by Roz Marshall
Before Callum had time to shout out, William hit the lip of snow, shot into the air and landed heavily, his body twisting backwards as the heel of his ski jammed in the snow. His friend was too close behind him, and Toby's clumsy attempt at braking only managed to send him face-first over the jump and crashing into William's prone form.
Cursing under his breath, Callum pointed at Harry. "Go and cross your skis in the snow above the jump to stop anyone else going over." He turned to the rest of the group. "The rest of you, wait here!" Then he hurried over to the pile of bodies by the jump.
The frost in Jude's insides started to melt as a flame of anger was kindled and started to smoulder somewhere deep inside. "Pregnant?" Her voice came out louder than she meant it to. "But — Simon never mentioned that." She shook her head. "It must be a mistake. A terrible mistake."
Mike reached across the table and took her hand. "Jude, Simon might not have noticed. But I saw what I saw. I can't un-see it, however much I want to. And I wouldn't lie to you about something like that. You know I wouldn't."
She pulled her hand away, her skin tingling. She shook her head again. "It can't be true, he can't have a girlfriend over here, he…" But even as she spoke the words of denial, a voice in her head was reminding her about the times Allan had been inexplicably late home from work, or had gone out for a run at strange times of the day, or had been murmuring suspiciously into his mobile phone when he thought she wasn't around. Hot tears appeared from nowhere and spilled from her eyes, and suddenly Mike was in the seat beside her; an arm around her shoulder, pulling her towards him in an awkward hug.
"I'm sorry," he said into her hair, and she let herself cry for a minute, comforted by his calm presence.
When her breathing had hiccupped towards a more normal rhythm, she wiped her eyes and sat up.
"Poor thing," Mike said. "He doesn't deserve a wife like you."
The revelation was like a blinding light, and it dried her tears in an instant. Tears, she realised, of self-pity and anger, not grief. Anger at the way she'd been taken in, been lied to. Hadn't Allan always said that if they acted as if they were married, what difference did the bit of paper make? But he hadn't acted as if they were married, had he? Not lately.
She turned to Mike, the flame of anger burning brightly in her eyes. "But I'm not his wife."
Spock's eyes widened in horror as he saw the two boys collide below the jump. "Dudes!" He scrambled to his feet and unclipped his board. "Sit tight!" he commanded his class, then yomped over to the scene of the accident.
He reached the two boys at the same time as Callum. "Whoa." Their bodies didn't look right. Toby was clutching his shoulder, his face a pale green colour, and William lay groaning, his leg at a funny angle.
"Hold his knee steady while I get his ski off," Callum said.
Shuffling into position, Spock knelt beside the boy and took hold of his trouser leg and boot.
"Don't want him touching me!" William mumbled.
Callum darted a glance at Spock, then glared at the boy. "Do you want us to leave you here like this?"
There was no answer, just a sniff and a sullen stare.
"Have it your own way, then," Callum said, and motioned to Spock as he started to stand up. "C'mon, we've both got classes to attend to."
Spock released his grip on the boy's leg, and heard a whimper. He cocked his head. "Dude?"
The voice was barely a whisper. "Help me."
Callum had stopped in his tracks, and raised an eyebrow at Spock, nodding significantly in William's direction.
Spock looked down at the boy, who was grimacing as he tried — in vain — to release his boot from the ski which was stuck fast in the snow. "But — you didn't want me to touch you. How can I help you?"
"I'm sorry. I take it back. Help me, please."
"But…" Mike felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He looked down at the rings on Jude's left hand.
"They're not real— well, the engagement ring is, but…" She pointed at the wedding band. "This was my mother's." Her teeth clenched for a moment. "We went on holiday to America and got our photos taken at the Elvis chapel and… Everyone just assumed we got married." She shrugged. "So we just let people think we were married. Especially since I got pregnant with Lucy. It was easier."
Mike raised his chin. "Hence Winter and Winters?"
"Exactly. People thought I was just being modern and keeping my maiden name. But Allan never really wanted it, the whole 'till death us do part' thing." She swiped the back of a hand across her eyes, then shook her head sadly. "I've been blind. I should've seen the warning signs years ago."
"Don't blame yourself," Mike said steadily. But inside, he felt like a balloon was growing, inflating his chest, pushing his shoulders back and quickening his breathing.
"I should've listened to Lucy. I shouldn't have let him push me around."
He held his breath. "What will you do about it?"
She twirled the engagement ring, staring at the floor. "I'm not sure. I need to think about it."
Slowly, he let the breath out. "Well, you know where I am if you need someone to talk to."
Jude raised her head. "Mmm." She stood up. "Mike, could you do me a favour and man the office for a bit? I'll go for a ski. Clear my head."
"Sure thing. You go, I'll cover things here."
Five minutes later, she was heading up the Highlander chairlift, chin buried in her scarf, brain buried in the past. Allan had been a part of her life for such a long time — since her first day at primary school. He'd been her first boyfriend, her only love. When had it all changed?
Was it when her father had died and left her the ski school, allowing Allan to step in as manager? She cast her mind back, trying to remember how she felt then. No, everything had been good between them, back then. But in the last few years, Allan had become more demanding and yet somehow more distant.
Blind to his faults, she'd blithely carried on, assuming all was good between them; still in love with the boy he'd once been. Could he have been carrying on behind her back even then? Maybe.
Jude arrived at the top of the chairlift, three runs later, with her thoughts more in order and decisions made. She skied off — and into the teeth of a gale. When did the weather get so bad? She'd been so mired in her introspection that she'd been oblivious to the wind that was buffeting her body and ratcheting up the decibels.
A few yards away, she spotted the tips of a snow fence poking through drifts of snow. But that was about all she could see. No other skiers were on the chairlift, and there was nobody visible through the heavy flakes that had started falling — innocently at first, as she made her way up the hill, but now driving furiously, stinging her cheeks and making her eyes run. She pulled her googles on and wrapped her scarf tighter around her nose. Better get down.
Pushing with her poles, she pointed her skis in the direction she hoped was the run, but a change in background noise made her stop briefly. Through the swirling snow behind her she caught a glimpse of a swinging chair hanging on the thick wire rope of the chairlift line. A static chair. They've switched the chairlift off. It wasn't a surprise, really; it would be unsafe in this wind. But it lent urgency to her need to get to the bottom of the hill. Fast.
Moments later, she was at the top of the steep piste, looking for landmarks to guide her descent. The blustery wind blurred the lines between ground and sky, disorienting her so she felt like she was moving when she'd stopped, and she wasn't quite sure which way was upright when she was moving. Tentatively, she negotiated the first few yards of the run, bouncing as she turned so the skis would be sure to lift up through the heavy snow and allow her to zig-zag down the hill.
She was about a quarter of the way down, out of sight of any landmarks and relying on instinct to keep her balance and stay on her feet, when a sudden noise erupted through the air around her, and she lost concentration. Her fall was not spectacular; it seemed to happen in slow motion, but one moment she was upright a
nd half-way around a turn, the next she was sliding headlong down the slope towards a menacing dark object that filled her vision and chilled her soul.
Chapter 19
THE FALLING SNOW was hypnotic, Mike thought as he stared out of the ski school window, his mind spiralling like the windblown eddies outside. So, Jude and Allan weren't married. But they'd been together a long time and had a daughter — and a business. He frowned. A business that, if he remembered rightly, actually belonged to Jude. A business that had done so poorly last season that Allan needed to go to New Zealand to work over the summer. But a business that, as far as he could tell, had been doing okay this winter, with Jude running it. He frowned again. Perhaps the snow had been bad last year. Or perhaps Allan is just a poor manager.
A movement across the car park caught his eye, and a red-jacketed instructor appeared through the shrouds of snow, a line of pupils trailing behind him. Sandy, if Mike wasn't mistaken — he'd recognise his former landlord's portly build anywhere.
Moments later, Sandy stomped up the steps and into the hut, shaking the snow off his head and shoulders like a dog wringing water out of its coat. "Well, it's horrible out there. The forecast was right. I decided to finish early for lunch." He pulled off his hat and goggles. "I think they were all glad to stop. None of them were dressed for that." He jerked his chin at the door.
"Have you seen—" Mike's question was interrupted by an ear-splitting wail, an eerie sound somewhere between an air-raid warning and an elephant's trumpeting. "What the…?"
Sandy had frozen with his arm half out of his jacket. He turned to Mike. "That's the storm warning. They'll be shutting the hill."
Mike straightened. "At home, we get a warning like that if the volcano is about to erupt."
"You ski on a volcano?" Sandy's eyebrows had risen so far that his forehead was corrugated like fresh snow being combed by the piste machine.
"Yeah. But it's about ten years since it erupted. Anyway," he shook his head, "what's the protocol here? Do we need to call all the instructors in?"
Sandy waved an arm towards the slopes. "Ski patrol will clear the hill. But I suppose you could phone the others, in case they don't know what the siren means."
It took Mike a few minutes to tick everybody off on his whiteboard as either en-route, no mobile signal, or already arrived in the ski school hut and quickly divesting themselves of ski boots before heading for the car park or the ski bus. Everybody except Jude, that was. Where is she?
Tension gripped Mike's shoulders as he punched her number into the handset and waited impatiently for it to connect. Seconds later, a tinny metallic ringtone erupted from under a pile of papers on the desk. Scrabbling to pick it up, he stared wordlessly at the dark glass screen displaying the ski school number. Jude's phone. She's forgotten her bloody phone.
For a couple of moments panic filled his mind, and instinct drove his feet towards the window. But there was nothing to see out there except a chalky gloom. He whirled round, spotting Fiona at the other side of the room, gloved hand on the door handle. "Fiona! Hold up!" In two strides he'd reached the door and grabbed her arm. "Will anyone be in the ski patrol office right now, or will they all be up the hill?"
Her eyes widened. "What's wrong?"
"Jude's not back yet. And she's not got her mobile." He jerked his head at the desk.
Fiona took a step backwards, away from the door, and pulled off a glove. "I could phone Geoff," she said, pushing her hand into a pocket and pulling out her mobile. Then she made a face. "No signal."
"I'll run over." He grabbed his jacket from its peg. "Watch things here till I get back, will you?"
Ski patrol alerted, Callum stowed his mobile and got Spock to help him use scarves to splint William's sore leg to his good one, and improvise a sling to strap Toby's useless arm to his chest.
Once the casualties were comfortable, Callum stood up, stretching his back. Through the driving snow, he could hardly see his class, over on the main part of the run. He glanced at Spock's group of boarders, who had huddled into themselves, looking cold and miserable, and turned to his colleague. "Simon, we should get the rest of the kids down the—"
His voice disappeared under the blare of the storm warning siren which pierced through the snow and momentarily drowned the gusting of the wind. Great.
"Dude, what's that noise?"
"Storm warning. We need to get everyone down the hill. Pronto."
"What about…" Spock motioned at the injured boys.
He was right. They couldn't really move them. "One of us better stay with them till ski patrol get here. The other can take both groups down." The logistics of it would be interesting — a large, mixed group of skiers and boarders — and the weather would make it awkward, but it was nothing they couldn't handle.
"Will the other dudes know what the siren means?"
Good point. Would Debbie know? A tightness gripped his chest, and he fished out his mobile phone again, pulling off a glove and stabbing at the screen with a finger. No signal. How could they have signal one minute and not the next? He shook his head. "Simon, would you mind if I head down with the group, and you stay here with the boys till ski patrol arrive? I want to make sure Debbie's got down okay."
"Sure."
"Get your guys going and send them over to join my group." Callum hurried over to his skis, kicked the snow off his boots and clipped in. "I'll let you know when we get down."
The snowstorm was like a physical thing; it dragged at Mike's feet and pushed against his body as he struggled across the car park. An almost-stationary line of cars was on the road south, nose to tail, snowflakes twirling in their headlights like prima ballerinas. Mike crossed quickly between a couple of hatchbacks, ran the last few yards and practically fell over the threshold of the ski patrol hut, blinking the snow out of his eyes.
At first, he thought the room was empty, and his mouth went dry, but then a movement in the corner caught his eye and Geoff stood up. Lines of anxiety furrowed his brow. "Mike! What—"
"It's Jude." The words tumbled out. "She went for a ski and she's not back yet."
The Scot held up a hand. "She's probably just held up. All the lifts are off; my guys are out making sure all the runs are clear. I'm sure she'll turn up soon."
"But she's not got her phone with her. And she wouldn't stay out in this."
Geoff glanced at him from under his brows, then picked up a radio handset. "Do you know where she went?"
"Highlander, maybe?"
Geoff grimaced, and spoke into the radio. "Davie?"
After a few seconds, a crackling voice came out of the tinny speakers. "Aye?"
"Keep an eye out for Jude Winters, will you? She's not down yet." Geoff released the button on the side of the radio and turned to Mike. "What was she wearing? Ski school uniform?"
Mike cast his mind back. "No. Black jacket and salopettes."
Geoff made a face again, and pressed the radio button. "Black jacket and trousers."
"Great." Davie's reply sounded like it came through gritted teeth.
If Jude got out of this okay, Mike decided, he was going to buy her a new jacket in bright yellow, or ask her to wear uniform all the time. There was a reason the ski school jackets were red.
"Is Fiona down okay?"
"Yeah. I left her holding the fort."
"Make sure she gets home before they close the road, will you? I don't want her up here all night, not—" Geoff stopped himself. "Just— make sure she goes now. Yeah?"
Mike gave him a sideways look, then nodded and headed for the door. "Let me know if you hear anything about Jude."
Sensation came first. Feather-light, chilly touches on her cheeks. Cold on her fingers. Something wet on her scalp. The awkward perception that gravity wasn't working the way it should.
Next came sound. Air whistling quietly as it entered her nostrils and made its way into her lungs. The barrage of the wind against some nearby structure. The clink of something metal hitting against anothe
r unforgiving surface.
But her eyes wouldn't focus. Jude couldn't decide if everything was blurred because of the snow on her face, or because there was something wrong with her eyesight. She rested her eyelids again. A minute. Maybe it'll be better in a minute.
Chapter 20
IT MUST'VE BEEN one of the slowest runs Spock had ever done on his snowboard; skidding and sliding behind the ski patrollers as they inched carefully down the hill with the injured boys. But finally they reached the bottom and rounded the corner to the ski patrol office.
"Simon!" A voice hailed him through the snow, and Callum came hurrying to meet them. "You made it!" he said, as the patrollers started readying the boys to get taken inside.
"Yep."
Callum jerked his head towards the coach parking area. "The rest of the boys are on the bus and about to head down the hill — I told the school about the accident, and that you helped fix the boys up."
Spock nodded. "Cool."
"And Debbie's already away with Fiona. D'you want a lift wi' me?" Callum had half-turned towards the car park already. Looks like he's in a hurry to get away.
Geoff had propped the door of the ski patrol hut open while the two boys were being stretchered inside. "Could one of you two just give me a quick update on what happened?"
Spock glanced at Callum's anxious face. "I—I'll do it," he said.
"Thanks." He earned a half-smile for that. "You'll probably be able to cadge a lift back with one of the patrollers." Callum turned and quickly disappeared into the swirling snow. "See you!"
It was the pain that woke her properly. Jude's knee finally decided that the awkward angle it lay at was not acceptable and started to complain. Vociferously.
Raising her head was difficult, but she managed to do so far enough to tell that her right foot was still attached to her ski, which was slanting unnaturally out of the snow. She wriggled round far enough to ease the pain slightly, then put her hands under her knee and pulled the heel out of the snow.
