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

by Roz Marshall

  "Oh, don't be silly, it's no problem, and I didn't want you to be on your own at visiting time." Debbie took the opportunity to read the message on the card whilst Jude looked round the ward at the other patients, many of whom were sleeping or reading, resigned to another solitary evening. Jude turned to Callum. "But I didn't realise that Callum was coming to see you. I'm sure he's been keeping you entertained!"

  "Yes, though it hurts to laugh, so I've had to tell him to go easy on the jokes!"

  Jude's face clouded. "Oh dear, are you terribly sore?"

  Debbie shook her head. "It's not too bad if I keep still — they've got me on painkillers," she glanced at Callum, "but not strong ones." She held up the card. "Thanks for this, Jude." She looked round for somewhere to put it. "Callum, could you put it on the windowsill for me, please?"

  "Sure." Callum took the card and put it on the windowsill, then leaned forward and opened a gap between two slats so he could see through the blinds. "There's a frost halo around the moon. I think that means more snow." He turned back to them with a smile. "You'll have to get better quickly, Debbie, before it all disappears."

  She wrinkled her nose. "I hope so."

  Jude went through some of the same questions as Callum — what was broken, how long was she in hospital for, how long would she be off work — and then made a surprising pronouncement. "Now, Debbie, I feel really bad about your accident, since you were working and it wasn't your fault." She paused, and tapped a finger on her bottom lip. "Normally we wouldn't give instructors 'sick pay', but in these circumstances I feel it's only fair to pay you something. I'm afraid I can't afford full pay, but I'd like to give you half-pay whilst you're off. As long as it's not more than six weeks," she added with a slight frown.

  Debbie's face lit up. "Oh, wow! That's really kind of you, Jude, I hadn't expected anything."

  "Don't mention it." She patted Debbie's arm, then stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get home. I left Lucy making the dinner and I'm worried she might burn the house down if I leave her to her own devices for too long!" She leaned in and kissed Debbie's cheek again. "Do let me know if there's anything else you need. I'll try and come for longer tomorrow." She departed with a wave, leaving a waft of Dior in her wake.

  -::-

  Callum saw the delight on Debbie's face as she gazed at Jude's retreating form. She turned to him. "I can't believe I'm going to get paid. Maybe I can afford to stay in the house after all." For a moment she was quiet and her eyes narrowed as she appeared to do some mental calculations. Then her face fell. "Oh. I could probably pay the rent but I won't have any money left to buy food or pay the bills." She looked down at her hands and started picking at some loose stitching in the coverlet on her bed. "I'll have to go home then, till I'm able to work again," she said, so quietly that he only just caught the words.

  He leaned his elbow on the arm of the visitors' chair and stroked his chin whilst he mulled over an idea that had just struck him. It might be torture. He wondered if he was strong enough to cope. Or it might just get me out of the 'friend' zone.

  "What?" Her voice interrupted his reverie.

  "Oh, nothing." He shook his head.

  She gave him a quizzical look. "That wasn't nothing I saw."

  "I just had an idea. But I dunno if it would work."

  She raised her eyebrows encouragingly.

  "Well, how about if you didn't have to pay rent? I think Posh could afford to pay for a single room, so she could have mine and I'll share with you and pay the rent till you're better." He looked up and saw the shocked look on her face. "Yeah, I know," he shrugged, "I told you it was a stupid idea."

  She was frowning now. "But you must know I'm not that kind of a girl, Callum."

  "No, no, I didn't mean it like that," he crossed his fingers in his lap again, "we'd just be room-mates. It is twin beds, after all." He hoped his face looked as innocent as he was trying to feel. "When I was inter-railing round Europe there were loads of mixed dorms in hostels. Nobody thought anything about it."

  "Well, Zoë would certainly be happier if she didn't have to cope with my mess all the time."

  I don't believe it, it sounds as if she's thinking about it!

  Her eyes scanned him, as if she were trying to imagine him sitting in Zoë's bed rather than in a hospital chair. Then she shook her head. "I couldn't take your money for nothing, Callum." Her face clouded. "It'd be like…" she trailed off.

  "I didn't mean you'd do nothing for it." An indignant look started to appear on her face, but he held up a hand. "You'd be home all day so you can make dinner for the rest of us and maybe do some housework, if you're well enough? You do clean as your summer job, so it's not like you don't know how," he added, with a raised eyebrow.

  She fidgeted with the bedcover again. "But what would everyone say? They'd think we were…" She looked up at him, her eyes troubled.

  "Would it be so bad if they did think that? You and I would know the truth," he said, looking her in the eye. He raised his hands. "Who knows, they're probably making up gossip about us already!"

  She stuck out a bottom lip as she contemplated this, obviously unaware of his eyes poring over her face, and the overwhelming desire he had to kiss that petulant pout. He felt his stomach flip over. I don't know if I can do this, it might kill me.

  "But what about if I, y'know, meet someone," she said, her eyes wide. "Or you might meet someone."

  He shrugged. "We'd do what Marty and Ben do." He checked himself. "Well, what Marty does — we'd put a towel over the bedroom door handle, and Ben — I mean I, would go and sleep on the couch."

  A strange expression crossed her face. "Does Ben never take girls home, then?"

  "No. I'm starting to wonder if he's gay."

  "Who's gay?" asked a Glaswegian voice behind him.

  -::-

  "Oh, hi, Marty," said Debbie, looking up at the new arrival.

  "Colin, that cocky bastard from Ski-Easy," lied Callum. He looked round and saw that Spock and Ben were just behind Marty. It's interesting that Zoë hasn't come. There must've been room for her in Ben's car. He looked across at Debbie, but she was smiling at Ben and didn't seem to have noticed.

  There was a flurry of greetings and scraping of chair legs as the boys distributed themselves in manly disarray around the bed. After establishing the extent of her injuries and making jokes, with a singular lack of empathy, about her 'falling for a snowboarder', they kept up a stream of banter and discourse on the day's exploits which needed little input from Debbie, but quickly passed the twenty minutes or so that were left of visiting time.

  On the way out, Callum turned for one last, lingering look at Debbie, but she already had her nose in her book. He smiled to himself and followed the others to the reception area, where he raised his motorbike helmet in mute explanation of why he was heading left out of the main door, rather than turning right with the others into the snowy car park. "See you at The Rowan!" he called after them.

  Tuesday 14th February

  WINTER SUNLIGHT FLOODED the ward as a nurse went round the room checking on patients and opening blinds.

  When she got to Debbie's bed, she picked a fallen paper handkerchief off the floor and put it in the rubbish bag, wishing her "Good morning," before crossing to the window. As the nurse pulled the cord to open the blind, she gasped, and put a hand to her mouth.

  "What is it?" asked Debbie, wondering if she'd seen a dead body or something.

  The nurse turned to her with her eyebrows raised and her cheeks dimpling. "You need to come and see this. Let me help you out of bed," she looked round conspiratorially and put a finger to her lips. "Don't tell Charge Nurse."

  Debbie was still stiff from the fall, and sore from the surgical procedure and the broken rib, so getting out of bed was something she still only did with help, for necessary visits to the bathroom. I suppose I could head there next, and combine the trip, she thought, with a wry smile at the incongruity of the situation.

  On the
arm of the nurse she managed to shuffle across so that she could see out of the window; where she too gasped and put her hand to her mouth. "Who?" She shook her head disbelievingly. "How? I mean, who could do that?"

  In the snow that blanketed the small garden area behind the ward, someone had drawn a large heart, with the words, 'Be my valentine, Debbie' scribed underneath it.

  "I don't know," replied the nurse, "but somebody obviously wanted you to feel special."

  Debbie's legs started to feel watery, and she propped herself onto the empty bed beside the window. "I've never had a valentine before," she said, her voice as weak as her limbs.

  "Well, enjoy it while it lasts," the nurse suggested, "it'll disappear the first rain we get, or if it snows again." She looked at Debbie out of the corner of her eye. "And if he marries you, it'll probably be the last one you get, an' all!"

  The nurse's sarcastic practicality was at odds with the warm, fuzzy feeling in Debbie's chest. Somebody liked her! Maybe it's Ben. I caught him looking at me last night. I'm sure he likes women — Callum must be wrong. A guy that good-looking can't be gay. And then she remembered the Robbie Williams line, and frowned. I'll know if it was him by the way he reacts to me next time I see him, she decided. I hope he comes tonight.

  -::-

  Mike came down the stairs, carrying his ski boots which he'd been trying to dry overnight by sitting them underneath the ineffective radiator in his room. When he reached the bottom step, he stopped and put a hand on the tongue of one of the boots, feeling the padded lining. It was still damp from all the wet snow yesterday. He sighed. Today's going to be a long day.

  He crossed to the kitchen area and filled the kettle. Jude would need coffee when she arrived. Rummaging in cupboards and the fridge, he poured a plate of cereal and started to fuel himself for a day on the slopes.

  The sound of a key in the front door of the shop signalled Jude's arrival. Her smile was first through the door, closely followed by her neat figure, which he noticed was clothed in a ski trousers today, rather than her customary jeans. She must be planning to ski again. Good. As she bent to pick up the mail her movements seemed slower than normal. "G'day, Jude," he said, putting the bowl down.

  "Hi," she said, straightening up with a wince.

  "Muscles sore from yesterday?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

  "Ever so slightly," she replied with a wry smile, then glanced down at the envelopes in her hand. Her head jerked back. "Oh, this one's for you," she said, passing him a square white envelope with the words 'Mike Cole' scribed on the front.

  No address, no stamp. He frowned, and ripped open the envelope. It was a card. A valentine card, with a large red heart on the front and a cloying message inside. Of course, it's the fourteenth today. It was signed: 'From ? with love'.

  His stomach churned and he realised that he didn't feel hungry any more. Who could it be from? Nobody knows I'm living here. He looked up. Except Jude.

  "IS THAT A valentine?" asked Jude, then put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, how rude of me; but I couldn't help noticing the heart on the front." She felt her cheeks redden. "Forget I asked!" she stammered, and busied herself opening the rest of the mail to cover her embarrassment.

  Who would send him a valentine card? She'd never noticed him spend time with any other women apart from the ski school instructors; Fiona was married and Zoë and Debbie were much younger than him — late teens and early twenties to his late thirties. And he appeared to still be grieving for his wife — he'd only mentioned her once or twice, but she had the feeling he hadn't let go of her memory yet, so she couldn't imagine that he was involved with another woman. She felt her mouth go dry. Would that mean he'd leave the ski school, if he'd found someone? She looked up, and found his gaze on her.

  "Nobody knows I'm living here," he said, eyes slightly narrowed. "Except you."

  It took her a moment to realise what he was implying. "You think I sent you the card?" she said, her voice a little higher than normal.

  "I can't see who else would know I'm here."

  "So why would I send you an anonymous card, if I'm the only one it could be from?" She felt indignant, and put a hand on her hip. "Anyway, I'm married; why would I send a card to anyone except my husband?" Then guilt flooded her as she remembered that she hadn't sent a card — or even an email — to Allan. She hadn't even thought of him, so far, today. And then she realised that she hadn't received one from him either, and Valentine's Day would already be half-over in New Zealand.

  What has our marriage come to? When we first met I used to get flowers, chocolates — everything, for Valentine's Day. She pursed her lips. "Could I see the card?" she asked, holding out a hand.

  He passed her the card and envelope, and she studied the writing on it. The script was over-large and rather ornate, with a distinctive flourish on the 'M' of 'Mike' on the envelope. It looked familiar, somehow. "Hang on a minute," she said, put the card down and pulled a file out from under the counter. She flipped through a couple of pages, then said, "Aha!" and laid the folder on the counter. "Look," she pointed at the name at the top of the form, "the Ms are the same."

  He peered at the lesson disclaimer form that every customer had to fill in, and saw the name of his private lesson pupil, Monique. "Of course!" he said. "But how would she know I was here?" His face darkened. "Unless she followed me back?"

  Jude gasped. "Oh! That's rather creepy."

  "You ain't wrong!"

  They looked at each other.

  "It's not safe for you to stay here," Jude said. "She could be like one of those deranged stalker women in a Stephen King book. I'll make up the bed in our spare room."

  "But I thought you were worried about what people would think?"

  She shook her head dismissively. "To hang with that. I need you safe," she looked up at him with a half-smile, "so we can win the ski race!"

  He smiled back. "And here was me thinking you cared about your staff," he teased. Then he turned serious again. "Now, what are we going to do about Monique? She's booked private lessons all week."

  "I'll get Callum to do her lesson today," said Jude.

  -::-

  Forbes sat down heavily in the proffered chair and pulled his scarf off his neck with a sigh. He glanced up at Mike, and then addressed Jude. "Terribly sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Jude." The ex-military man was operations manager of the ski area, and he took his responsibilities seriously.

  Jude looked up at him in alarm, her mind racing. "What's happened? Is someone else hurt?"

  "No, no, not that," he said dismissively, "it's the race. We've had a complaint." His mouth tightened, making his top lip disappear under his bristly, pepper-and-salt moustache.

  Jude was confused. The race wasn't till tomorrow. "I don't understand. What is there to complain about?"

  "It's Ben, isn't it?" said Mike, his eyes narrowing.

  Forbes' head jerked back. "Why, yes. But how the devil did you know that?"

  Mike looked across at Jude, and raised his eyebrows slightly as if in apology, as he replied. "Just an educated guess."

  "Yes, well, there's been some dissent in the ranks about you having an Olympic skier in your team." Forbes raised his hand as Jude opened her mouth to say something. "Yes, I know he's not currently at the Olympics and I know he legitimately works for you. But there's been rather a furore about it and the sponsors got involved and, well," he stroked his moustache, "I negotiated something of a compromise."

  "Which is?" asked Jude.

  "A two-gate lead for the other teams."

  Jude caught Mike's eye. "Is that bad for us?"

  Mike sucked a breath through his teeth, then shook his head. "It's a real pisser, to be honest. But," he paused, "what else can we do?" He shrugged. "She'll be right, I guess."

  The kiwi answer for everything. Then she saw something in his expression, and remembered that every time she heard someone say 'to be honest', they usually weren't. He looked at her with equanimity. Yes, I think Mi
ke is hiding something.

  "Well, that's a terrible shame; I'm not sure that we've much chance now. But thank you for letting us know, Forbes," she said.

  He took the hint and stood up to go, draping his scarf around his neck again. "Right-ho, I'll be off then. Ciao!" He raised a hand in farewell as he departed.

  "So? What's the real story?" she asked Mike, her eyebrows raised.

  He gave a tight smile. "We've still got a chance. But it doesn't make things easy for us. We won't be able to afford any mistakes."

  -::-

  "So, Callum," Monique tilted her head so she looked up at him from under her eyelashes as they ascended the Highlander chairlift, "the skiing here can only go on for so long. What d'you do in the summer, once the snow's melted, like?"

  "Y'know it can be May before the resort closes?" Callum replied, obtusely. "But the snow can last a lot longer — I've even skied here in the summer — though I've had to walk up the hill 'cos the lifts are off."

  Monique tutted, and placed a hand on his arm, "No, I meant what d'you work at in the summer? You canna teach skiing all year."

  Callum wondered whether to educate her on the fact that summer in Scotland meant winter in the ski resorts of the southern hemisphere and therefore year-round jobs, but he had the feeling that education was something that didn't figure too highly on 'Planet Monique', and decided against it. Instead, he wracked his brains for a job he hadn't used before, and for some reason the cover of the book Debbie was reading popped into his head. That's a good one! "I do a summer job as caretaker of a small island off the east coast of Scotland."

  Her hand was still on his arm and she gave it a squeeze as she breathed, "Oh, that sounds amazing, pet. Are you there all by yoursel', like? It must get very lonely?"

  "Not really, there's a ruined monastery on the island and there are boat trips every day so tourists can visit." He suppressed a smile. "But last year I found I kept humming, 'The green, green grass of home', and I thought there must be something wrong with me, so I went to the doctor."