The Racer Trials: Secrets in the Snow, Episode 4

by Roz Marshall

  He didn't like himself for being jealous, but he couldn't deny that he was. Ever since the first day they'd arrived in White Cairns he'd been attracted to Debbie. As he'd got to know her better, her warmth and exuberance had made him grow to like her even more. But now, just when things had started to fall into place for him — platonic though their sharing a room was meant to be — when he'd hoped that Debbie might start to see him as more than a colleague, Ben had happened. He set his jaw.

  Trudy skied across from the lift and he shook himself from that negative frame of mind. "Well, young lady, how did that last run feel?"

  "Cool!"

  "Okay, and how could you have made it cooler? Was there anything you could've improved on?" Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Vicki sliding to a stop not far away. Looks like I'm being checked-up on.

  "Well, maybe I could've skied the icy bits better?"

  "Right, so here's what to think about next time: keep light on ice. Imagine you're dancing. Keep light on your feet and keep the movements flowing. Got it?"

  The girl nodded.

  "Okay, go and have another try."

  There was some improvement in Trudy's performance but, if he was honest, most of that was probably down to her talent rather than his coaching. He glanced back at Vicki. Lucky for me I've got the best pupil, though. Might give me a chance of beating Ben for once…

  IF I GET chosen, I'll take it as a sign that I'm meant to give up on racing, Ben decided. The last two days had shown him that being a coach wouldn't be a bad life. Not as exciting as racing, perhaps, but not as stressful either. I could cope with that.

  Vicki and Neil had gathered them around a couple of the pine tables in the almost-empty café. Mounted high in the corner, a TV played a soundless video where daredevil snowboarders jumped off cornices and descended spaghetti-thin couloirs. Behind the counter, two members of staff were stacking cups and plates and wiping surfaces, getting ready for the next day.

  Ben found himself staring at the silent snowboarders, envying their apparent lack of concern for life and limb.

  "First of all, I want to thank you all for your time and your efforts over the last couple of days," Neil was saying. "I hope you've all enjoyed the training and, of course, it wouldn't have been possible without our wonderful trainer, Vicki." He led them in some applause, while Vicki's downcast eyes were obviously meant to imply modesty.

  "Now, I know that you're all dying to know who's been chosen for the coaching scheme, so, without further ado," he looked round at all of them — but was it Ben's imagination or did he avoid catching his eye? "let me announce the instructor who's been chosen for the Ski Development Trust's inaugural Race Coach Development Programme — Ed Griffiths! Well done, Ed!" He gave Ben an apologetic look, and started clapping again, but this time the applause was rather half-hearted.

  Ed? Why on earth had Vicki chosen Ed? He shook his head. The workings of women's brains always had been a mystery to him, and Vicki was doing nothing to alter that. Oh well, I guess that gives me my answer about the coaching. But he was surprised at how disappointed he felt.

  "Sorry, pal," said Neil's voice, close by.

  Ben looked up. "Uh, it's okay. The best man wins, and all that?"

  Neil glanced across at Ed, who was being congratulated by Vicki, his lips disappearing into a horizontal line. "Like I said, I'm sorry. I thought you had a good chance." He checked his watch. "Fancy a beer?" He looked at Ben from under his eyebrows. "Drown your sorrows?"

  "I can't, sorry, I said I'd take my— uh…" What was Debbie? Housemate? Girlfriend? Colleague? "Uh, Debbie for something to eat tonight." Ben did a mental flip through his diary. "Are you back on Saturday for the race training? We could rain-check till then?"

  -::-

  Callum pushed open the door of the Skean Dhu, and made his way to the bar. It was time to drown the memories of the last twenty-four hours. He nodded at the barman. "A pint of heavy, and a fish and chips, please."

  He found a table in the corner, and stared morosely into his beer while he waited for the food to arrive. This had been a shit day, only alleviated somewhat by the fact that Ben hadn't won the coaching scheme either.

  His introspection was interrupted by a guffaw of laughter from across the room. His eyes followed the sound, then widened.

  Ed Griffiths. With Vicki Ingram.

  Well, there's a surprise! Obviously all of Ed's flirting with Vicki had produced a result. Or maybe two results, he thought, remembering who'd been picked for the coaching scheme. Cheating bastard.

  His meal arrived, carried by a harassed-looking waitress, which distracted him from his toxic thoughts.

  A couple of hours and a few pints later, he was at the jukebox, trying to decide between R.E.M's 'Everybody Hurts' and Sinead O'Connor's 'Nothing Compares to You', when a voice beside him purred, "It's not very often that we see yourself down here, Callum Johnstone. What brings you into town?"

  Callum turned. "Hi, Linda, how's it hanging?"

  She screwed up her nose. "I've been better, if I'm honest with ya."

  Right enough, she didn't look her usual cheery self. "Would a drink make you feel any better?"

  "Oh, that would be grand, darlin', I'd love a cider."

  Callum nodded towards his table. "I'm sitting over there. I'll bring the drinks over."

  A few minutes later, he set the glasses on the table and slid into his seat. "So, what's up?"

  She shook her head slowly. "Have you heard the latest gossip?" Then she stopped herself. "Oh, you surely have — you live with them." She glanced at him. "Ben and Debbie."

  "Yeah," he nodded.

  "I never saw that one coming!" she said.

  Me either.

  She gave him a curious look, her eyebrows raising slowly. Had something shown on his face? Luckily she didn't pursue it. "And I heard that Ed Griffiths won the coach thing," she continued.

  He nodded, and looked across the room to where Ed and Vicki had been sitting. The table was empty.

  Linda looked at him from under her fringe. "Sure, it couldn't have happened to a more deserving bloke!"

  "You might care to think that." He raised an eyebrow. "I couldn't possibly comment!"

  She sniggered. "So, tell me, how was the skiing today? How on earth did that slimeball Ed get picked over the likes of Ben? Or you?" she added, quickly.

  "I was asking myself that until I arrived here tonight." He nodded across at the empty table. "Ed was having dinner with Vicki, the trainer."

  Her eyes widened. "Really?"

  "Yeah. He was flirting like mad with her yesterday. Must've worked."

  "You must be a bit pissed about that?"

  He shrugged. "I suppose. Once I got into it, I was really enjoying the coaching. I'd have liked to do more of it."

  She nodded slowly, then separated a coppery strand from hair that looked as though it had been ironed into submission, and started to twirl it around her forefinger. "And Ben's got Debbie to massage his ego and make him feel better back at White Cairns, so you've come to lick your wounds with a beer here at the Skean Dhu?"

  There wasn't really any answer to that.

  She finished her drink and looked at him appraisingly. "So—" she said, and cocked her head.

  He raised an eyebrow. "So… what?"

  "Are you up for making today end a bit better than it started?"

  "And how would I do that?"

  She gave him a coquettish look. "Come back to mine. We could be friends," she arched her eyebrows, "with benefits."

  Wednesday 22nd February

  Scotland

  MORNING LIGHT FILTERED through the curtains and dappled a paisley-patterned carpet, motes of dust hanging in the sunbeams that illuminated dark hair rumpled across a lilac pillow.

  Debbie's dreams were interrupted by a sound like an angry cuckoo. She stretched out a hand to her bedside table, flailing sleepily for the alarm clock, trying to switch off the irritating noise. Then she realised that it was the wrong s
ound. Her alarm clock buzzed, but this one was beeping. She struggled to push herself up from her pillows. Why isn't Callum turning it off? Blinking her eyes open, she looked across at his bed. Empty. Comprehension was slow to fight its way through her sleep-fogged brain, and it took a moment for her to realise — he didn't come home last night. She frowned. It isn't a Sunday. Where is he?

  He hadn't been in The Rowan last night — she'd been there with Ben, commiserating with him about the coaching scheme. She frowned. Was Callum on his motorbike or driving his car yesterday? Levering herself out of bed took three times as long as normal because of her broken rib, but when she looked out of the window, his car was in the driveway. Motorbike, then. Surely he couldn't have had an accident?

  -::-

  New Zealand

  These things never come when you expect them. He should have been prepared, it wasn't as if he hadn't known it was a probability. But somehow, Mike still found it a shock, knowing that the old man was no longer there to talk to, to argue with. I wish I'd known him better. I wish…

  But did he wish that he hadn't gone away for the last couple of years? What would that have meant to the old man? The way he'd been brooding, torturing himself with blame for the accident, he probably wouldn't have spent much time with his father anyway. And he'd have been poor company if he had. No, he was probably better off without me here.

  Lauren put down the phone, pulled a tissue out of a box on the sideboard and blew her nose. Tears had streaked her cheeks and made her eyes puffy. Her voice cracked. "That was the hospital. They said—"

  Mike went over and put an arm around her shoulders. "I know what they said." It had been obvious.

  "What did they say?" Robert asked.

  "Papa. He's…" She broke down in tears again.

  "Pull yourself together, Laur," Robert said, shaking his head, "don't pack a sad, you'll not help anyone that way."

  She swallowed. "I'm sorry."

  "Now, how abouts a cup of tea? That will make us all feel better," said Robert.

  Lauren wiped her eyes, then nodded and went through to the kitchen. When she reappeared she was carrying a tray with a pot of tea and some mugs, and a glass of water for Mike.

  As she set the tray down, Robert turned on her. "Is there not any cake?" He jerked his chin at Mike. "We have got visitors, y'know."

  "I'm sorry, I'll go get some," said Lauren meekly.

  "Don't bother on my behalf," said Mike. "I'm alright."

  But she disappeared and came back a few minutes later with some biscuits on a plate.

  Robert snaffled two of them and then complained, "No chocolate biscuits?"

  "No, you fin—" Lauren started to say, then glanced quickly at Robert and dissembled, "they're all finished, sorry." She started to pour the tea. "I'll get some more tomorrow."

  Mike frowned. Things had really changed for Lauren since he had last been here; he didn't remember Robert being quite as overbearing when they were first married. Perhaps he just hid it well? But seeing how submissive his sister had become, he began to understand why Jude, back in Scotland, had been so lacking in confidence when he first met her. He'd seen signs of her absent husband's domineering personality; but it was only now, when he was faced with a similar scenario first-hand, that he could begin to understand what it must have been like for her. Poor Jude. And poor Lauren. I'll have to try and help her.

  Scotland

  CALLUM STEERED HIS motorbike carefully along the back road to White Cairns, squinting his eyes when bright sunlight broke through gaps in the pine forest to his right, and trying to ignore the pounding in his head. When he reached the end of Cairn Street, a sign by the side of the road caught his eye, and he braked sharply.

  To Let.

  The whitewashed cottage was a stubby, single-floored add-on to the larger house next door, with a diminutive gravelled garden and a grey slate roof. It looked like it might be just the right size for him.

  He kicked the stand down, dismounted the bike, and opened the gate. But before he could knock on the door, it swung open, and a startled face greeted him.

  "Oh, my!" she said, frown lines disappearing into her grey curls as her eyes widened.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you a fright," he said, and turned to point at the sign. "I wanted to ask about the rental. Sorry it's so early — I was just passing and I saw it."

  "Oh, that's fine, but I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you." She nodded at the screwdriver in her hand. "I was just about to take the sign down — a foreign lady phoned last night and she's taking the cottage. Sorry."

  "Ah! I'm too late, then?"

  "Aye, sorry."

  He gave a rueful smile. "Story of my life." Then a thought struck him. "Do you happen to know of anywhere else to rent? Small — just one or two bedrooms?"

  She shook her head slowly. "I'm afraid not, sorry."

  He sighed. "Well, if you hear of anything, would you let me know? Leave a message at White Cairns Ski School for Callum?"

  "Aye, laddie, of course, I'll do that for you."

  -::-

  Debbie broke the 'rules' and dressed — as hastily as she could, with a hardly-knitted rib — in their bedroom, before heading through to the kitchen to see who else was up.

  There was no sign of Callum, but Ben was standing at the bench, looking attractively dishevelled in his joggers and a t-shirt, slicing a banana into a bowl of cereal.

  "Morning!" she said, slid an arm around his waist, and kissed his neck, which was all she could reach without stretching and hurting her side.

  "Hi," he said, and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

  "Have you seen Callum this morning?"

  "Nope. Should I have?"

  "He didn't come home last night. And his motorbike's not outside." She chewed a thumbnail. "I'm just a bit worried that something might have happened to him."

  "Is he not away doing—" Ben waved the knife to fill the gap, "whatever it is he does when he disappears of an evening?"

  "No, that's usually a Saturday."

  "Och, don't worry, he can look after himself — he probably just went boozing down the town last night to drown his sorrows." He looked sideways at her. "Maybe that skinflint Ed Griffiths actually got his wallet out for once and bought a round to celebrate being 'coach of the year', or whatever he is now, and Callum got sloshed and crashed out somewhere."

  Debbie nodded, unconvinced, remembering a novel where the husband was killed in a motorbike accident, leaving the heroine to make her own way in the world and, well, be a heroine. I hate motorbikes, she decided. Dangerous, noisy things. She pursed her lips, and put the kettle on to make some coffee.

  Ben went off for a shower. Debbie remained, sitting at the table, staring morosely at the side of the cereal packet, wondering exactly what niacin, thiamin and riboflavins actually were? They sounded like gifts the three wise men should be giving, not something she should be putting into an empty stomach.

  She checked the time. I should get to work early, since I'm up. But she couldn't get a lift with Callum, as he wasn't here, Marty was probably still asleep, and Ben wasn't anywhere near ready. I'll phone Jude. I should probably go in with her anyway, since I'm covering the office and she's usually first there.

  Mobile phone signal coverage in the Scottish Highlands was patchy at best, and inside the stone-built house they were lucky to get even one bar of signal strength, so she padded through to the porch to make her call.

  She'd just clicked off from speaking to Jude, and was about to go and grab her work stuff, when she heard a distant roar, shattering the silence of the quiet side street, and growling into their driveway. She sighed with relief. Callum! He was okay, then. She smiled. I knew I shouldn't have worried. Silly me.

  Saturday 25th February

  HUDDLED INTO HER jacket to avoid the wind, with her back turned to lock up the ski shop, Jude almost jumped out of her skin when a deep voice behind her drawled, "Good mornin', Ma'am."

  "Oh!" she said,
her hand flying to her mouth.

  "My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you. I jus' wanted to book a ski lesson for today."

  "Oh, of course, Mr—?"

  "Hawkes. Vernon Hawkes. Very glad to meet you." He held out a tanned hand.

  "I'm Jude Winters," she motioned at the sign above the shop, "and I run the ski school here." She unlocked the door again, and beckoned for him to follow her inside. "Were you thinking of a group lesson or a private one-to-one session?"

  "Oh, a private lesson, I think."

  "Okay, well, we could do a private for you either at half-eleven or half-two today."

  "Eleven thirty would be ideal, Ms. Winters, thank you kindly."

  She pushed a form across the counter and handed him a pen. "If you could just fill in your details for our records?"

  A few minutes later, she was seeing the American out and locking the door again. He unchained a mountain bike from the paddock gate next to the ski shop, pushed it to the kerb, and raised a hand in salute. "Take it easy."

  Jude watched the mountain bike disappearing up the street, and felt the kernel of an idea growing. Mountain bike hire? That might work for the summer. With the nearby tracks through the ancient pine forest and relatively quiet roads, this area was ideal for mountain biking but, so far, nobody else in the village had set up a rental facility. I'll have to look into that.

  -::-

  Ben watched Trudy's lithe figure darting in and out of the slalom poles, seemingly oblivious to the wind gusting across the hill. She's on fire, today!

  A throat cleared behind him, and he turned to see Callum standing with two youngsters who made him feel cold just looking at them, the way they were hunching into their scarves. "Latecomers for the race training," Callum explained. "Dog ate their driver's homework, or some story like that."

  "Thanks." Ben nodded at Trudy's fast-disappearing form. "Have you seen Trudy today? You did a good job with her on Tuesday. She's even better than she was last time I saw her." He looked at Callum out of the corner of his eye. "Well done."