‘Kim, look there, what are those lights? They’re moving,’ she said, pointing to the middle of the mountains.

  ‘Oh yes, they are moving. No idea. Mountain ghosts?’ It came out of my mouth before my brain engaged.

  Ginny pursed her lips. ‘Hmm. You never know. Maybe it’s Mike driving up and down furious that I’m skiing.’

  ‘No. What – social animal Mike? Don’t be silly. He’d want you to be out enjoying life. Wouldn’t you, if it was the other way around?’

  Ginny twisted her mouth, pausing the conversation. ‘Of course I would. Maybe he’s having a bad day up there.’

  We sniggered but I could see Ginny’s eyes glistening. I patted her arm. ‘Sorry, Gin, I hope it’s not upsetting you.’

  She sniffed. ‘No, not at all, not upset, it’s just I get little bursts of sadness that well me up suddenly. It happens now and again.’

  We were here to cheer her up, but it was good she was opening up. Since she had stayed with me in Australia, where she had space and a chance to let out her grief and tears, she hadn’t given much emotion away over the telephone. ‘Do you still get angry or emotional – that it happened to you and Mike, I mean?’

  I watched her as she stared down at the frosty pavement. ‘I curse him all the time for leaving me on my own. Things – just simple things we used to do – like walks in the park, through the trees, driving down to the coast for lunch, jumping on a train to London to the theatre. I miss them. I was thinking the other day, when I was Christmas shopping. He used to love picking out the kiddie presents. He had a knack for knowing what they’d like.’

  I put my arm around her, squeezing her into my chest as we walked. ‘Oh, my beautiful friend, my amazing Pommie flower, you don’t know how much I’d love to be around to help you. I would be angry too.’

  I wanted to cry. How I yearned to be able to help her through all this. She had changed my life for the better and I wanted so much to repay her.

  Ginny kissed my cheek. ‘I’m going to be fine, really. It’s just that sixty-one was way too young for him to go. I was bitter because he was a healthy, fit man with children and grandchildren and he did nothing particularly indulgent like smoking, taking drugs or even drinking that much. Beer with the boys a few days a week. A beer before dinner and wine with dinner. Not excessive, is it? I know he wasn’t an angel, but he didn’t deserve cancer.’

  I threaded my arm through hers. ‘I know, chook, such a waste. So unfair, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is. I miss him terribly,’ Ginny said softly, then she straightened her back and lifted her chin. ‘But I’ll get there. I am getting there. Especially with you lovely Flowers spoiling me. Mike would appreciate the support you’ve all given me too. And how much you all care. As I do.’

  ‘He was awesome,’ I said, leaning against her, and snuggling close. Ginny was right, he would be demonstrably thankful. He loved nothing better than to rally everyone together in or out of crisis. Mike was the golden boy. Good-looking, athletic, clever, and one of those people who could strike up a conversation with anyone and win their respect. He reminded me of Don Johnson playing ‘Sonny’ in Miami Vice – particularly in the summer months when his skin browned and the sun splashed his hair with honey tones. I could understand why my younger sister Paula had a crush on him. After all, we probably all had a crush on him really. But he only ever had eyes for Ginny.

  When he was sixteen – and Ginny, Lou, Cathy and I were fourteen – I remember Paula, barely pubescent, just twelve, blabbering because Mike had asked Ginny out on a date. Infatuation was putting it mildly. She would hang around outside Mitcham’s, our local youth club, a couple of nights a week, then monthly at one of the school discos we all went to, usually with her friend Lorna. The pair of them resembled clowns, made up in frosted powder blue eye shadow, clumpy mascara, slapped-on rouge, in their mini-skirts, like a pair of groupies stalking a rock god. It was highly embarrassing. I wanted to disown her as much then as I do now.

  I found myself repeatedly apologising to Mike and Ginny. Fortunately for me, they tolerated my silly sister. But even when Mike, along with most of us, told her she was wasting her time, our words fell on deaf ears. She didn’t understand humiliation. Getting his attention was enough for her. He was very patient, considering. As was Ginny.

  * * *

  As soon as Ginny and I walked into the restaurant, we were greeted by a wave from Stefano, the owner who must have recognised me.

  ‘Bonsoir, Stefano.’ I waved back and looked around the room. It was heaving. The waiters rushing back and forth.

  Ginny shrugged beside me. ‘Will we get a table here?’ she asked, reading my thoughts. ‘Such a lovely place.’ Her gaze circled the room. ‘It’s just how I imagined an Alpine restaurant.’

  Ginny was right: it had a traditional authenticity that brought a warmth and charm to its big exterior structure. Wood everywhere with cottage-style windows, which although double-glazed, blended in as you would imagine the originals had done. They were dressed in tied-back red check curtains and café nets. On the sills were modern pewter figurines of climbers or skiers, whilst gracing the walls were framed photographs of bygone years, as well as of visitors to the restaurant and Stefano’s expeditions. And the silky worn flagstone floor added to its history and solidity, bearing the weight of built-in wooden benches and long banquet tables now filled with Savoyard delights for its hungry diners.

  ‘Bonsoir, ladies.’ Stefano came towards us. ‘I have table in ten minutes.’ He pointed to the only circular table, which nestled comfortably in the front corner. ‘Come.’ He raised his arm as if he was going for a swim, beckoning us to follow. As we reached one side of the bar, he called to his barman who promptly supplied him with a bottle of red wine and Stefano took a corkscrew from his pocket, popped the bottle open and placed it on a very small table close to the bar. ‘On the house. I get glasses,’ he said, racing back to the bar and at the same time giving a friendly wave to a group leaving a side entrance.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ Lou said suddenly, scuffling to stand on the other side of me and ducking to make her taller frame smaller.

  Stefano brushed between us with five small wineglasses clutched between his fingers and, twisting his hand, he placed them steadily on the table. ‘Enjoy the Gamay. I call you soon,’ he said, dashing off.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked Lou, curious.

  She squinted her eyes and moved her head side to side. ‘Oh, I’m not sure, no. I thought it was someone … don’t worry, gone anyway.’

  Of course, I was curious. Why would she try to hide from someone? My attention was soon diverted as Cathy launched a glass into my hand.

  Cathy

  Lou was acting strange, but I didn’t feel in the right frame of mind to ask. I was still fuming. I had urged the others to walk on ahead so that they couldn’t hear my conversation with Anthony. He was being obnoxious, and he’d obviously been drinking and was in a loudly argumentative mood. I had hoped he would ring once or twice maybe in the middle of the week, since I had texted him to let him know we had arrived safely, but no. And he wasn’t just fussing and making sure I was comfortable – he wanted to know what we were doing, so I had spent the ten minutes itemising o
ur plans, which hadn’t placated him. It had done the opposite, in fact.

  ‘Please don’t drink too much,’ he slurred in my ear. ‘I expect there are a lot of guys out there in groups, away from their wives and families.’

  I sighed again steeling my patience. ‘I expect there are, love, but I’m here with the girls, so don’t worry. We are only eating. Besides, there aren’t going to be too many men looking to chat up sixty-year-old women.’

  ‘Men are men, Cath. They’ll prey on anything that …’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Anthony, you’re beginning to sound like some possessive teenager. Now then. That’s enough. I won’t speak to you if you’re going to behave like a child.’ I ground my teeth hoping Lou and Angie hadn’t heard me raise my voice. His tone was terribly embarrassing. His suggestion, however, got me wondering. ‘And anyway, how often have you jollied off to far-flung places? Is it what you would do? Are you suggesting you prey on women?’ I asked, clawing my fingers into my neck.

  ‘Don’t be daft, Cath, of course not. I’ve watched men though. I know what they’re like.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Well, let me assure you, I’ll jolly well stay clear of any letches. Now, I’m almost at the restaurant. Stop worrying and remember why I’m here. I’ll call you if I have any concerns, OK? Look after yourself, darling.’ I fumbled for the button quick. I wanted him to leave me in peace. Why was it always about him? I never pestered him when he was away.

  Furious with him, I upped my pace to catch up with the girls. Yes, I expected him to call me to let me know he had arrived safely when he went away, but I trusted him, always. We were lucky that our bond remained close despite not having children. And even when us Flowers had been away before, say Greece, which was our favourite, ‘Shirley Valentine’ holiday we called it – minus the gorgeous Costas of course – Anthony always seemed fine. He had never acted like this, calling me and verbalising his insecurities. And, all the years we’ve been ballroom dancing together, a pastime we stumbled across whilst our friends stayed home caring for their children, there were times when we were instructed to tango, waltz or rumba with another partner and I had never known Anthony to show signs of jealousy.

  I failed to understand why I was feeling guilty. He understood the purpose of the week was to concentrate my time on Ginny, and the skiing. He knows I’m worried about them both, but he hasn’t even asked. Not that there was much to tell him yet, but I would have thought that would be his first concern.

  I couldn’t admit it to the Flowers, but I’d been petrified since day one. It was only when our darling Angie promised to get us physically and mentally prepared that I thought: Cathy Golding, you can do this! A bloody hard slog, but I managed, and no one was more surprised than me when I eventually conquered the dry slope. It was a truth universally acknowledged among us Flowers, that sport had never been my forte! ‘Floppy Doll,’ Ginny and Lou used to call me! I didn’t mind.

  I knew five lessons on the dry slope would never prepare me for ice. Ice was enemy number one! Ever since I slipped in the playground when I was about ten and cracked my head open, I’ve feared ice. Knocking myself unconscious and being rushed to hospital was a huge drama and not one I would want to relive. Just walking in the resort and down that chalet path sent the adrenaline pumping, but I managed to hold it together – not that Anthony is bothered.

  Wasn’t it ridiculous that we couldn’t admit our weaknesses to anyone, partners included? These past few months with Anthony, if I was honest, I couldn’t wait to get away from him. It sounded dreadful, but I was at a loss as to what to do. I loved him dearly, but I couldn’t honestly say that I liked him. God forgive! But I couldn’t admit that to him. Neither could I admit it to my friends. I would feel terribly disloyal to Anthony and he wouldn’t want anyone to interfere in our marriage.

  I supposed I should confront him with it. It couldn’t continue. At least I had a husband alive to confront. Poor Ginny didn’t even have Mike’s shoulder to cry on when she was made redundant. Opening up about her redundancy earlier was a major step forward for her. Usually she’d just tell you what she was doing, rarely how she was feeling. You would think people coped better as they got older, but it seemed new challenges would spring up and surprise you. Anthony and ice were currently mine!

  Reaching La Poste, lagging a little behind the girls, I was ready to scream and would have hugged that Stefano guy, if he had stayed still long enough, for getting us the wine so fast. That first glass lasted me all of two seconds. I handed the girls theirs and refilled mine.

  Lou gave a roar as I put the bottle on the small table and spun round. ‘Steady on, ol’ girl,’ she said. ‘Is Anthony OK?’

  ‘Yes, fine, darling,’ I lied. Clearly she knew who I was talking to. ‘How’s Terry?’

  ‘Ditto, when I left anyway. Glad to be rid of me I think. Ha!’ she sniggered. Kim sidled up to us as Lou continued. ‘No, he’s got his returns he’s focusing on this week and a meeting with the architects. No doubt he’ll look at the weather and organise a round or two of golf.’

  I smiled. ‘Good. At least he’s keeping busy.’ I glanced at Kim, noticing the beautiful colour of her pink lipstick and how it suited her. ‘How was Will when you left?’

  ‘Oh, ace! Thanks.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘In fact, I don’t know why I’m saying that. He was ironing before he dropped me to the airport, which is a rare sight.’

  Lou almost choked on her wine. ‘Good on him. And you, sweetie. You’ve got him well trained. Terry wouldn’t know an ironing board if it hit him in the face.’

  Laughing, Kim shook her head. ‘Aww no, he’s working this week, so staying organised I expect. Our cleaner normally does it but she’s on holidays. What about Ant?’

  ‘I was just saying to Lou, he’s fine. A bit lost but he has his sudoku and his Netflix. Seems to enjoy watching series to reading books at the moment.’

  ‘I think men prefer TV,’ Lou replied, playing with long navy beads. ‘I can’t remember the last time Terry read a book.’

  Kim sipped more wine. ‘If they’re anything like Will nowadays, they just want to get home and switch off from work. They forget our feet are tired too.’

  ‘Luckily for me, Anthony insists on treating me like a princess still, keeping me fed and watered all day while I write,’ I stated with an air of satisfaction.

  ‘Sounds a dream!’ Kim swooned wiping her brow with her hand. ‘I wish Will would retire, hon.’

  I forced a smile. Oh, I was such a fraud. It wasn’t particularly comforting to hear my friends’ husbands were happy working when I knew Anthony was idle and bored. I was betraying myself. Maybe he was a bit hasty giving up his business so soon. Retirement doesn’t suit everybody. Why couldn’t I just tell my friends the truth?

  I breathed a sigh of relief seeing Stefano return to us.

  ‘I now have table, ladies,’ he said swiping off beads of sweat from his forehead.

  Ginny

  I couldn’t stop smiling as we waded behind Stefano through the sea of tables back to the front corner of the restaurant on the one round table. The energy from the room and its diners was bubbling through me. And if this was what après-ski was all about, I would return without the skis.

  As soon as we were seated, Stefano took our drink order, which was a cool bottle of bubbly in keeping with the mood.

  ‘Can we see the menu?’ I asked, licking my lips at the delicious thought of fondue or tartiflette, which been on my mind all day.

  ‘Ladies,’ Stefano said in his broken Italian. ‘I will do for you, the best menu for the best price.’

  We Flowers turned to one another with a shrug and a giggle. ‘OK, when in Switzerland …’ I said scanning my friends for any disapproval. ‘We have two pescatarians though,’ I told him, knowing Cathy and Angie would balk if they saw an ounce of animal flesh on their plates.

  ‘Is OK, fish?’ asked the enthusiastic grey-haired Stefano.

  Angie and Cathy nodded. ‘Yes.’


  ‘Is good.’ He waved and was gone.

  Minutes later, an older waiter who introduced himself as Jean-Bernard placed a bucket with the bottle of Champagne sunk into ice.

  Stefano was close behind with flutes. ‘Ladies, it is my pleasure to invite you to see kitchen and chef.’

  We jumped up, thrilled and honoured to be asked, and waded to the back of the room again following behind Stefano. We passed the little table and the bar, and then through a doorway of streaming chains. On entering, I was amazed at the space. It was filled with stainless steel benches, large sinks, ovens, gas-burning stoves being attended by young men in lengthy white aprons and chef hats; then I spotted a rosy-cheeked, portly-bellied man in the same attire but also wearing a hearty broad grin.

  Stefano walked us over to meet Francesco, his Italian chef. Poor man – like Stefano he was beaded in sweat as he shook all our hands. Stefano reported their story. Thirty-seven years ago, he and Francesco came from the same mountain village in northern Italy, fired with passion for food, seeking a good opportunity. With his savings, Stefano bought the hotel with the restaurant and separate bar beneath and together they formed their business and raised families here. Pride shone in their faces as they introduced their staff and the food being prepared and we thanked each of them for the wonderful welcoming tour.

  ‘What a lovely story,’ Kim said as we got back to our table and edged around the round bench back to our places.

  ‘They certainly know how to make you feel welcome,’ I said as a waiter poured our bubbly into flutes, and as soon as they all were all filled, I raised my flute. ‘And you, my beautiful Flowers, have certainly put heart and soul into this trip, making me feel so cherished. So, a thank you from the bottom of my heart, and a toast to you all for being such amazing friends. Santé!’ I chinked all their flutes.

  ‘Santé,’ they echoed, with beaming smiles, before thirstily swallowing it down.