The Racer Trials: Secrets in the Snow, Episode 4

by Roz Marshall

  Contents

  Copyright

  Title page

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  A note from the author

  Glossary

  Characters

  Other books in the series

  Copyright © 2014 Roz Marshall

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.You must not circulate this book in any format.

  The characters, places and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please visit your favourite online ebook seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Printed in the United Kingdom

  First published, 2014

  Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.rozmarshall.co.uk

  About this book

  After Ben Dalton's Olympic ski racing dreams were shattered by a serious injury, he fled back to Scotland and a job as a trainee instructor with White Cairns Ski School. With time and therapy he's able to ski again, but his near-miss with what he thought he wanted has left him isolated and confused.

  Working with a promising young racer only adds to his confusion, making him question if leaving the racing circuit was the right decision. But at least Ben finds a new friend in her chaperone, Neil, who seems more at home in the world than Ben ever was. Having someone he can open up to for a change is a revelation for Ben, who has never felt comfortable anywhere — even with himself.

  He faces hard decisions. He can fight for a coaching position which might convince him to stay in Scotland if he's selected, but he's torn by the desire to return to racing, and the lure of a gold medal. Afraid that either choice will leave him feeling disappointed and hollow, just like always, Ben is forced to look deep within himself and explore why nothing ever fits. But at least this time, he has a good friend to help him.

  Wednesday 15th February

  Scotland

  BEN LOOKED AT the Valentine card in his hand. For the first time ever, he had no idea who'd sent it.

  In the past it had been obvious — someone he was seeing, or a girl at school with an obvious crush on him, or else a signature which removed all of the mystery and intrigue.

  But this one was different.

  Nothing written on it, except a large X in nondescript blue biro. Nothing exceptional about the pre-printed sentiment in the card: 'Be my valentine'. Nothing non-standard about the hearts and flowers in the illustration; perhaps a more feminine choice, but unremarkable, so hard to tell.

  He turned the envelope over. Nothing out of the ordinary about the printed address, except that it had been printed, rather than written by hand, which meant the person — she? — had a computer, or access to one, and an inkjet. Nothing unusual about the label, although he'd been addressed as 'B. Dalton', which meant they knew his surname, and ruled out most of his skiing pupils — except the few who recognised him from his ski-racing days and occasional appearances on Ski Sunday. Nothing special or foreign about the stamp — just a bog-standard first-class Queen's head on a coloured background, over-stamped by an unreadable postmark.

  Nothing extraordinary at all, really.

  The only unusual thing about this particular valentine card? It hadn't arrived on Valentine's Day.

  -::-

  Sitting on his bed in the twin room he shared with Marty, Ben was thankful that he'd been first back to the house that evening after the ski school race celebrations. If Marty had arrived first and found the card lying on the doormat, he'd have been ribbed about it endlessly. He frowned at it one more time, then tucked it back into its envelope and pushed it under his pillow — just in time, as their bedroom door flew open and Marty staggered in with his arm around Monique, a rather predatory pupil who had finally managed to snag herself a ski instructor.

  "Oh, sorry, pal, didn't realise you were home." Marty gestured at his companion. "You've met Monique, haven't you?"

  "Yeah." Ben nodded at them, then grabbed his sleeping bag, shorts and a t-shirt and padded to the door. "I'll leave you to it," he said, watching Monique drag Marty towards the other bed.

  Down the hall, Ben knocked on the door to Zoë and Debbie's room. Silence. Tentatively, he pushed the door open, but the room was dark. Looks like Zoë's with that Olly, right enough. He switched on the light and made his way to Debbie's vacant bed. Laying out his sleeping bag, he caught a faint whiff of something flowery. He smiled. Even with Debbie away in hospital, it was like she was still here.

  Friday 17th February

  JUDE'S FOOTSTEPS ECHOED across the floor of the empty shop. In the early morning light, it somehow seemed more barren than ever with Mike away. She stopped. The place looked jaded and lacklustre — the shelves were only half-stocked and everything looked as if it needed a fresh coat of paint. I'll have to sort this out. She bit her lip. I'll need some way to bring in money over the summer, once the snow's gone.

  With her husband Allan away in New Zealand, and inexplicably not contributing to the household finances, it had become Jude's responsibility to bring in enough money to pay the living expenses for herself and their teenage daughter, Lucy. She didn't earn enough with her graphic design work to pay the bills but, fortunately, the ski school had done well this winter, aided by good snowfalls and her acquisition of a couple of new clients. However, the weather in Scotland was fickle, and she'd feel lucky if they could keep going until Easter.

  We need a sideline for the summer. I should start thinking about it now. But there was nobody to run the shop until the season was finished up the hill, or until Allan came back. She swallowed. If he ever comes back.

  -::-

  Accompanied by her favourite nurse, Debbie shuffled from the ground-floor ward of the county hospital and walked slowly across the reception area to the main doors. It had been quite a few days since her accident, but finally they were letting her out, and she couldn't wait to get back home. Home? She smiled at herself. Back to the village, then.

  Callum's silver hatchback was idling in the car park outside, the overcast sky starting to darken as late afternoon diffused into a chilly winter evening. When he spotted her approaching, he jumped out, took Debbie's bag from the nurse and opened the passenger door for her.

  "Thanks so much for everything," Debbie said to the nurse, who patted her on the shoulder and headed back through the swing doors.

  "Is there anything I can do to help?" asked Callum.

  "I don't think so." Using the door frame as a prop, she eased herself ginger
ly into the passenger seat, grimacing at a twinge of pain.

  "Is it awfy sore?"

  She shook her head. "I'll survive."

  "I'll try and avoid the potholes. Though that might be difficult. The roads round here have more pits on them than a spotty teenager's face."

  She tutted at him. "Remember, no making me laugh!"

  Callum slapped his forehead cartoonishly. "Doh! Sorry!"

  The journey was uneventful, and fortunately low on potholes. Half an hour later, they arrived back at the rented Victorian villa that they shared with the other young instructors, the headlights biting through the gloomy gloaming and illuminating the gravel driveway until the car scrunched to a halt in front of the porch.

  "Stay there," Callum commanded as he hurried out of the car and ran round to the passenger side, where he took her elbow and helped her up the steps to the front door.

  Standing on the top step, she smelled the heady, fresh bouquet of damp pine trees, peaty soil and woodsmoke that was unmistakably 'White Cairns'. Debbie smiled to herself and pushed open the door. It's good to be back.

  "Marty's on cooking duty tonight," said Callum, raising an eyebrow, "so you might wish you were back eating hospital food after all!"

  She started to chuckle, then clasped an arm into her chest as a spasm of pain caught her.

  "Oh, sorry," said Callum, looking chastened. "I forgot. No laughing, coughing, or sneezing. Sorry."

  She nodded until she was able to speak. "I must be due some more painkillers."

  "I'll go get your bag."

  "Thanks. And thanks for the lift." She smiled at him, then remembered their discussion a couple of nights ago, when she was in hospital, about possibly sharing a room. "Oh — did you and Zoë swap rooms in the end? Or did you decide against it?

  He stopped, half-way back to the car. "Ah, well, actually, Ben's been using your bed because Marty's had that Monique woman here — we told you about her?" She nodded. "So Zoë and I swapped 'cos she didn't want to share with him."

  "Does that mean Ben's on the couch tonight?"

  "Probably. But Monique goes home tomorrow, thank goodness."

  "Okay." She turned back into the house, and started shuffling towards her room. Their room. It would be weird, having a new room-mate who was a boy. But Callum was okay, and surely he'd be nicer to share with than Zoë? At least he was kind to her. And he was fun to talk to. That alone would make it worth putting up with any awkwardness, she decided.

  -::-

  Callum set Debbie's bag down on her bed, and turned to her. "D'you need help with unpacking or anything?"

  She pursed her lips. "I think I'll manage. Thanks, though."

  He nodded, and picked up his iPod. "Just shout if you need anything," he said, and started unravelling the wires of his earbuds.

  "Actually, Callum," said Debbie, unpacking her toiletries onto the chest of drawers. He looked up. "Should we set some ground rules? Like the towel on the door handle thing?"

  He nodded. "Okay. How about — I'll not borrow any of your clothes if you leave mine alone?"

  She snorted. "I'm picturing you in one of my flowery tops. It's not a good look!"

  He grinned. "And — no answering me if I'm talking in my sleep."

  "Do you talk in your sleep?" She re-arranged the pillows on her bed.

  "Sometimes. So I've been told."

  "I was meaning more boring things, though. Like, always wearing pyjamas in bed, and no traipsing about topless?"

  He suppressed a smile. "Oh, I dunno, I wouldn't complain if you wanted to go around topless." He tried to stop that thought from going any further. Keep a lid on it!

  She started to giggle, then made a face and held an arm across her chest. "Okay, can we make that another rule — no making me laugh until my rib is better?"

  He held up his hands. "Sorry! It's hard to break the habits of a lifetime."

  "Oh, and we should probably get dressed in the bathroom?" She unzipped a pocket in her bag and pulled out her book.

  "Makes sense." That will help my sanity. He nodded. "And, no borrowing my make-up, okay? Blue eyeshadow would not be a good look on you."

  "You just cannot be serious!" she said, in a poor imitation of John McEnroe.

  "Like I said, habits of a lifetime." He shrugged. "Sorry."

  She eased herself onto the bed, settled back against the pillows and opened her book. "Okay, so I'll wear pyjamas and not borrow your make-up. Now, 'scuse me while I finish my book. I want to find out if they live happily ever after!"

  So do I, thought Callum, trying not to imagine Debbie's curves ensconced in pyjamas. So do I.

  BEN HAD TO admit that the pasta dish that Marty had produced for their evening meal had been surprisingly edible. Monique must be a good influence in the culinary department, if nothing else. After dinner, he turned on the TV in the lounge and gathered with Zoë, Debbie, Spock and Callum to watch the women's Snowboard Cross competition from the Winter Olympics in Turin.

  The competition had almost finished when Marty burst through the door, waving something white. "Hey, Ben, you kept quiet about this!"

  "Wha—" Ben started to say, and then recognised what Marty was holding. His valentine card.

  "Look what fell out from under your pillow? Hearts and flowers. And a big, fat kiss," said Marty, "or is it an 'X'? Have you got a secret admirer, Ben?"

  Ben felt the heat start to move up his neck towards his cheeks, and looked desperately around the room, hunting for a way out. But when his eyes fell on Debbie, he realised that she looked almost as embarrassed as he felt. Debbie? That stopped him short. Could it have been her?

  "Och, it was probably his mum," said Callum, with a quick glance in his direction. "My mum sends me a card every year. She thinks I won't guess it's her."

  "Right enough, it's a bit mumsy, isn't it," said Marty, showing the card to Monique, who'd appeared in the doorway behind him, but she just grabbed his arm and pulled him back in the direction of the bedroom.

  Ben raised his eyebrows at Callum, to say thanks, then turned back to the TV with his mind whirling. Debbie had been in hospital when the valentine would have been posted, although she might have been able to buy it at the hospital shop. But how would she have printed the label?

  Then he remembered their first day with the Ski School; how Jude had been embarrassed by one of the female instructor candidates, and how Debbie had blushed at this, as if in sympathy. Maybe she's just a sensitive person. She was watching the snowboarding again, colour slowly receding from her cheeks. But if it wasn't her, who was it?

  -::-

  Debbie settled back against the pillows and pulled her duvet up under her armpits. The heating in their bedroom wasn't the most efficient in the world and, on a cold February night like this, she was glad that she'd brought an electric blanket with her when she first came to White Cairns.

  Immersed in the world of romance, she was startled when the door swung open and Callum came in, wearing blue-checked pyjama bottoms with a navy t-shirt, trailing a faint waft of peppermint toothpaste behind him.

  "Hi, Debs." He glanced at the cover of her novel. "Is that a new book?"

  She turned the cover over to look, and then felt stupid for doing so. "Yeah, I just started it this afternoon."

  "Unexpected Love," Callum read slowly, turning his head sideways so he could read the title. "That'll be a gore-fest futuristic ghost story, then?"

  She gave him an irreverent look, "Got it in one!" then put the book down. "I forgot to ask earlier — how were things up the hill today?"

  "I got very confused this morning."

  "That's not hard, is it?"

  Callum feigned affront. "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted; I got very confused and thought I must have been transported to France or something. There was this large, round yellow thing in the sky for at least half the morning. I've heard tell it's called the sun."

  "Ha, hah," she said, mirthlessly, biting back a smile. "How were the les
sons?"

  "Spock took a Scout group down the gully and told them they were doing half-pipe training. Fiona did Monique's private lesson today, thankfully. The rest of us were pretty busy with the usual classes — you know how it is."

  "And what were you today?"

  He grinned at her. "A human guide dog for blind people. Imagine the scenario — me, walking around all day with a blind person on my arm." He stomped around the room in a poor parody of a labrador in a harness, then shook his head. "I always think it's funny that they don't realise I could teach skiing all year round if I wanted to."

  "Would you work in New Zealand or Australia for the summer? Our summer, I mean. Or South America. You can ski there, right?"

  "Yeah." He sucked air through his teeth. "Not sure I'd work there, though." A sardonic eyebrow raised in her direction. "I love summer in Scotland so much."

  "I'd like to visit New Zealand someday. It looked amazing in the Peter Jackson films." She remembered their absent kiwi chief instructor, and her forehead creased. "Have you heard how Mike's doing?"

  "Not yet. But he should have arrived there by now."

  Saturday 18th February

  New Zealand

  THE BUS PULLED away, dust billowing in its wake, and left a solitary figure by the side of the road. Patagonia, Summit and North Face clothed a mountain man whose charcoal-coloured hair was shot through with a moraine of granite.

  He gazed around him, seeing, as if for the first time, the grassy plateau which surrounded the small town, almost featureless until the eye reached the ridge of volcanoes in the distance. Despite the summer season, ribbons of snow still trickled down couloirs emanating from the highest peak, which was where the ski fields were situated; wisps of cloud girdled the summit like elven circlets or faery rings. But the brooding darkness of the conical central mountain had made its eerie pumice slopes an obvious candidate for Mordor's Mount Doom in the Lord of the Rings films.

  Compared to what Mike had become used to in Scotland, the landscape seemed vast and desolate; the width of the roads made them seem like empty motorways, and the single-storey weatherboard bungalows seemed unnecessarily capacious, in contrast with the cramped houses that jostled cheek-by-jowl in the main street of White Cairns. But it also appeared barren, somehow, and unfriendly, with no neighbourly overlooking or overstuffed gardens.