by Archer, Kiki
“Oh no,” moaned two more girls, hearing the conversation as they entered the room.
Susan counted the heads. It was only Daisy Button missing. “We’re approaching things differently this week.” Susan thought back to her degree in Philosophy, Politics and Economics. The school had loved the fact she would be able to teach a broad range of subjects from religious education through to business studies. They had even made her take charge of some lower school Greek mythology and maths classes too. At least she had variety, she thought, pitying the teachers who took responsibility for one subject in its entirety. “So,” she said, drawing on one of her philosophical arguments, “who believes in ghosts?”
“Perfect timing,” said Margaret Beauchamp as Daisy Button hobbled into the room.
“What?” said Daisy.
“We’re talking about ghosts,” laughed Margaret.
Susan lifted her finger. “Enough. Daisy please take a seat.”
Daisy adjusted herself on her crutches. “Am I okay to nip out again, Madam Quinn?” She whispered quietly. “I think I might need the toilet.”
A couple of the girls sniggered.
“That’s fine, Daisy.” Susan waited for the little girl to leave the room before raising her voice. “You should be ashamed of yourselves. You, Margaret, for commenting, and you girls at the back, for laughing. Really. You’re eleven and twelve, not two and three. I don’t expect any silly playground behaviour now you’re students at this school. Margaret I’ll see you at the end.”
The class stayed silent. “Right,” said Susan, “where was I?” She pointed at the board. “Hands up if you believe in ghosts.” Susan watched as every girl in the class lifted her hand. “And just remind me now. How many of you lifted your hand last week when I asked if you believed in God?” One solo hand at the back was raised. Susan nodded. “Okay then, why is it that you believe in ghosts, but you don’t believe in God?”
Margaret Beauchamp waved her arm, eager to get back in the good books. “Because we have evidence of ghosts.”
“Do we?”
Cordelia Buckingham nodded with authority. “My aunty has a poltergeist in her house.”
“Really?” said Susan.
“Yes, she said that one night her cup of tea whizzed completely off the coffee table and spilt all over this new white rug that my uncle had just bought her.”
Prudence Frinton-Smith rolled her eyes. “She probably just spilt it and didn’t want to get into trouble.”
“Did not.”
Prudence Frinton-Smith upped the stakes. “Well my mum’s friend, Sophina, said she saw a real ghost.” She paused for the dramatics. “It was the ghost of her granny.” She paused again. “Sitting in the back of her car.” She took a deep breath. “When she was driving home, late one night.” She lowered her voice for her final line. “From Tesco.”
“Whatever,” said Cordelia Buckingham, looking slightly shaken.
“Thank you, Prudence,” said Susan, re-focusing the group. “But my question was, have any of you ever seen a ghost? For example, DAISY!” she gasped, as the little albino girl re-entered the room.
The whole class turned to look at the door.
“Daisy! What have you …” Susan paused, quickly deciding how best to handle the situation. “Why have you …”
None of the girls in the class dared laugh.
Susan settled for: “Are you okay?”
Daisy nodded and smiled, hobbling to her seat near the front of the room. “Fine thank you, Madam Quinn.”
Susan struggled to tear her eyes away from Daisy’s dark brown face. She looked like a poorly made up minstrel. “So,” she said, trying to focus back on the question, “have any of you ever seen a ghost?” No one put their hand up, and Susan noticed Daisy sitting higher and prouder in her seat. “Right,” she said, still stealing glances at the streaky jawline and neck, “you’ve never seen a ghost, yet you still believe they exist, based on other people’s reports?” A couple of the girls nodded. “So what about all of the people who say they’ve seen God? All of the people who believe they’ve had near death experiences? All the people who cite God as the reason for their child’s miraculous recovery, or the reason for them having cheated death, like the voice in the darkness that stopped them from walking off the edge of a cliff?”
Daisy put up her hand. “Because people find the impossible easier to believe than the improbable.”
Susan was shocked. Daisy was usually so quiet in class. Her new found tan was obviously giving her confidence. “Can you explain that?”
Daisy nodded and turned in her seat to better address her classmates. “My Grandma told me this once.”
Susan could see the girls at the back trying desperately hard not to laugh. They had that look of panic on their faces with flared nostrils and sucked in bottom lips, betraying the shaking in their stomachs and the choking in their throats.
Daisy swept her fine white fringe from her brow and began. “Imagine a huge Boeing 747 aeroplane in perfect working order. Imagine it lands in a field and gets taken apart piece by piece, screw by screw. Imagine all the pieces are laid out on the grass.”
Susan looked at the girls. Daisy was holding their attention and it wasn’t just because of the mask of heavy-duty midnight-brown foundation she’d rubbed all over her face. “Okay,” said Susan encouraging her to continue.
“So, what are the chances of a whirlwind or tornado passing through that field and whipping that plane back together into perfect working order?” Daisy waited for someone to answer.
Margaret Beauchamp lifted her hand. “Zero. As if a tornado could screw in the screws or put all of the seats and toilets back in the right place.”
“Or put those little leaflets behind the seats,” added Prudence. “You know, the ones with the menus on, and the ones with the safety stuff on.”
“It’s impossible,” said Daisy, nodding and turning back to the front.
Susan frowned. “You said people are more likely to believe the impossible than the improbable.”
Daisy shrugged. “I know. What’s more difficult to make? A Boeing 747 aeroplane, or the whole of our planet with all of its perfectly designed eco systems that let us live our lives?”
“Daisy!” Susan was in shock. “I think you’re touching on the teleological argument for the existence of God.”
“No, I’m just saying that if you don’t think a plane can be whipped up by a whirlwind even when all of the pieces are laid out and ready to go, then how can you think the whole world just appeared out of nowhere with a big bang in space? It’s impossible, but people would rather believe that than the improbable.”
“And what’s the improbable?”
Daisy shrugged. “The little old man, with a beard, on a cloud.”
Susan sat down on her desk. “Has anyone got anything they’d like to add to that splendid, splendid, analogy?”
Margaret Beauchamp lifted her hand. “Can I have some of what she’s having?”
“It’s called Espresso Chocolate foundation,” whispered Daisy, reaching into her bag, “by Maybelline.”
Chapter Thirteen
Susan waited for the Year Seven class to leave before addressing the two girls still sitting at the front. “Margaret, could I have a word outside, please? Daisy, I’ll be back in a moment.”
Margaret Beauchamp slid from her chair and kept her head bowed as she left the room. “I’m sorry, Madam Quinn,” she said from the safety of the corridor, “I know I shouldn’t have called Daisy a ghost.”
“It’s meanness, Margaret, and meanness is a horrible trait to have.”
“I’m not mean, Madam Quinn. I was just trying to be funny.”
“At someone else’s expense. A joke’s only a joke if everyone’s playing along.”
Margaret kept her head low. “I know. I’ve learnt my lesson. I didn’t say anything about her make-up when she came back in, did I?”
“No, you didn’t, so thank you for that. I’ll be hav
ing a word with Daisy and I’d like you to promise me you won’t tease her again. Ever.”
“I won’t, Madam Quinn.” Margaret lifted her eyes. “She really impressed me in there.”
“Yes, me too. Now hurry along to your next lesson. You’re incredibly lucky you didn’t get a detention.”
Margaret’s face turned as white as Daisy’s pre-foundation natural look. “Thank you, Madam Quinn. I’d hate to get a detention. I’ve never had a detention before, and my dad—”
“Daisy’s going to be a couple of minutes late. Let your teacher know please.”
“Yes, Madam Quinn, I really am sorry.”
“Just be kind to her, Margaret.”
“I will, Madam Quinn. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Find a way of showing Daisy you’re sorry, not me.”
Margaret was almost curtseying with each apologetic nod. “I will, Madam Quinn. I will.”
Susan watched as the Year Seven girl trotted quickly down the corridor. She tutted to herself and turned back around, glancing momentarily through the glass panel in the door. She looked again, wondering where Daisy Button might have gone, before realising the little girl was actually camouflaged between the mahogany bookcase and the brown layers of life soil poster.
“I’m going to be late for my lesson,” said Daisy as Susan re-entered the room.
“Don’t worry. I’ve passed along a message.” Susan paused. “Daisy, you know make-up’s not allowed in school, don’t you?”
The whites of Daisy’s eyes grew larger. “What make-up?”
“The Maybelline Espresso Chocolate foundation you were so proudly showing Margaret just then.”
“Jenna bought it for me and I love it.” She nodded quickly. “Didn’t you see the way the girls were listening to me? I never usually hold anyone’s attention unless they’re staring at my white skin.”
Susan sat down next to the little girl. “Daisy, they were listening to you because you were making some really good points. Your argument was really clever.”
“I don’t usually have the confidence to talk much in class.” Daisy swooshed her pale fringe from her forehead and smiled proudly. “But now I do.”
“Daisy, I’m going to have to ask you to wipe it off.”
“I can’t. Please, Madam Quinn. For the very first time I feel good about myself.”
“Oh, Daisy, listen, make-up’s against school rules. I’m not being deliberately mean.” Susan stood up and walked towards her desk, opening the bottom drawer and pulling out a packet of wet wipes. “You’re going to have to take it off.”
Daisy tipped her school bag upside down. “It’s not like I’m wearing any of this stuff.”
Susan watched as a mountain of glitters, powders, nail polishes and eye shadows dropped onto the table. “That’s all from Jenna?”
“It came in a pack. It’s called Maybelline’s Midnight Glitter Glam.”
“Daisy, it’s not midnight, and glitter’s not really that glam.” Susan smiled at the little girl. “You’re eleven. You’re at that age where you want to experiment with different looks—”
“I haven’t got time to experiment. I’m seeing Timmy tomorrow. We’re helping Bob with the bushes, and last week Timmy was talking about a skate park he goes to on a Sunday afternoon, and I really want him to invite me.”
“Daisy, you’ve got to do this in your own time.”
“I can’t. My mum won’t let me wear make-up. She says my skin’s too sensitive.”
Susan frowned. “How sensitive?”
“I have to use all of these special soaps and creams, and sometimes if I’ve been cuddling my Grandma’s cheeks too much I get a rash.”
“Daisy, we need to get this off.” Susan quickly pulled a wipe out of the packet.
Daisy squinted at the pink writing. “No. I can’t use these. They’re not hypoallergenic.”
“Well I doubt the Espresso Chocolate foundation is either. Come on,” said Susan, sweeping all of the make-up back into the little girl’s school bag. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”
Daisy pulled herself up and hobbled after her teacher, desperately trying to ignore the burning sensation and strange twitch around her cheeks.
****
Jenna pulled to a sharp hockey stop at the bottom of the Chavannes Express. “You guys go ahead.” She spoke to the three male execs. “I’ll wait for Jade.”
“Is it a long lift?” asked Bill, the oldest of the group, as he lined himself up against the metal barriers.
“It’s the longest in the area,” shouted Jenna, watching the men shuffling forwards as the barrier dropped. “That’s why I’m waiting for Jade. You lot drank my hipflask dry yesterday.”
“We’ll have a swig at the top then,” came the shout, as the chairlift swept around the corner and scooped the three skiers up and away.
Jenna turned back around and scanned the slope for the petite blonde. It didn’t look like she was over the ridge yet, so she pulled off a glove and reached into her jacket pocket for her phone instead. She tapped the screen. Susan still hadn’t replied to the second picture message she’d sent. This time she’d pulled her jacket, ski vest AND sport bra up, yanked her salopette braces into the middle of her chest, and pressed a finger onto an erect nipple. She’d added the caption: Fine, I’ll flick my own bits then. Jenna glanced up at the slope before typing another message: Tell me what you want to see next. I’ll show you ANYTHING.
Jenna dropped the phone back into her pocket and scanned the slope once more, spotting the pink hat first and the trademark wide turns second. She smiled and pulled her glove back on. The lady banker hadn’t been drawn into any form of competition with her male counterparts, no matter the extent of their teasing. They had compared her to the lady from the Ski yoghurt advert, gracefully carving her way down the slopes with her long blonde hair fluttering in the breeze, when all they really wanted to see was her with knees bent, bottom out, haring down the hill all hell for leather. Jade hadn’t risen to their ribbing though and continued to ski at her own pace in the same calm and controlled manner she was revered for at work.
“Hey, we’re heading up the Chavannes now,” said Jenna as Jade slowed to a stop next to her.
“Have they gone ahead?”
Jenna nodded and sidestepped across the snow towards the metal barriers. “It’s the longest lift in the area and I didn’t want a repeat of yesterday’s ‘who can gulp the most brandy’ competition.”
Jade pulled her tinted ski goggles up onto her hat. “It’s okay, I’m a sipper.” She caught Jenna’s eyes. “I like to take my time.”
“I’ve noticed,” said Jenna with a grin, pushing herself through the barrier.
“Hey, don’t you tease me too!”
Jenna pulled herself forwards with her poles and slid towards the red line, checking her position as she waited for the next chairlift to swing around the corner. “It’s all part of the job description.”
Jade stepped into the lane next to Jenna. “And what else is in the job description? You don’t mind if I sit next to you, do you?”
“No,” said Jenna as the six-seater chairlift hit the back of their thighs, scooping them up into the air. “Heads up, I’m pulling the safety bar down.”
Jade leaned backwards. “Anything else you’d like to pull down?”
“Umm,” Jenna laughed. “You’re actually the first female banker I’ve met. I thought you lot were meant to be stuffy.”
Jade pulled off a glove and reached into her top pocket, taking out a small white business card. “We’re heading into Morzine tonight. I’d love it if you’d join us for a drink. I’m utterly fed up with the company of men.” She handed it to Jenna.
Jenna studied the print on the card. Jade Wharton. Investment Banker. There were three different phone numbers and an email address all printed neatly underneath a gold diamond that had a gold letter S inside. “I thought you guys didn’t have your mobiles with you?”
Jade reached over Jenn
a’s lap and tilted the card. “I’ve written the phone number for my hotel room on the back.”
Jenna looked down at the dainty fingers and pretty pink nails that were hovering between her legs. “I think we’re heading out to Les Gets tonight.”
“Tomorrow then,” said Jade, twisting her body even more towards Jenna’s.
“Okay,” said Jenna, “might work.” She pushed the card into her jacket pocket and took out her hip flask. “Drink?”
“Always.” Jade smiled seductively and took the offering, slowly twisting the lid between her first finger and thumb.
Jenna watched the deliberately sexy action, trying desperately hard not to imagine her nipple in place of the lid. “Have you enjoyed your trip so far?” she asked instead.
Jade lifted the flask to her mouth and gently let her tongue dart out to catch the first drip. She sipped slowly and licked her lips. “You’ve been wonderful. Your knowledge of the area’s incredible. You’ve been insightful, and witty.” She paused. “And the way you’ve handled those men has taught me a lesson or two. It’s very difficult for feminine lesbians like us to get the balance right. We don’t want to encourage their advances, yet we don’t want the label of man hating feminist.” She smiled. “You play the buddy card, Jenna. You’re great at diffusing their misplaced innuendos with humour and—”
“Sorry, you’re a lesbian?”
“Yes, aren’t you?”
Jenna coughed. “Well, yes, but I was asking if you’d enjoyed the scenery and the snow conditions, and the après ski—”
“Jenna, you’ve been the highlight of this trip for me. I’ve never met someone who’s as sporty, yet sexy, as you are. You’ve got this natural beauty that draws the eye and your features are so striking that you honestly don’t need an ounce of makeup.” She paused and angled her body even closer. “I bet you look utterly sensational on a night out though.”
Jenna shuffled in her seat, heavily restricted by the metal bar that was pinning her into position. She glanced down at the rows of tall pines wondering how best to diffuse this situation. “Hey, have you heard the joke about the tree?” She paused. “It’s sappy.”
