Secrets in the Snow, Volume 1: Early season stories from the White Cairns Ski School drama series

by Roz Marshall

  "I have to do this," she told him, "and Mother will get used to it.” She waggled a finger. “Anyway, I'd have to leave home eventually. Especially if she got her way and I married one of the Prince Charmings she’s got lined up for me."

  He shook his head. "Then why don't you go off to the Alps and be a Chalet Girl or something instead, Zoë?" A sweep of his arm encompassed the greying buildings and ill-maintained verges. "This place is the middle of nowhere. A dump. And there's no sign of snow. The Alps would be a much nicer experience for you. I'm sure I could set you up with a decent job through one of my contacts."

  She leaned in and air-kissed his cheek. "I have to do this," she said again, "for me." She picked up her case and bag. "Goodbye, Father. Thanks for the lift."

  He sighed, patted her arm as she turned away, and got back into the car.

  As the sleek vehicle pulled away from the kerb, she looked round to check nobody was watching, then dug into a pocket and pulled out a small mirror, holding it in one hand while she inserted a nose ring into her right nostril with the other. She stuck her tongue out at the reflection in the mirror, and a thick silver stud glinted in the weak sunlight.

  -::-

  Zoë pushed the mirror back into her pocket when the sound of marching feet coming up the lane from the high street alerted her that she’d soon have an audience. She picked up her luggage and started walking towards the hotel.

  A square-shouldered girl with a blonde pony-tail quickly caught up with her and nodded as she went by. "Morning!"

  "Hey!" replied Zoë and started to say something else, but the other girl had already passed her and she found herself talking to the back of a rucksack. She shrugged, then wrinkled her nose as she got a whiff of body odour. Surely that isn't me? She lifted an arm and sniffed at her armpit. No. She looked at the retreating back with distaste.

  A minute later, she heard more footsteps behind her, and turned to see a rather large, brown-haired girl struggling to carry too many bags. Zoë was rather proud of her own trim figure, gifted to her by good genes and an excess of nervous energy, so she was surprised that someone overweight would be fit enough to be a skier.

  "Hey!" she said, again.

  "Hi! Are you here for the ski thing?" the brunette asked, as she caught up.

  "How did you guess?" Zoë raised an eyebrow.

  The other girl coloured slightly. "Have you been here before?"

  "No." What was this? Twenty questions? “It’s my first time in Scotland.” They started walking side-by-side towards the hotel.

  "Oh! I hope you like it here." She stopped suddenly. "Sorry, where are my manners? I'm Debbie." She had a wide smile and thick, wavy hair which framed a face that was typically Scottish with pale skin, high cheekbones and freckles.

  "Zoë. Nice to meet you."

  "I'd shake your hand, but mine are a bit full right now!"

  As they started walking again, Debbie gasped, "Where'd he come from?" She motioned at a lanky figure standing in the middle of the road fifty yards ahead.

  Zoë started. He hadn't been there a moment ago. She looked left and right.

  “Perhaps he was in that limo that passed me a minute ago?” suggested Debbie.

  “What limo? I never saw one,” said Zoë, duplicitously. “It’s like he just apparated from nowhere!”

  THE APPARITION SEEMED real enough as Debbie and Zoë got closer. He had shaggy hair, a scraggy beard, baggy clothes and a snowboard bag over his shoulder.

  As they approached, he brought himself back from whatever planet he'd been on, and raised a lazy hand in greeting. "Dudes, the clinic thing. You know where it is?"

  Debbie nodded her head forwards. "Down here, I think."

  "Simon," he said.

  Debbie looked at him quizzically, then realised. "Oh, your name! I'm Debbie, this is Zoë." She opened her mouth as if to say more, then thought the better of it.

  Simon sloped along behind the girls as they carried on towards the hotel, bounding rather than walking, as if he were used to a different gravity.

  -::-

  There was a board in the hotel reception which read "Atholl Room: White Cairns Ski School" and a sign on the wall pointing them towards the conference room.

  They followed the signs around corners and along corridors until they reached their destination. Debbie stopped, suddenly nervous. The outcome of today would determine what she did all winter, and maybe for the rest of her life. "I think I need the loo." She looked round to see if there was a Ladies’ nearby.

  "I might join you," said Zoë, and they headed across the hallway.

  When they got back a few minutes later, Simon was still standing outside the room. It seemed he'd waited for them. "Better." He said; a statement, not a question.

  "Er, yes?" said Debbie with a quick frown in Zoë's direction. Was he talking about the way they looked, now that she'd brushed her hair and Zoë had mussed hers up? Or did he feel better now they were back and he had company? Whatever. "We'd better get in or we'll be late."

  Simon held the door open with one hand and ushered them in. Debbie took a deep breath, tried to ignore the butterflies, and followed Zoë into the room.

  The room was set out with a couple of rows of chairs facing a table at the front. There weren't that many people there — somehow she'd expected lots. At the front was a pretty blonde lady who looked like she was in her thirties, talking to a pudgy older man in a red fleece, whose grey hair and beard made him look a bit like Father Christmas.

  Standing quietly in the corner was a tall guy with dark hair and stubble, who would perhaps be nearer forty. He looked fit, like one of these people who ran every morning or cycled to work.

  On the seats were the fair-haired girl from her bus, two rather good-looking guys who sat at opposite ends of the back row — one with floppy blond hair, the other with wavy, dark hair — and a small ginger bloke who was smiling over at her.

  "There's a seat over here," he said, patting the seat beside him, "with your name on it."

  Debbie looked at him quizzically. "And what name would that be?" How can he possibly know my name?

  "Georgie."

  "Georgie?" she repeated, and laughed. He's got that wrong!

  "Georgie-ous"

  She looked across at Zoë, embarrassed, sure that a blush was creeping across her face. "Shall we sit over there?" She glanced over at where the red-headed guy was still smiling at them. "Maybe in front?"

  Once seated, she turned round. "So what's your name, since you seem to think you know mine?"

  "Johnstone. Callum Johnstone. At your service, and licensed to thrill!" He did a mock bow as he spoke, then glanced up at her from under his eyebrows and winked.

  "Haha, I bet you say that to all the girls!" she replied. For a bloke that was unremarkable in the looks department, he had all the patter, as if he thought he had a chance.

  "And who's your friend?"

  "Oh, this is Zoë."

  Zoë inclined her head, and said, "John, was it?"

  -::-

  Jude surveyed the room. This motley group of youngsters were going to be responsible for keeping the wolf from her door this winter. Her throat tightened and she felt her heart-rate increase. This so wasn't her thing. For a moment she contemplated turning and running out of the door, but then she remembered the empty bank account, and her resolve returned. She'd just have to do her best.

  Picking up her notes, she tried to imagine that she was Princess Diana, channelling her warmth and poise.

  "Good morning, everyone—” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, “I'm Jude Winters; I'm running the ski school just now. Over there," she pointed across at Mike in the corner, "is Mike Cole, who is acting as senior instructor for us, and Sandy Potter," she motioned at the older man, "is one of our local instructors."

  She was interrupted by the door crashing open. A tall, fresh-faced young man with short-cropped fair hair strode in and then stood, blinking, as they all turned to look at him. "Sorry, am I
late?" he said, "I'm here for the ski instructor interviews. I'm Ben Dalton."

  Jude motioned him to an empty seat. "We've just started. Now, where was I?" She glanced down at her notes, and realised that her hand was shaking. She clasped it with her other hand, hoping that nobody had noticed.

  In the front row, she heard the dark-haired girl whisper to the punk throwback one, "Did Ben Dalton not race for the British ski team the other year?" So that’s where I’ve heard his name before!

  "White Cairns Ski School has been run by my family for about thirty years now," Jude continued. "We're not the biggest ski school in the valley, but we try to be the best. We run classes every day — skiing and snowboarding, with organised groups at the different levels, and usually some private lessons as well."

  She looked at them all, sitting like schoolchildren in assembly, and made eye contact with those who were looking at her rather than at their nails or the ceiling. "We'll get onto the fun bit — the skiing and boarding — soon, but first I need to get your details for our records before you go out on the slope, where Mike will have a look at your teaching and skiing. And then..."

  "And boarding!" said the floppy-haired blond guy, in a stage whisper. Someone tittered.

  "And boarding," she added, "yes, sorry. And then there'll be some sandwiches for lunch. After lunch, Ski Patrol are going to pop in and cover some safety stuff, then there'll be a short session on some of the legalities, and finally we'll let you know the results." She paused. "We need five instructors for this season, three ski-ers and two snowboarders, to join Mike, Sandy and Fiona, who, erm, can't be with us today."

  She saw them look round at each other, counting. There were eight of them. They could do the math.

  She asked, "How many of you are skiers?" Five hands went up.

  "And snowboarders?" Four hands.

  Wait a minute. Nine? That didn't add up. She frowned.

  MIKE CAUGHT HER confusion, and strode across to where Simon was slouched at the end of the front row. "You're a skier and a boarder, right?"

  Simon nodded slowly, his whole body involved in the affirmation. "Yeah."

  Jude smiled her thanks, then picked up a pile of forms from the table and started passing them round.

  "If you could fill these in please; let me know if you need a pen," she said. A few hands went up and she distributed some ball-points.

  A studious hush fell over the room, punctuated only by the sound of scratching and scribbling. Then another hand went up.

  Jude went over with a pen to the dark-haired young man at the end of the back row. She proffered the biro, but he shook his head, and whispered, "I've forgotten my glasses. I'm blind as a bat without them. You couldn't...?" He held the form up to her.

  Mike had seen this ploy before, but either Jude hadn't, or she was being kind.

  She motioned the boy to the front. "Let's go over to the table — there's more room there."

  Jude sat down at the table and the supposedly myopic youngster squatted beside her. "Name?" she asked.

  "Marty Ferguson."

  Filling in the form this way took longer than normal, so the others had started chatting and laughing by the time they were finished.

  When everyone seemed finished, Mike came to the front and commandeered their attention.

  "Okay, guys, we'll head out in a minute. The observant amongst you may have noticed that we're a bit short of snow just now," he gave a wry smile, "so we're going to use the dry slope behind the hotel — that's why we're meeting here rather than on the slopes or at the ski school, which is a few miles up the road in White Cairns village."

  "If anyone needs to borrow boots, skis or a board, can you go see Sandy, over there," he pointed at Sandy, "otherwise, can you grab your kit and follow me outside?"

  -::-

  While the youngsters were busy readying themselves, Jude found herself at a loose end for a few minutes.

  Now that the stress of making a speech to the candidates was behind her, Jude’s mind swerved back to the subject that had been concerning her since Wednesday. She wandered distractedly out into the hallway, fished her phone out of her pocket, and punched in his number.

  There was a white noise delay, then a thin metallic beep which sounded a bit like a demented mosquito. Where can he be, that he still isn't getting reception? And why isn’t his voicemail turned on? She was starting to feel like some deranged stalker, she'd phoned so often. He'd said in his email that he was going 'off the grid', but usually he connected with civilisation at some point, so it was a bit worrying that this had gone on so long. Should she be contacting the police?

  STANDING AT THE top of the slope, Mike lifted his shades to better see what was going on below.

  He'd split the candidates into two groups: skiers and snowboarders; one on each side of the dry ski slope. They were taking it in turn to 'instruct' their group, with the rest acting as pupils. For those who already had instructing qualifications it was easy; those who were potential trainee instructors found it harder, but Mike had agreed with Jude beforehand that it was more about attitude, ability and whether they would fit in with the team rather than how much experience they had.

  He watched Jude for a moment, standing at the bottom of the slope, partially concealed as she leaned against the hut containing the engine and machinery for the drag tow. Her eyes scanned the slope, watching her potential recruits with interest and something akin to sympathy. Mike frowned. He realised that he might find himself having to be ‘bad cop’ to her ‘good cop’ if any difficult situations came up. He exhaled. Perhaps it’s better that way. She’s such a nice lady, I'm sure everyone likes her already.

  -::-

  From her vantage point, Jude had a good view of the ski group. Mike had asked Callum to take the first skiing lesson, ‘teaching’ the rest of the group how to snowplough, as if they were total beginners.

  Callum took his skis off then bounced out to stand in front of the group, who were standing in a line near the bottom of the slope, facing the middle.

  "Right, guys," he propped his skis against a shoulder, his voice carrying clearly across the slope to where she stood, "we're here today to start turning you into skiers." He paused. "When I was a kid I told my mum I wanted to be a ski instructor when I grew up, and she said, 'Callum, you can't do both those things'." He looked down at his short legs, opened his hands in a mock bow and said, "As you can see, I never grew up!"

  His self-deprecation provoked some sniggers from the other skiers, and Jude found herself smiling. This guy was irrepressible.

  "Have we any Ozzies in the group?" He paused for a moment, "No? Well, I actually learned to ski in Australia," he continued. "In Australia, to teach you to ski, they take you up to the top of the hill and give you a wee push. If you manage to do a few turns on the way down," he motioned some zig-zags in the air with one hand, "you're an expert!"

  He plopped his skis on the slope, just beside his feet. "But we're in Scotland, and here we start with snowplough. Snowplough is good. Snowplough is cool! Even great skiers snowplough sometimes. Once you learn snowplough, you learn control — and then how to stop and how to turn. So let's do it!"

  He clipped quickly into his skis, then jumped round and landed with his skis at an angle to each other, facing downhill.

  "Snowplough." He motioned at his skis. "A V-shape, like a piece of pizza — or gateau, if you've got a sweet tooth! Keep them like that, and stand up a little, till you start sliding." he started to slide slowly down the hill. "You'll stop when the slope flattens out at the bottom."

  "Now it's your turn! Racer Boy, you're at the top, let's have you first." Callum popped out of his skis and started walking back up the slope towards the group.

  Ben slid out to the middle, and started to step his skis round into the snowplough shape. Although tall, he had narrow shoulders but powerful-looking legs and arms.

  He started to slide off before he'd finished turning, and had to quickly twist one foot round to straighten up
. As he skied down the hill, his skis started to run faster and faster on the plastic surface.

  Callum frowned and shouted to him, "Push the tails of the skis apart to slow down!"

  Ben widened the V-shape, but it didn't slow him down any; he only stopped when he reached the level area at the bottom of the slope, near to where Jude was standing. "Sorry," he called back to Callum, "us racers aren't used to going slow!"

  Callum yomped down the slope to join him, digging the heels of his ski boots into the diamonds of the mat to get some grip as he went.

  He stopped in front of the other skier and looked hard at Ben’s lower legs, boots and skis. "Make a snowplough shape for me, will you?"

  Ben looked surprised, but stepped his skis out into a wedge shape.

  Callum squatted down and looked appraisingly at Ben's boots. "Hmmm. I think I know what the issue is. Your boots are canted to the outside, to make it easy for you to flatten your skis for downhill racing. But that makes it really difficult to put them on the inside edge, which you need to do to slow your snowplough down. You should maybe think about getting those adjusted, to make it easier for you to teach."

  "Och, it's probably my legs that are knackered from too much skiing," replied Ben, shrugging.

  -::-

  On the other side of the slope, the snowboarders were sitting at the side, laughing at Simon, who was kneeling with his board behind him and saying, "Dudes, the truth is out there!"

  Mike slid over to the snowboarding group. "Thanks, Simon, let's hand over to Marty, now." He turned to Marty, "Could you teach the group falling leaf?"

  Marty jumped up and said, "Okay, boss." He unstrapped his boots and carried his board to the front of the group whilst Simon stood and slid to the bottom of the line.

  "Hey guys, I'm Marty, and I'll be teaching you boarding today." He fixed himself back onto his board again, then turned to the class. "We're gonna start by doing an exercise called falling leaf; it's like a partial turn."

  He slid off across the slope at a slight angle, then slowed the board, changed his weight and slid in the other direction at an angle again, before stopping. "See? Simple! Next step, proper turns!"