Chalet Girls

by Lorraine Wilson

  ‘Which Thomas?’ Lucy looks furtively around us and down to the packed room below the mezzanine.

  ‘He of the ‘fat girls try harder’ and ‘I don’t use condoms’ fame,’ Tash replies, eyes flinty.

  Recognition dawns on Lucy’s face.

  I wince and take a shaky breath.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know why he’s here Soph. He certainly wasn’t invited.’ Holly’s eyes are wide, she looks stricken. ‘He must’ve come as someone’s guest. I’ll get Scott to ask him to leave.’

  ‘No.’ I reach for her wrist before she can leave. ‘Luc might guess. He’ll see I’m upset and could put two and two together. I never gave Luc the name of the guy responsible, you see. Things are a bit … difficult at the moment. I’m worried he might decide to teach Thomas a lesson, you know, to defend my honour.’

  Holly chews her bottom lip, hesitating. ‘I suppose, but it’s your party, Soph. I want you to have a nice time. I hate that you’re going through this because of that jerk.’

  Anger flares in her eyes. By ‘this’ I know she means more than his presence tonight. She, more than anyone, knows the grief Thomas has caused and continues to cause.

  ‘Was he the one who used to place bets with his friends about who could pull and shag the ugliest girl?’ Lucy asks, face contorted with disgust.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply shortly, face burning.

  ‘Oh, Soph, I’m sorry, you can’t possibly think I meant you …’ Lucy adds, colouring when she sees my face.

  But no matter how many times my friends tell me that can’t have been what Thomas was doing the night I went home with him, I’ve never totally shaken the suspicion.

  Tash and Lucy have described Thomas’ charming personality perfectly. As well as his aversion to using protection he also has no scruples regarding forcing a girl to do what he wants in such a way that he only just falls short of date rape.

  Barely.

  The whole ‚fat girls try harder‘ – a comment I overheard Thomas make when he talked about our night together with his friends, haunted me for a long time. The bloody annoying part of it was that when it happened I was a healthy weight for my height for the first time in years of struggling with diets. Compared to the Verbier skinny-blonde clones I‘m on the plump side, but Luc says he loves my curves. I think he really means it too. He always seems very, ahem, appreciative. Anyway I‘m not technically overweight, not according to the charts I‘ve found on the internet.

  Crap, Thomas is doing it to me again. Screwing with my head. It‘s bad enough his actions had consequences Luc and I have to live with for the rest of our lives but now I‘m supposed to sit here watching him drink and chat up some other poor girl?

  I can‘t do it.

  ‘Could we go down to the cinema room?’ I plead. ‘I don‘t want a fuss. Trust me, Luc might lose it.’

  ‘I‘m not sure I‘ve ever seen Luc angry.’ Tash stands up.

  ‘He rarely gets angry but anything that threatens me or Max stirs up his inner caveman.’ I get up from my chair. ‘Please, let‘s go somewhere else. I don‘t want to waste another minute tonight thinking or talking about Thomas.’

  I refuse to hand Thomas that power. It‘s bad enough that I have to be constantly reminded of what he‘s done, of the choices he‘s taken away from me.

  His poison has seeped into our relationship and we can‘t find the antidote, no matter how hard we try. Heat flushes up my neck and burns my cheeks. My hands ball into fists at my side. Never mind worrying about Luc hurting Thomas, I need to get far away before I take one of the marshmallow toasting forks and go for Thomas myself.

  Chapter 3

  From: eva.johnson@gmail.com

  To: beth.chapman@yahoo.com

  Subject: Okay?

  Hello Beth,

  How are you getting on? I’d love to hear all your news. Have you learnt to ski yet?

  I know we disagreed about the wisdom of you taking this job in Verbier, but please know I’m here for you, whatever choices you make. Our spare room is yours whenever you need it. I was worried it might be too soon, but I hope you’ll prove me wrong. I only worry because I care, Beth. I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re like a second daughter to me.

  If things do get difficult, remember you’re stronger than you think you are. You’re a remarkable young woman and I’m proud of how far you’ve come.

  Lots of love,

  Eva

  BETH

  I’m having a bad day. The kind of day when the past feels as tangible as the present and no matter how much make-up I put on, or how bright I fake my smile, I can’t get away from the heavy sadness tugging at my bones. It’s true, these kinds of days are happening less and less recently and I’ve learnt techniques to manage them but … Well, let’s just say today’s effort is a crappy one, like I’ve been driven over by a tank.

  I wish I could escape it all forever, but no matter where I go, I can’t seem to leave it behind. I thought in Verbier, a world away from my native Streatham, I would feel safe and be able to drop my hyper-vigilance, but I still can’t sit with my back to a door and I sleep lightly, with one ear open, like a dog. That’s if you can call patches of unsatisfactory rest broken up with nightmares sleep.

  I should feel safe. It’s clean and beautiful here and there’s hardly any crime in the mountains. I know, I checked the statistics. But, as I stand outside Chalet Amélie wearing my best black dress and knee-high boots, I‘m gripped by the sudden sense that I‘m adrift.

  Like I could just float away.

  ‘Are you coming in, Beth?’ Holly‘s voice cuts through my particular brand of crazy. Her tone is kind.

  As bosses go I‘ve had far worse than Holly. I‘ve not really spent much time with her because she‘s just had a baby, but what I‘ve seen of her I like. I meet her eyes, touched by the kindness I find there. I wish I could open up to her. But that’s really not a good idea. That way madness lies – the proper losing-the-plot kind. The only hope I ever have of leaving the past behind is to never talk about it. Never think about it.

  ‘Sure, I was just getting a breath of fresh air,’ I lie, not convincing either of us.

  Get. It. Together.

  I need to use tonight as an opportunity to meet someone, to find a way to distract myself. I‘d like to feel safe and grounded, even if it‘s just for one night. To not be alone in my head. I think I‘m going to drive myself nuts otherwise. I want to be touched. I need the affirmation of sex, to know I can still do it, that I‘m strong enough.

  ‘How are you settling in at Chalet Repos?’ Holly‘s kind voice jolts me.

  I try to drag myself back down to earth, to grab hold of the rope Holly is throwing me. Who knew I‘d be so grateful for small talk?

  ‘Well, thanks. It‘s so beautiful here and I can‘t wait to learn to ski.’ I reply stiffly, like a second-rate actress reciting her lines.

  Again. Not kidding anyone.

  Holly slips her arm through mine. ‘It must be hard not knowing many people here. I‘m sure Rebecca and Lucy aren‘t that far away. They went down to the spa, I think. Let‘s go and find them.’

  ‘Okay.’ My smile is genuine this time. I’m grateful to Holly for pulling me out of my mental quick-sand. ‘Amazing chalet, by the way.’

  Chalet Amélie is truly out of this world. I‘ve never been anywhere so fancy. It‘s nicer even than Chalet Repos and much bigger. As Holly shows me round my jaw drops.

  Fancy having so many rooms you have spares left over for a games room, dance floor and cinema room. I think the games room alone is bigger than the dingy flat I used to share with Mum. When we get to the spa suite I think I‘ve walked into heaven. You couldn‘t get further away from the public swimming baths back home. No smell of chlorine – instead a sweet scent of orange blossom is piped out of discreetly placed diffusers. And instead of the usual public baths accompaniment of shrieking kids there‘s mellow lounge music filling the air. Chill-out music.

  It’s working. The ambient pea
ce washes over me, easing the kinks out of my tightly wound nerves and taut muscles. I gaze around and then stiffen. I’m sure that couple in the Jacuzzi aren’t wearing swimsuits. Um, perhaps there’s such a thing as being too chilled. Or maybe I’m being too buttoned-up. Too English. Part of me kind of admires anyone with the body confidence to be that brazen. I turn away, cheeks burning, desperate to pretend I’m cool with it and to hide the evidence I don’t belong in this world. I’m ashamed of the buzz of arousal humming through my body. It makes my need to be touched flare into life, the visceral ache in the pit of my belly gripping me, demanding attention.

  Holly has turned to talk to Rebecca, so I walk around, taking everything in and trying to relax. When that doesn‘t work I store up details to share with Eva and Debbie in my next email instead.

  ‘Fancy a skinny-dip?’

  I turn to see who‘s spoken and find I‘m face to face with a scruffy surfer type with light-brown hair, laughing eyes and a large grin.

  ‘No thank you.’ I reply, sounding horribly prim and proper. I‘m irritated with him for making me into ‚that‘ girl. For laughing at me.

  ‘Only I saw you watching.’ He nods over at the Jacuzzi.

  ‘Excuse me?’ I arch both my eyebrows and fix him with my best piss-off glare. How dare he? ‘I wasn‘t, you know, watching them. I was just looking at the Jacuzzi.’

  A hot flush creeps up my neck. His being right does nothing to placate me, it‘s just winding me up. In a way, I‘m telling the truth, though. I‘ve never actually been in a Jacuzzi and I do fancy going in one, but not naked. At least not naked in public. With the right man, well maybe.

  ‘You were so.’ His grin stretches ever wider. ‘And why not? They wouldn’t do it in public if they didn’t want an audience. Are you sure I can’t persuade you? There’s nothing nicer than feeling the warm water against your naked body, bubbles tickling your skin and getting you in the mood.’

  I wish his words weren’t getting me hot and bothered so easily. I feel desire uncoiling deep inside me, unfurling tendrils of sharp arousal. It doesn’t help that he’s really attractive. I mean the drop-dead gorgeous, totally shaggable kind of attractive you hardly ever come across in real life. I bet he knows it too.

  ‘I’m Dan.’ He smiles. He totally knows it.

  When he reaches out a hand, I shake it on auto-pilot, confused by conflicting emotions and the ability of this stranger to get under my skin so quickly.

  ‘I’m not skinny-dipping,’ I reply firmly, ignoring the stirrings of desire.

  ‘Interesting name.’ He grins. ‘Can I go and fetch you a drink Miss Not Skinny-Dipping? Is that hyphenated, by the way?’

  ‘Very funny, and no thanks. I always fetch my own drinks at parties. I had a friend who was roofied at a party once. No offence.’ As soon as I say it I regret my reply. It came out far brusquer than I intended. Why am I scaring a drop-dead gorgeous, twinkly-eyed sex god away?

  I sigh inwardly. Luckily I’d been out with Debbie when her drink was spiked and I was able to get her home. Eva made us both promise to be ultra-careful after that. She’s always been much more of a mum to me than my own ever was. I’d be jealous of Debbie if she hadn’t chosen to unselfishly share her mum with me. Eva’s been amazing. It’s not an exaggeration to say she saved me when the myth I could cope alone exploded so spectacularly. So I take her advice seriously.

  ‘Ouch, I think I’ve just been shot down and accused of being a date rapist in one sentence.’ Dan places a hand over his heart.

  ‘Well, you did try to get me naked before I even knew your name.’ I point out and try to soften my response with a smile, but I don’t think it works. Dan’s body language no longer mirrors mine. I’ve blown it.

  ‘Can’t blame a guy for trying,’ he laughs. ‘See you around, Miss Not Skinny- Dipping.’

  Then he turns around and walks off. I‘m pierced by a pang of disappointment he‘s giving up so easily. Should I go after him, apologise, explain? Hardly. One question usually leads to another and then another. It‘s easier to let him go.

  I need a drink.

  There are no cocktail-laden waiters or waitresses in sight down here so I head to the bar. I really do need a drink. Everyone else seems to have had the same idea, though, and I can‘t get through the crowd.

  ‘What are you after?’ The man standing next to me turns and smiles. He has short dark hair and a five o‘clock shadow. He possesses an undeniable charm, even if his smile doesn‘t quite reach his cool-blue eyes. ‘I‘ll push through and get it for you.’

  ‘Anything fruity and alcoholic please.’

  I suppress any unhelpful comparison with Dan. He walked away, didn‘t he? Whereas Mr Five-o‘clock-shadow is here and giving me all the right signals. I smile at the stranger, determined not to muck it up this time. If I walk around to the side of the bar I should be able to keep my eye on him the whole time so he can‘t drop something in my drink.

  I bite my lip. I hate being like this. Why can‘t I be normal? If I‘m not careful I‘ll end up totally paranoid like Mum. Bipolar disorder often runs in families. I‘ve done the research. At three am I lie awake worrying there’s a rogue gene in my DNA, just waiting, like a ticking bomb, to ruin my life.

  My doctor said if I think I’m mad, then I’m probably not. I can‘t believe a modern GP still uses the word ‘mad’, but he did. He said mad people usually think they’re sane and ordered me to stop worrying. As if it were that easy. I’m not sure I‘m capable of doing that, but I do have to start taking chances again. If I see danger around every corner I‘ll never be free to live the life I want. For so long all I cared about was surviving. That‘s not good enough any more. If I live a curtailed life, then I‘m the one being constantly punished and that‘s wrong on so many levels.

  I‘m going to have sex tonight. It‘s a start and it‘s just sex. Only sex. A meeting of bodies, nothing more. I can keep my mind locked tight, metal shutters down and padlock on. I‘ll keep the two separate. I have to. I need to be touched really badly. I want to feel hands on my skin and be caressed and made love to. I need the connection, a tether to stop that floating-away feeling.

  The dark-haired guy comes back bearing two bottles. He‘s tall and good looking. A sporty type. There‘s a confidence in the way he holds himself that I like. Something in me wants to cling to that confidence. As though I can acquire it by osmosis.

  ‘Thanks so much. I‘m Beth.’ I say, trying to dispel images of a scruffy surfer sex god with laughing eyes.

  ‘I‘m Thomas.’ He chinks his bottle against mine. ‘Cheers.’

  I sip the fruity alcohol a little too quickly and warmth spreads through my chest.

  ‘Do you live in Verbier?’ I ask, searching in vain for interesting conversation to hold his attention.

  ‘I‘m based here but I have to travel a lot because I compete. Boardercross.’ He says, as though that‘s supposed to mean something to me.

  ‘Oh? I don‘t know much about the sport, I‘m afraid. I‘ve only just arrived here. I‘m a chalet girl.’

  ‘A chalet girl? Ah.’ A wolfish smile crosses his face.

  It should make me run, but it‘s actually kind of sexy. My body is letting me know, in no uncertain terms, it would be happy if Thomas gobbled me up. It’s good to feel desire again. For a long time I felt nothing, nothing at all.

  He places a hand on my back to guide me away from the bar. It seems conversation isn’t going to be required. Well, that’s … okay, I suppose. This is what I came here for, wasn’t it? I’ve got something to prove to myself. That I’m no one’s victim. I’m taking control.

  Adrenalin surges through me, but I’m split. I‘ve got the mind-body disconnect thing going on, making me separate from the sensations of attraction. As if this is happening to someone else.

  It‘s a feeling that triggers alarm bells.

  Maybe Eva is right and I‘m not ready to be out doing this. But I can‘t hide from the world forever and why should I have to? Plus, it‘s no
t like staying in on my own is such a great option. Being alone is when I feel most afraid.

  On my own is vulnerable, unprotected and unsafe.

  I get enough attention to reassure me I‘m reasonably attractive to men who are into willowy redheads, or want to be. I‘m willing to trade anything I‘ve got for someone who might make me feel safe. When Thomas‘s hand snakes down to my hip I lean in closer, craving the contact. Part of me wishes he was interested in small talk. This is giving me far too much time to think.

  I don‘t give a flying fuck if I‘m being anti-feminist. Alone is unsafe. I learnt that the hard way, growing up essentially alone. Mum was there physically, but she was never great at being the grown-up. Some days she was great. When she was spiraling up she‘d cook me a meal like a normal mum and maybe want to watch a DVD with me or go shopping. But even then there was a manic quality to her happiness that created a distance between us. I could never quite believe it. I never knew how long it would last. On other days she wouldn‘t get out of bed or eat, or even drink unless I made her. When she took her medication things improved but I still felt shut out. She‘d feel better and then she‘d stop taking her tablets because she didn‘t feel as if she needed them any more. Then she‘d get worse again.

  It was a seemingly endless repeating pattern.

  I thought everyone grew up feeling alone, that it was normal to be afraid all the time. Until I was paired up with Debbie for a geography project at school and she took me home to meet her family. Then I realised what Mum and I had wasn‘t anything approaching normal.

  We did a good enough job of pretending, though. I remember a social worker coming to see me once and I lied through my teeth. I had to protect Mum and our version of family. We were very lucky. The scarce visits had coincided with Mum‘s good days. Although being ‚lucky‘ meant I had to deal with everything alone. There was no dad on the scene to protect me, to help me, to be there for me. Well, he was around for a bit when I was a baby, but I don’t remember him.