by Lucy Knott
‘Am I dreaming?’ she asks sleepily, putting her hands on my shoulders and leaning down to kiss my dew-dampened hair when she reaches the table. Both my parents chuckle. Dad takes a seat and Mum goes to check on a batch of cookies still baking.
‘No, you’re very much awake,’ I reply, as my eyes wander over the decorations cluttering the table. I don’t know where to start. I pick up a Santa and resist the urge to take a bite out of him before I decorate him. It proves difficult, as he smells of cardamom and nutmeg.
‘This place smells like heaven,’ Madi announces as she takes a seat next to me. She picks up a star-shaped cookie and I watch as it hovers dangerously close to her plump lips before finding its way to her plate. It’s my turn to chuckle. I scoop up a handful of silver balls to the line the rim of Santa’s hat and get to it.
‘Last Christmas’ by Wham! hums from the stereo. My mum joins us at the table with a pot of tea and I lose myself to the rainbow display of mouth-watering treats spread out before me on the table and the laughter and love that surround it. I’m transported back to those early years in school when it would be a thrill to hear the teacher say that we would be decorating biscuits for a bun sale. The teacher would bring out the icing sugar, bowls and spoons and the typical British decorations that were strawberry laces and dolly mixtures and I would get lost in the creativity that sprouted when giving a kid rich tea biscuits and their own bowl of sticky icing.
I’d like to think my decorating style has a little more finesse now, than simply seeing how many colourful dolly mixtures would fit on to one rich tea.
Three hours later I’m sprawled across the L-shaped couch, Madi’s head resting on my thighs and crumbs littering my woolly jumper. The Holiday is playing on the TV and the log fire is still ablaze, its woodsy smell keeping not just the room warm but my heart too.
‘I think we needed this,’ Madi notes.
I nod in agreement. I’ve eaten too many cookies – one of each design, and there were five in total – to make a more enthusiastic gesture.
‘It’s nice to appreciate the magic of the real world, when we spend so much time creating imaginary ones,’ she adds.
I smile politely though my eyebrows furrow slightly as I take in Madi’s words. I hadn’t thought about it that way before, not really. I often used my real life as inspiration for my stories, sure I used a whole lot of imagination too, but Scott was the fairy tale that made its way into many of the scenes that I injected into scripts. But sitting here with Madi, my mum having created the most magical morning, I realize Madi is right: this isn’t for a script, it isn’t material for my next film, it is life.
There is magic in life that doesn’t require photos or shares on Twitter to make it real. It doesn’t need to be made into a film where the not quite so perfect bits, the burnt biscuits and the sloppy icing, are edited out to make it more of an ideal fairy tale; it is a real fairy tale and it isn’t happening behind the lens of a camera only when someone yells action.
I am in charge of writing my own story and who said it couldn’t be a fairy tale? I guffaw a little at my last thought. OK, so my current situation doesn’t scream fairy tale, but who said fairy tales couldn’t have lumps in the snow? My stories so far have come from me unconsciously going about life. I was happy, I was in love and I was jotting it down along the way, editing out the bad bits, fast-forwarding the rough parts and elaborating on the good to make the perfect rom-com. What happens if I stop, take a step back and consciously pick up my pen to purposefully make the moments happen; if I go after the story, squeezing the most out of life and love every day instead?
‘What’s tickled you, Harp?’ Madi asks, tilting her head up at me. Her blue eyes shimmer from an organic and natural sugar candy cane high.
‘You’re right,’ I say.
‘Go on.’ She smiles.
‘I’ve been documenting my life, being inspired by things that have happened, but not really controlling what’s happening to me. What happens if I take the lead and make stuff happen? If I write it before it happens so to speak?’ Madi sits up and my legs instantly tingle with pins and needles. ‘Write the life I want to lead, and I don’t mean literally write it, I mean live it.’
‘I like the sound of that, babe. Oh, the lives we lead between the pages. I’m pretty sure my last leading lady got more action in two pages than I have in the last two years.’ She snickers, then her eyelids droop and she gives me an apologetic look at her choice of words.
I turn my attention back to the TV just as Kate Winslet tells Jasper where to go and I suddenly feel full of gusto, which I’m thinking is mostly false bravado coming from the icing sugar and cookies that I have consumed, but I’m running with it nonetheless. The little old man is right: it’s about time I stop being the best friend to the woman in my scripts and start being the leading lady in my own damn life.
I have shed too many tears in the last year. I am running dry. I’ve been allowing Scott and his girlfriend to make me feel like less than nothing, like I didn’t matter, like rubbish they can just toss aside. Colorado has given me nothing but beauty in the past three days alone and I want to soak up every drop, not for the big screen but for me.
‘Get ready, I have an idea,’ Madi announces, springing up from the settee. ‘Come on, chop chop, wrap up warm. Go.’ She shoos me away, waving in the direction of my room as I catch her bounding over to my dad and whispering something in his ear. I can’t read her lips, so I have no idea what to prepare for. After all those biscuits, I’m not sure I’m up to more than sitting on the couch consuming Christmas movies for the afternoon. I could be a leading lady from the couch, right? Madi catches me snooping.
‘Oi, go get ready, Harp,’ she shouts with a mock stern voice. What was I saying earlier about trusting my best friend?
*
When we get outside, the afternoon sky is a vibrant icy blue blending with feathery fluffy whites. I’ve got several layers on under my new thick snow jacket, as advised by Mads. The air is crisp and threatening snow flurries. I’m not quite sure what the plans are for the afternoon other than leaving my worries in my bed, my work brain at the house and to do what Madi tells me to do.
So far, so good. Kind of. My script is in dire need of my attention, but I still can’t bring myself to confess that to Madi. I just have to keep my worries to myself so Madi can have some fun and then I promise myself I’ll get it done.
I am loving my new yellow snow jacket that Mum and Dad surprised me with. I was able to open it early due to them conspiring against me with Madi about today’s plans and saying that we would need them. They bought one for Madi too but in a very retro pink. It suited Madi to a T.
I was doing what I was told and felt cheerful as a ball of sunshine in my new attire, plus it was keeping the cold at bay, and I may have gobbled up another Santa as I left the house; so wins all round this morning, as long as I didn’t think about my script.
We are trekking up the icy path, heading in the same direction as the previous day but suddenly we take a detour as we get closer to Main Street. I can’t see much up ahead other than mountains, a zip line, a ski lift and the occasional log cabin.
‘What are we doing, Mads? Where are we going?’ I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. I’m not even sure if she can hear me with the breeze picking up the higher up the mountain we climb. She keeps walking and I keep following behind. My thighs are starting to burn with all the giant steps in and out of the deep snow, but my own buttocks could do with the exercise. I’ve not been sticking to my morning yoga since my marriage took a downward dog.
‘We’re nearly there,’ Madi yells, turning back to check if I’m keeping up. I am … barely.
The cabin that had looked to be the home of a small gingerbread man five minutes ago now looms large as we step up to it. It wasn’t the tiny hut I had thought it to be but a giant lodge consisting of a café, a shop and what looks to be a reception area. I gulp as it dawns on me what the plan for the afternoon is.
I wonder how quickly I can roll down the mountain before Madi notices I’ve gone. I haven’t even realized that I am mumbling to myself and shaking my head until we reach the automatic sliding doors and Madi is looking over at me with a huge grin on her face and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She enthusiastically loops her arms through mine and leads me through the doors, sealing my fate.
Inside the wooden lodge is a stunning Christmas tree decorated with gold and silver baubles and red bells that twinkle in the light from the glowing fire that is burning next to it. There is a white angel nestled on the top and ornaments shaped liked crackers, presents and miniature skiers dangling from each branch. It’s charming and distracts me from plotting my escape route.
In front of the fire is an inviting vintage sofa. I could most certainly rest up here and hang back in this cosy nook while Madi hits the slopes and I could finish my script without her knowing.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Madi informs me following my gaze to the comfy plush cushions. The smell of eggnog hits my nostrils. It’s the perfect office for my writing brain to curl up in and write the day away. But I’m not supposed to be thinking about writing and I can’t let Madi know I lied to her about my edits. I’ve still got time; I will get it done. I’m mentally working out the hours that I will need to complete it; coming up with a timeline in my head when Madi speaks again.
‘Get your head out of script writing. What did you just say about living life? You’re done for the holidays; we’re having a break, Harp, and we’re already booked in. There’s a homemade Baileys hot chocolate in it for you at the end.’ Madi lifts one of her arched eyebrows suggestively.
I can’t help but smile, despite my half-hearted ‘uh’ of protest. She got me with the bribe of her hot chocolate. Madi and I aren’t huge drinkers, but a drop of Baileys in her hot chocolate gives it that extra luxurious touch.
‘Madi and Harper?’ a voice calls out from behind us, making me jump. We both swivel around on the spot and are greeted by a tall, drop-dead gorgeous woman, with piercing blue eyes to rival Madi’s. She reaches us and we both choke out a hello. Upon closer inspection she is even more beautiful, wearing very little to no make-up. Her cheeks are flushed red from the cold and she has a pearly white smile.
‘How you doing, ladies? I’m Hayley. So, is this your first time snowboarding?’ the goddess asks. I blink as the sudden realization of what Madi has signed me up for hits me hard in the chest. I nudge Madi, who seems as much in awe of this cool being in front of us as I am, and she lets out a laugh. I do not.
Hayley looks at me and offers a sweet smile. The anxiety is clearly etched on my face and she can probably smell the fear. Gusto, Harper. Leading lady, Harper. I remind myself.
‘Stick with me and you’ll be fine,’ she says, waving her arm for us to follow her. ‘Your lesson starts in ten minutes and we have an hour,’ she adds, tapping her clipboard with a pen. ‘First things first, we need to get you geared up.’
I offer a hesitant nod back while Madi is still sniggering to the side of me. When I glare at her, her face falls serious. I’m keeping one eye on Hayley so we don’t get lost, and one eye on Madi as she opens her mouth.
‘You’ve wanted to try snowboarding for the longest time, Harp. Now’s your chance and I’ve got your back. I promise,’ Madi says, giving me a squeeze around the shoulder after having composed herself, finally.
‘You wouldn’t happen to be Jerry’s kid from Sugar Magnolia would you?’ Hayley asks, referring to my mum and dad’s shop, as she starts placing helmets and goggles on the counter before us.
‘I would be, yes,’ I say softly, concentrating on my breathing. Madi is right. I have always wanted to try my hand at snowboarding, but I would have preferred the option of doing it without the possibility of ten Santas making a reappearance.
‘This should be second nature to you then, kid, your dad’s a natural,’ Hayley adds with a wink. Of course my dad is a natural. He’s been skateboarding since he could walk. That talent of his, however, did not get passed down to his only daughter. I hold back this information from Hayley as she is looking at me expectantly like she is excited to see what I am capable of.
I send out a silent prayer to the universe that maybe somehow, on snow, I’ll get the hang of it much better. At the same time I thank the universe that at least I am wearing leggings so there is a good chance that this time if I fall trying to come off a ramp, I won’t flash the skate park, or in this case ski resort, my knickers; you couldn’t get me out of my beloved lace long skirts when I was a teen, even when I was on a board. I learnt my lesson.
Chapter 8
There is no denying that I don’t quite take to the snow like my dad and my hopes of somehow being better at snowboarding than skateboarding are dashed pretty quickly. I have landed on my arse more times than I care to count since I stepped onto the slope. The bruises on my bum cheeks that tingle and pulse each time I move give me a good idea. The apple has very clearly fallen miles away from the tree – which Hayley notes. At this point all I can do is laugh as I take my umpteenth tumble.
By now I’m not so scared of the fall and am loosening up. I dare say, I am having fun. Madi can currently take the title of my father’s honorary daughter as she is getting the hang of snowboarding a lot faster than I am.
‘Remember, bend your knees and follow the flow of the board,’ Hayley repeats, sounding very like my mother and her ‘follow the flow of the universe’ speech, but sterner and bolder. She helps me up to my feet and doesn’t let go of my shoulders until I’m steady on my feet. The frosty wind has frozen my eyelashes at this point. I’m afraid I’m going to see icicles falling from them, but adrenaline is coursing through my bones. When Hayley lets go, I follow the groove of the snow, bending my knees into the board. I get a good three metres before inevitably face-planting the snow again.
Madi and Hayley both come floating over to me, as teenagers and adults alike swoop down the mountain with ease. I swear I can see a few infants too, but I hastily look away before my self-confidence takes any more of a beating.
Madi and Hayley are doubled over laughing at my expense. Madi collapses on top of me, her board getting tangled up in mine as she’s snorting between gasps of air. That last fall had been a doozy.
‘You guys should come and ride with me and my girls. You could do with some more practice and I’m afraid your hour is done,’ Hayley says, her American accent thick and velvety. She gives me a teasing smirk. She looks like a badass angel with the light of the sun casting a halo glow around her helmet.
I roll my eyes at her and shake my head, mock offended, then shove Madi off me with difficulty.
‘Is that a challenge?’ I ask, accepting Hayley’s helping hand up.
‘It most certainly is,’ she replies. I’m in love with this woman’s no-nonsense attitude and sweet demeanour, and only a touch jealous of her snowboarding skills – and I’ve only known her an hour. She pulls me to my feet, and I wobble. She grips hold of me tight with one hand while helping Madi to her feet with the other and now I’m envious of her strength – hoisting two grown women up out of the snow.
Once Madi is standing, Hayley bends down to unbuckle my boots and recommends I walk, pointing in the direction of where we are heading. Madi manages to hold in the fit of giggles I know are bursting at her seams and Hayley shoots off down the slope smoothly, sliding into the flow of other skiers and snowboarders speeding down the mountain. We’re both watching her go; it’s hard not to watch this woman. She’s like Wonder Woman on snow.
We eventually peel our eyes away and Madi leans over and unbuckles her own boots.
‘Are you not going to go with Hayley?’ I query as I pick up my board and start walking. Madi follows suit.
‘I admit, I’d follow that woman anywhere but the thought of you disappearing into a snowbank never to be seen again – well, I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself.’ She snorts and I shove her, making her drop her board.
&
nbsp; We finally catch up with Hayley who is standing with a group of women, all of whom are beautiful in their own unique way. There’s Em, whose hair is whiter than Madi’s; she’s wearing leopard-print earmuffs and fierce winged eyeliner. Madi immediately beelines for her, inspecting her wings and asking her how she gets them so perfect.
Then there’s Ariana, whose black curls are barely contained under her rainbow beanie, her dark skin glowing in the sunlight, a natural highlight glistening off her cheekbones in the dewy mountain air. Her smile is warm and welcoming.
When I reach Bella, she pulls me in for a hug. She has brown braids tucked into a woolly hat and a scarf pulled tight around her neck. Her pink glossed lips are smiling brightly, causing dimples to appear on her rosy cheeks.
‘Hayley tells us you need a little hand,’ Bella says as I sit down to buckle myself up. ‘Oh God, has she told half the mountain to watch out for me?’ I say, giving Hayley a pointed stare. She simply shrugs and smirks.
‘Well, you listen to her and you’ll be flying down the slope like a pro in no time,’ Bella says, giving me a hand up once I’m all clipped in.
Bella keeps hold of my hand as I gear up into position, trying to balance out my body weight on my board and doing my best to copy Hayley and the rest of the gang in their stances. I imagine this is how I felt as a baby learning how to walk. I’m grateful to the other girls for their patience, while I silently curse Madi for being so good. I get distracted for a minute as I watch her elegantly guide her board after Em and Ariana while Hayley and Bella keep close tabs on me as I start to move.
When I dare to look up and take my eyes off the bright snow on the ground, the mountains are quite spectacular. I’m not going very fast, so I observe the children all looking like snowmen in their giant snowsuits. Some are riding down the mountain on sleds and some doing significantly better than I am during their ski and snowboard lessons. The mountain is alive with laughter and everyone is encouraging and supporting each other. Distracted, I begin to wobble again.
