Digging Deeper

by Barbara Elsborg

Beck had been struck dumb by the turns the conversation had taken. From talking about pistes in Lech and ski instructors’ bums, the brides-trolls had moved on to being pissed in Lech and scoring each instructor’s bratwurst on rather too many levels for Beck’s liking. He wondered if they remembered there was a man with them. He didn’t need to hear that sort of detail. From bratwurst their minds had inexplicably warped into a discussion over what they’d like in their coffins when they were dead. He’d never understand how women’s minds worked.

  “My teddy bear, Edward,” Willow said. “I’ve had him since I was a baby and he’s always been there for me. I’d still like to sleep with him only I can’t.”

  “Why? Does Giles object?” Kirsten teased.

  “His head’s full of sawdust and he leaks.”

  “Sounds just like Giles,” Flick muttered.

  Beck stifled a laugh.

  “Well, I’d like to be wearing my Prada outfit,” said Airy. “I saved so long to buy it, I want to get my money’s worth.”

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  “Louis Vuitton bag. Ditto,” from Fairy. “I don’t want my sister to get her mitts on it.”

  “Jimmy Choo shoes,” from Mary. “All five pairs in case heaven doesn’t stock them.”

  “My mobile phone, just in case,” said Kirsten. “And a spare battery and I don’t want to be cremated.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Mary agreed.

  “What about you, Flick,” Airy asked.

  “A hunky man, just in case,” Flick said in a low voice. Everyone but Willow and Beck laughed.

  He pulled up at the entrance of Xscape to drop them off. A group rushed toward Willow as she got out of the van and showered her in pink confetti. Flick hung back clutching a plastic supermarket bag in her arms. She looked so sad and lost and unFlick-like that Beck wanted to sweep her into his arms and drag her to safety. Instead, he drove off. He watched through his side mirror and saw her gaze after the van as he pulled away. Beck’s heart lurched. He went around in a circle and drove back into the car park. What the hell was he playing at?

  Flick’s depression deepened when she realized how much it was all going to cost. She had nowhere near enough cash.

  Kirsten elbowed her away from the group. “I’m paying,” she whispered. “It’s my treat.”

  “You can’t pay for me.”

  “No arguments. I’m sorry I’ve not been there for you lately. If bribery is what it takes to get you to smile again then that’s the way it’s going to be.”

  When the bridesmaids and Willow emerged from the changing cubicles in ski pants and matching jackets, they looked like four different flavored ice pops. The rest of the hen party were also attired in appropriate gear. Flick wore pink chinos and a thin pale green shirt.

  Kirsten winced. “Flick, let me hire you a ski suit. You’re going to be too cold.”

  “No need. It won’t be that bad. I’ve got gloves and I’ve brought my sweater.”

  Of course she never thought it would see the light of day, but she’d wanted to make it look as though she intended to ski. She pulled a large hand-knitted sweater out of her bag, made by her mother for her father. The first and last. There was a large horse’s head on the front and a lopsided horse’s bum on the back with a little plaited tail that swung free. Flick held it up to show Kirsten before dropping it on to the seat beside her.

  “That’s revolting,” Kirsten said.

  “I know but it’s warm.” Flick pushed her foot part way into one of the ski boots where it came to a mysterious halt. “And remember, I’m not going to be the one 158

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  wearing the hat made of inflated condoms. I think I heard Willow say last bridesmaid on the slope wears it first.”

  Kirsten paled.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll catch up.” Flick waved her away and breathed a sigh of relief when they’d all disappeared. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Kirsten had already forked out a fortune, she’d have dumped the gear and gone for drink. Once they were back in Leeds, she’d head home. Willow didn’t want her around and Flick had no intention of spoiling her hen night. She pulled and twisted the million clips on the boot and finally wrestled her foot back to freedom, groaning as she flexed her toes. She turned to the teenager behind the counter. “Can you give me a hand?”

  Five minutes later, Flick had her feet tightly encased in lumps of lead and was staggering toward the snow like Frankenstein. When she’d first picked up her skis they sat neatly together but within two steps they’d squirmed apart. Flick lifted them over her shoulder and in a fast scissor action almost decapitated the woman standing behind. She heard the squeal of alarm, turned to apologize and just missed the woman’s companion. More apologies but no more turning. Flick set off again with her poles trailing behind her.

  Beck sat upstairs in the window seat of the café overlooking the slope. He was cross with himself for not having made a way to speak to Flick because that had been the point of driving them. He couldn’t see her skiing, but it was impossible to miss Willow, who wore a flashing tiara, mini veil and a dazzling smile. She glided without effort down the hill somewhat belying the large L for learner plate stuck to her back. After a moment, he spotted stormy-faced Kirsten who appeared to be wearing a large hat made from different colored balloons. No, not balloons. Beck smiled. He watched as she performed a series of elegant parallel turns to reach the bottom of the slope. Still no sign of Little Miss Trouble.

  Flick eyed the ski pull from a respectable distance, in other words from next to the exit. There looked nothing to it but experience had taught her that as far as she was concerned, what might appear simple would be devilishly tricky. As far as she could make out, she had to slide forward to the line, reach behind, grab the pole, push the round rubber plate between her legs and let it drag her up the slope. She shuffled forward at a slug’s pace, missed the first pole when she leaned too far forwards and promptly fell over. The second pole hit her on the head as she struggled to her feet. The third she caught but it slipped out of her grasp and the one coming after smacked her in the face. The attendant finally shut off the motor. Behind her she heard sounds of people getting impatient, people sniggering, people wincing. No way would the fifth pole escape, only once she had it in her grasp she forgot how she was supposed to get it between her legs and managed to tangle it in her 159

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  sweater. Someone yelled instructions but she was too traumatized to take in what they were saying and clutched the rubber plate in her arms, letting it haul her up the hill. By the time she approached the top, Flick was exhausted by the strain of remaining upright with her arms at full stretch. Desperate not to fall, she ignored the shouts of the attendant and kept her eyes down. By the time Flick registered she had to let go, she and the pole were entwined together and she slid straight into a mound of snow. It took a few moments for the attendant to dig her out. Flick burned with embarrassment as she tried to avoid those coming up behind. She slid one ski forward, then the other and moved several inches backward. She tried again, less ambitious with the distance and shuffled her way to the middle of the slope. Slow was good because it delayed what Flick feared would be the fast part.

  When she’d stood at the bottom, the incline looked gentle, no more than a snowy hillock. Now it had taken on the proportions of a sheer ice face, sister of Everest. Only pride stopped her taking off her skis and walking to safety. She could see Kirsten on her way down again, and Willow and her friends waiting at the bottom of the other button pull.

  Flick watched those around her and listened as a man instructed his son about transferring weight from one foot to the other and to lean down the slope. She sighed as everyone glided effortlessly past. Willow and her chickens whizzed by ignoring her, pursued by Kirsten waving the condom hat, desperate to pass it on. Flick flinched as two tiny tots whipped either side, leaning so far back they were practically sitting down.

  Flick sighed.
She was fit, supple and she could do this, and if she waited any longer she’d freeze to death anyway. With that thought, she pushed off. I can do this. I can do this.

  I can’t do this.

  Flick gathered speed with no idea how to stop or turn. Praying no one got in her way, she leaned backward, then forward, then sideways and swished to the left. Bingo. She leaned the other way and moved right. Encouraged that she’d mastered one maneuver, she let her concentration lapse, her speed increase and suddenly the base loomed.

  People yelled and scattered. Flick put her hands over her eyes, her poles dangling from her wrists and shot straight through a gap, up the nursery slope right to the top and then slid backward, squealing in terror. Finally she fell in a heap. She still had her eyes closed and didn’t dare move. She wondered how many bones she’d broken and hoped no poor sod lay flattened underneath her. Maybe the wetness she could feel was snow and not blood. Could things get any worse?

  “Flick.”

  Ah, yes, they could.

  “Open your eyes,” Beck said.

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  I don’t think so.

  “Is she dead?” someone asked.

  With considerable reluctance, Flick opened one eye and peered up. Beck held out a gloved hand. Gloves were good. Nothing could happen through gloves. But the moment he took her hand in his, energy travelled between them, a surging shockwave that leaped from her body, sparking though her fingertips and two sets of thick gloves. He flinched and she knew he’d felt it too.

  Flick allowed him to pull her to her feet. Beck began to brush the snow from her jumper and as he was about to touch her breast, stopped with his hands poised above the horse’s eyes.

  Kirsten swished to a stop beside them.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Fine.”

  How Flick hated that bloody word. She wasn’t fine. She was frozen. Her bum was soaked, her legs sticks of jelly, her heart jived in her chest and she suspected she had third degree burns on her hands.

  “What are you doing here?” Kirsten asked.

  “You bloody well made me come,” Flick snapped.

  “She means me,” Beck said. “Since I’d come all this way, I thought I’d have a try. I saw Flick having a little difficulty on the button pull.”

  Flick’s flushed face turned what she suspected was an even deeper shade of crimson. He’d seen everything. Well, that was just great.

  “I’ll help Flick. You go and ski with Willow and the others,” Beck told Kirsten. Once she’d skied off he turned to Flick. “What on earth possessed you to launch yourself from the top? You know nothing about skiing, do you?”

  “Yes,” Flick said in indignation.

  “Is that yes meaning no?”

  “I’ve watched that ski program on TV.”

  Beck groaned. “Look, I’m going to help you but you have to trust me and do exactly as I say.”

  “All right.”

  He frowned. “I mean it. Do exactly as I say.”

  He pulled her over to the button lift and he pushed the plate through Flick’s legs.

  “Don’t sit down,” he said as Flick sat.

  She sank to the snow, the pole flew away and sent her sprawling. Beck dragged her to one side. Three poles later she was in the correct position, moving up the hill with Beck behind shouting encouragement.

  “That’s really good, Flick. Keep your feet parallel and in the groves. When you get to the top, pull the button out and toss it to one side.”

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  To her great surprise she didn’t fall but managed to turn and slide away along the top of the slope. Beck came shooting up beside her.

  “Well done. Now you only have to get to the bottom again.”

  With a heavy heart, Flick turned her skis toward the hill. Beck pulled her back. “Hey, not so fast.”

  He moved behind her and slid his skis to the outside of hers and pressed up against her. Flick felt his warm breath on her neck, his body solid and firm against hers. She went weak at the knees.

  “We’re going to snowplow down. Spread your legs, keep the tips of your skis together and bend your knees. If you keep the edge of the skis pressed against the snow you can control your speed.”

  He pushed off, keeping Flick pinned in front of him. He talked but she hardly listened, the feeling of being so close to him had made her head spin. She was wet, cold, scared and never wanted to see another pair of skis as long as she lived, but when they got to the bottom and he said, “Again?” she nodded as if she couldn’t wait, slithered back to the sadistic button pull and thought of all the other things she’d rather be sitting on.

  It was the shortest and longest hour of Flick’s life. She was surprised how much she enjoyed her lesson, how patient he was. She loved having him hold her and part of her wished it would never end. By the time it was over, she could get from the top to the bottom without falling. Beck told her she was brilliant. As he helped her take off her boots, she heard herself agreeing with Kirsten’s suggestion they go on a skiing holiday next year. Flick knew even if she wanted to go, she couldn’t afford it. She struggled to fasten the laces on her trainers. Her fingers were freezing. Her bum frozen. She had a huge wet patch on the back of her trousers. It had all been worth it.

  “Want a ride back?” Beck asked.

  Flick looked up and gulped. Yes! “Thanks.” Her tongue felt like a wad of cotton wool in her mouth that she had to force the words around. The day had melted from a horrible nightmare into a warm and pleasant dream. She fumbled to pull off the sodden sweater and pushed it into her bag. Goose bumps covered her arms, her nipples clearly visible under the T-shirt she wore. She wrapped her arms around her chest.

  “Here, wear my top if you’re cold.”

  Beck tugged off his v-necked cotton sweater and Flick pulled it over her head. It smelled of Beck. She could feel the warmth of his body still clinging to the creases.

  Once everyone was in cabs heading for Leeds, Flick went with Beck to the minivan. As she settled beside him, he turned to face her. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

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  “What about?”

  “You know what about. Everything. Henry. The kidnapping.”

  Guilt gnawed at her stomach. “It sounded unbelievable.”

  “I feel terrible. I sat there furious with you, staring at the curry, wanting to wring your neck and all the time you were in danger.”

  “I wasn’t exactly in danger,” Flick said, feeling worse.

  “Did you know the men?”

  “No.”

  “But you could describe them to the police.”

  “Oh yes, they’re well known to the police.” Oh God, this is not good.

  “So have they arrested them?”

  “I doubt it.” Please shut up.

  “Won’t you press charges?”

  “No.” God, make him shut up.

  “They didn’t…hurt you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Don’t you want to talk about it?” Beck asked.

  “No. I really don’t.” She began to bite her nail.

  “Okay. Well, would you like to go for something to eat?”

  Flick was so racked with anxiety her stomach would likely reject anything she offered it, but she registered the change of direction and nodded. Beck was giving her another chance and she didn’t often get those.

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  Chapter Twenty-Four

  By the time they got to Yeadon, Flick had dried out, cheered up and felt hungry. Beck had done most of the talking; telling her about the discoveries on the dig, and his excitement calmed her down. Everything would be all right. When she got out of the car and walked across the road to the Jade Palace, Beck took hold of her hand. A surge of lust swept though her body and she gasped.

  “You okay?” He gave her a long look.

  “
You made my heart jump.”

  Beck squeezed her fingers. “Mine too.”

  “You ought to patent yourself. Hospitals wouldn’t need defibrillator paddles. Just get you to hold the patient’s hand and her heart would bounce back to life.”

  “What about male patients?”

  “Well, that’s already one of my many jobs.”

  Beck laughed.

  Flick was desperate not to spoil things. After they’d chosen what they wanted to eat, she stayed with a safe topic and talked about the dig.

  “So what’s the latest development?”

  “We found the remains of an underground heating system.”

  “A hypocaust?”

  “Bless you.” Beck grinned. “I could hardly believe it. It’s really unusual for this area. The civilian settlement in Ilkley has always been more difficult to research because most of the building stones were re-used elsewhere, but I think we’ve found the remains of an upmarket dwelling dating back to the fourth century.”

  “Wow.”

  “Maybe one of the Romans stayed behind and married a local girl, or perhaps an enterprising guy copied ideas he’d seen the Romans use. We’re finding more and more Samian ware, as well as the usual greyware, plus a few coins and personal items… I’m boring you. Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.” His excitement fascinated her. “I think I’ve caught the archaeology bug. I’m desperate to have a go. I bet you wish you had a time machine so you could check if you were right.”

  “I’m never wrong,” he said in mock indignation.

  “How come?”

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  “Archaeologists have inbuilt defense mechanisms. If it ever looks as though we’ve made a mistake, we claim we were originally correct but the circumstances changed.”

  “Is that what happened with me?” Flick asked, looking straight at him.

  “I was intrigued by you the first time I saw you.”

  “So was that bloody sheep.”

  “The sheep’s long gone but I’m still intrigued,” Beck said in a quiet voice. Flick wanted to touch his hair, run her fingers through it. She sat on her hands. The way her luck played, his hair would most likely fall out in chunks. He sat up straighter and began fiddling with his chopsticks. “That first day I met you, why did you think I was from the police?”