by Sue Watson
‘Oh, Jenny, chillax, you are old – you’re over forty for God’s sake. But you don’t look it.’
‘Thanks.’ I had to smile – I remember when I’d been twenty-eight and being forty had been akin to being an old-age pensioner.
‘You sound old though,’ she added as an afterthought, before sipping on her drink. ‘Storm was telling me you used to be different, that you were great fun and always got really drunk at the library Christmas party. What happened to fun Jen who used to do shots and photocopy her arse…’
‘Storm told you about that?’ I said, horrified.
‘Yeah, she said you were a real laugh. What happened to that Jen?’
I didn’t know what to say. I’d been asking myself the same question recently, but grief and work and disappointment can have that effect on you.
I shrugged and we continued to drink our ludicrous cocktails in silence, but Jody wasn’t letting it lie for long.
‘So Switzerland. Roaring log fires, swirling down crisp white nursery slopes, shopping in bustling, vibrant Christmas markets and drinking Glühwein as the snow falls outside. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Are you excited?’
It did sound good. I had to move on and stop bursting into tears every time I saw a commercial for wedding dresses or disposable nappies. Working in another town in another country with Jody would provide a fresh horizon, an opportunity to meet new people and contemplate a different future than the one I’d hoped for. It was now time to take the next step, so in the middle of a tacky wine bar in Manchester, with loud music in my ears and a naked Santa with a strategically placed beard assaulting my eyes, we planned our Christmas escape.
A week later, I’d bought two padded ski suits (in shades of pink and blue as, according to Vogue, the ski catwalks were all about ice-cream pastels that winter). I did my research in true, thorough librarian style, reading every ski manual possible and trawling through guidebooks and language discs. By the end of November, I’d paid for my flight, filled in a million forms and visas and we were set to go. Jody came over for dinner the night before we left and we looked through the online photos of the rather fabulous snow-covered cabins in the resort. We were both named as ‘resort staff’ on the forms, but Jody would be working in the ski lodge and I would be safely ensconced in the ski café. But just looking through all the photos it didn’t seem like a place of work – even the staff cabins had log fires, hot tubs and huge, open-plan living rooms with kitchens.
‘It all looks so – sophisticated, elegant… European,’ she sighed.
‘You’ll fit in then,’ I said sarcastically and laughed.
She stuck out her tongue, and I saw the little girl she probably once was. I hoped we hadn’t left it too late to become sisters.
‘So you said some of your friends are coming to Switzerland too… do I know them?’
‘Not sure. There’s Kate, she’s divorced, disillusioned but lovely, and there’s Lola – she’s a firecracker. She’s still having sex and she’s as old as you.’
‘Wow, as old as me – that’s amazing,’ I said sarcastically.
‘Yeah, she sexted George Clooney last week.’
‘Did he respond?’
‘No, but there’s time… and while she’s waiting she’s keeping in practice. I introduced her to Dr Delicious who works in my department. He’s absolutely gorgeous and rich… she says she’s done stuff with him she’s never done with anyone else.’
‘Oh God. Really?’
‘Oh nothing sexual – she’s done everything there is to do in that department.’ She laughed. ‘No, they have meals out, cinema, theatre, that sort of thing. Until Dr Delicious, Lola had only slept with men, never been out as such… nothing outside the bedroom. She said she’d never wanted to actually go out on a date with a man.’
‘Even George Clooney?’
‘Well, it’s a long story, of which there are many. She lived in LA for a while, had her fill of film stars. I’ll get her to tell you all about it. You should hear about the time Lola was naked, at this pool party… and there was this actor…’
‘I look forward to it, but not just now. I’ll hear it from the horse’s mouth I think,’ I said, hoping it would be forgotten; I didn’t want a detailed account of any evening that began with ‘Lola was naked’.
‘Suit yourself.’ She shrugged.
I didn’t know Lola that well, but according to Jody, Lola had a ‘voracious appetite’ that had nothing to do with doughnuts. I’d met Kate once and after trying, and failing, to have a conversation with her, I assumed she was on drugs, but Jody said she was always like that – which didn’t augur well for a great Christmas. Oh, and there was also the small fact that all three women drank too much, danced on tables and existed in a permanent state of loud and raucous.
‘You won’t all be bringing men back to our staff chalet, dancing on tables and…’
‘And having fun? Yes we might,’ she said. ‘And so might you.’
‘You must be joking, Jody.’ I was suddenly filled with doubts about this, but it was too late for me to back out now.
‘I just wanted it to be a little more Christmassy, sisters going shopping together, learning to ski, getting to know each other in the evenings after a day at work.’
‘Well, we will. Just because there are four of us doesn’t mean you and I won’t have quality time.’
Jody and her mates all wanted to party, get plastered and bed the first ski instructor who was naïve enough to reveal his ski pole. It looked like I was hurtling downhill towards my sister’s idea of fun – unable to stop. But then again, why should I stop? Perhaps it was time I relearned to table dance, drink too much and sing along to the music… time to leap out of my furlined comfort zone. And as I ordered two ‘Thank God it’s Christmas’ cocktails I felt a little scared about what was to come – and a little excited too!
Chapter 3
DJs, Dancing, and Sex in the Snow
I invited Jody to stay the night before we went away. Storm was away at a Shamanic-dancing workshop in Milton Keynes but would be back the following day to look after Mrs Christmas for me.
‘Have you told her Mummy’s going on an adventure?’ Jody asked the following morning as we left. She was staggering through the hall with about four suitcases and wearing a full-length fake fur coat, looking not unlike a Rolling Stones groupie from the seventies, while Mrs Christmas was getting caught up in the action and making alarming noises as she tried to escape ‘the yeti’ in her hall. My sister really was quite chaotic.
‘I feel guilty leaving her,’ I said, rescuing Mrs C from Jody’s suitcase wheels and cuddling her tightly. ‘I just told her Auntie Storm would be giving cuddles and Katomeat for the next few months.’ It sounded like a long time away from home and my tummy twisted into a tight little knot, until I thought of white slopes and real Christmas trees and it smoothed slightly. I think Jody could see the flicker of doubt pass over my face, and she bustled me out of the house before I could change my mind.
‘Now, Mrs C – you know the rules,’ she called as we left. ‘No boy cats, no drugs… no pussy parties, don’t post anything dodgy on the internet and no sex in the garden.’
My heart was in my mouth. ‘Oh don’t, I feel like I’m leaving my teenage daughter here all alone,’ I sighed as we shut the door.
Meeting ‘the girls’ at the airport was an experience in itself. Kate, the nursery nurse and Jody’s oldest friend, was already tipsy. ‘It’s only two o’clock,’ I whispered to Jody as she tangoed towards us.
‘You sound just like bloody Tim,’ she sighed, kicking up her legs and joining Kate in an impromptu performance that looked like some sort of lap dance and grabbed the attention of everyone in the departure lounge.
‘Where’s Lola?’ Jody gasped, breathless as she finally extricated herself from an enthusiastic Kate. ‘I hope she turns up.’ The fact that my sister could even wonder if a friend would turn up for a planned working holiday gives you some idea of Lola, who lived by
nobody’s rules.
‘I’ll call her. She was working until late last night,’ Kate explained as she dialled her number. ‘She’ll be dog-tired and hungover. She’ll probably be limping too – that pole is unforgivable.’
I looked at Jody.
‘I thought she sold advertising space?’
‘She does, but times are hard and a girl’s gotta make a crust. She can’t drive that Porsche on ad space alone, so she does a bit of… dancing,’ she answered, clearly not wishing to elaborate.
I didn’t want to judge, but one had to wonder what the hell this working holiday was going to be like. A wild student nurse, a nursery nurse with the mental age of her pupils, an entrepreneurial, serial-sexting pole dancer and me – a pent-up, single librarian with man issues.
Eventually our flight was called and the three of us headed off to begin the journey. We were just getting seated when there was a commotion at the back of the plane.
‘That’ll be Lola,’ Jody said, unable to stop herself smiling and turning round to greet her friend.
And sure enough, the fabulous forty-something blonde dressed in a bright pink jumpsuit with fur trim was trooping down the aisle shouting, ‘Where are my girls?’
‘Here!’ they were calling and Kate started a ‘Lola’ chant, which Jody joined in on, the whole thing becoming louder and more unnecessary as it went on.
I hid behind my copy of Ski Monthly until they stopped and Lola landed on the seat next to me in a fug of alcohol and French perfume.
‘OH. MY GOD,’ she sighed loudly. ‘You won’t believe the morning I’ve had.’
She went on to detail aspects of her morning that I felt she should really have kept to herself, but involved a ‘hunk of a man’, a festive bra and too much sex and tinsel before noon for my liking.
‘But… tinsel handcuffs? It’s only November…’ was all I could muster.
‘It’s always Christmas in my bed,’ she guffawed, then leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, ‘S & M isn’t what it used to be, Jen.’ She said this like she was talking about the decline of the family in the twenty-first century. ‘I blame shoddy workmanship. One hard tug and the stitching just falls apart.’ She was gesticulating wildly and I couldn’t imagine, nor did I want to know, what the hell she was referring to.
‘Ooh, it’s going to be a long journey in this underwear,’ she said, suddenly hitching her trousers before announcing to everyone in the vicinity that ‘lacy thongs are killers on economy seats’.
The wood cabin at the ski resort was lovely – everything Jody had said it would be, sitting halfway up a snowy hill with a holly wreath on the door. Inside, a big fur rug lay in front of a huge, crackling open fire and a big Christmas tree stood in the middle of the open-plan living area. It was covered in twinkling fairy lights, and the fire, the snow and a glass of wine soon softened my spiky edges. It wasn’t for long though – within an hour the huge white sofas were covered in the contents of the girls’ cases, as were the bedroom and kitchen floors. Jody’s definition of a ‘working holiday’ was quite different from mine, and as she and the girls unpacked their litre bottles of vodka, fur G-strings and loud music, I followed them round tidying up. This was not going to be the traditional Bing Crosby ‘White Christmas’ I had in mind, and as Jody rode Kate through the living room and Lola sexted a stranger, I could only imagine what the next few months would bring.
We had to be at work the following day, so I was keen to unpack my case and go straight to bed. I’d explained over the phone and in all of the many forms I had to fill in that I didn’t ski, and to my relief I’d received an email to say I would be working in the resort’s coffee shop, The Ski Bunny. I was really quite excited about this – making coffee and serving snacks and cakes in a snowy setting couldn’t have been more different from life in a concrete library where everyone had to ‘shush’.
I was just contemplating what to wear for my first day and beginning to feel a little nervous, when I was rudely awoken from my thoughts.
‘OH MY GOD,’ Jody was screaming from the balcony. My heart was in my mouth.
‘What on earth…’ I said, rushing across the room and whipping back the curtain to the balcony. She was jumping up and down, open-mouthed and pointing out across the mountains, and the sheer volume of her screech indicated she was either about to fall or had at least been shot.
‘What? What?’ I said, wanting to protect her from whatever had caused such apparent anguish.
‘That… that over there.’ She was pointing to the breathtaking view of the mountains, and I realised it must be the spectacular whiteness in the blueish dusk.
‘Yes, it’s quite amazing, isn’t it?’ I sighed. ‘It’s just like a Christmas card.’ Perhaps my sister did have a soul after all?
‘Yeah, yeah the view’s alright, but I’m talking about that over there. Can you see it?’ she said, as she began pushing clumps of snow into a large glass of something. ‘Look over there.’ She pointed again, out beyond the white infinity, and there it was, glowing in the snowy darkness like an alien spaceship. ‘On the Piste Nightclub and Bar’.
‘I told you they have everything,’ she said, looking out longingly across the dark snow. ‘We will work hard and play hard, sis… that nightclub will be just sick.’
I smiled. This wasn’t really my idea of sick…or perhaps it was, in the original sense.
‘It’s the kind of place I’ve dreamed of, you know…’ she was saying. ‘And according to the forums the DJs are bloody mental… in a good way,’ she added, like this would reassure me.
My heart sank. This was a nightclub, but not as I knew it. The building was huge and spiky and neon, and when I looked more closely I could see the front was plastered with posters offering ice parties and DJs with weird-sounding names. And. A. Luge.
‘Am I reading this right? Are they offering a luge?’ I said, screwing up my eyes to read it more clearly from the distance. ‘Isn’t that a chute for people to go down… usually outside?’
‘I know, but this is inside – don’t get too excited…’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘Because at your age your heart just might not take it, and you might die and not be able to join in.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ I said.
‘Jen, you will LOVE it!’
‘I won’t. And stop telling me I’ll love things when I know I’ll hate them.’
‘You’re being boring again. Open yourself up, Jen. You don’t know you’ll hate it because you’ve never been on a luge before.’
‘How do you know?’
She gave me a look.
‘Okay, I haven’t been down a luge, but I’ve lived. I’ve been covered in foam and jumped into a swimming pool fully dressed…’ I smiled at the memory. It seemed so long ago.
‘Foam parties!’ she rolled her eyes. ‘They were around with the dinosaurs. Oh you do make me laugh with your retro life,’ she said, gazing back out onto her own personal Xanadu. I giggled at this, and we both stood together, the navy blue night descending around us, dotted with stars.
‘Just look out there,’ I said, taking it all in. ‘You don’t get that at home.’
‘Fabulous, isn’t it?’ She smiled. ‘I read about it online. The luge starts at the top of the roof and just swirls down.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘I meant the unpolluted night sky.’
‘And I meant the luge. You come down it at about a hundred miles an hour – apparently it’s bloody scary, in a good way. Just awesome, isn’t it?’
‘And stop adding “in a good way”, to everything in a vain attempt to make something awful sound better. Are you like that with your patients? “I’m sorry, Mr Peters, but you are dying…in a good way”, or “when you wake up, your leg will have been amputated… in a good way”.’
‘No, I’m not like that at all. Besides I don’t work in limbs. Hey but how bloody awesome is that luge, babe?’ She really thought I was impressed and couldn’t wait to climb on.
�
��Awesome,’ I repeated. ‘With any luck I’ll be dead by morning… in a good way.’
‘Ooh, don’t be such a party pooper, Jen. You’ll have a blast, and you know it. There’s an ice party tonight – you’ll LOVE that. Bloody hell, chill out.’
Instead of moving me forwards, this working holiday with Jody and the girls was in danger of dragging me back. The prospect of drunken nights at On The Piste where I held the girls’ coats to the tune of deafening music and screaming luge divers made me feel rather out of my depth. I wanted candlelit dinners, trips to museums, evenings at home reading a good book… but indoor luges? An ice party? Mental DJs?
‘I mean, who wants an ice party?’ I said. ‘More importantly, what is an ice party?’
‘I’ve no idea, but it’ll probably be so cold we’ll scream our tits off.’
‘In a good way,’ I said and laughed, and we leaned on the balcony, gazing out onto a perfect Christmas scene of fir trees and glittering snow. Perhaps this was going to be fun after all?
I looked at Jody, about to say something positive about how lovely things were going to be, but she was now taking a large swig of whatever she’d just snowed up in the glass.
‘What if someone’s urinated in that snow?’ I asked, watching her try and suck the alcohol through the dense clod of snow she’d packed in.
‘Well if some guy has whipped it out two floors up in this cold I want his number – who needs Dating.com?’ And she laughed, continuing to slurp. ‘Want a swig?’
‘Eugh, no thank you.’
‘I bet you would have when you were my age.’
‘I hope you’re not trying to say you learned your vile behaviour from me.’ I laughed.
‘Well not exactly, but I remember how I used to want to be you when I was little. You’d always be fun and usually wearing something outrageous. I remember you coming over one day in really tiny shorts and you had a massive argument with Dad…’
‘God, I’d forgotten about that – I remember buying those tiny shorts just to wind him up. I knew it would annoy him.’ I sighed, pretending to be amused, but sad for the teenager I’d once been, desperately craving Dad’s attention, even if it meant him being angry with me.
