I hope you have a wonderful time skiing. You’ll have to take loads of pictures. And by the way: I know I jumped the gun with the whole Leo-proposing-in-the-snow thing. But I do think this skiing holiday of yours will be special. You can quote me on that. Let me know how it goes!
Lots of love,
Lily xxx
MAGGIE DOES MERIBEL
‘Ow!’ Muttering under my breath, I glare after the tall blond girl who’s just run over my toe with her very heavy wheelie suitcase. She ignores me and installs herself further down the carriage, putting her massive case on the seat beside her.
One of my new Rag & Bone suede boots has now got a distinct scuff, which is infuriating considering I only bought them the other day after getting up at 7 a.m. to brave the Boxing Day sale at Selfridges. I could go up to her and point out the damage, but it’s not worth it. It’s too early in the morning, and anyway, I’m not like my friend Lily, who will say anything to anyone. My preferred response to any conflict is always to avoid it.
Instead, I turn back to my Vogue and drool over a shoot of casual winter clothes: flat leather biker boots with buckles, hooded cardigan-coats with fur trims and luxuriously soft wool leggings – sort of Game of Thrones meets Burberry. I have a terrible habit of buying new clothes every time I go away somewhere, and I was itching to invest in some new outfits for this holiday. But the holiday itself was expensive, so I’ve made do with my Reiss camel-coloured belted wool coat, a couple of pairs of skinny jeans, my nicest angora and cashmere knits – and my poor, newly maimed suede boots.
‘You don’t need to buy a ski suit,’ my boyfriend Leo reassured me. ‘Just borrow one. Then if you like it you can invest in one, and if you don’t, you won’t be stuck with a load of useless gear.’
It’s not that I don’t think I’m going to like skiing – at least, provided I don’t break my neck or make a complete fool of myself – but I could see Leo’s point. So I’ve borrowed a knackered old ski suit from my parents’ next-door neighbours. It’s pretty awful, but I’m hoping I won’t be spending all my time on the slopes. Instead, I’m focusing on the après-ski: lots of bubbly in the snow, hot chocolate by the fire and strolling hand-in-hand with Leo through the narrow little streets of Méribel that look like something from a Christmas card.
The girl who attacked me with her suitcase is now shouting down her phone, telling the other person that she’s on the Heathrow Express but will be there soon. I put in my earphones and turn up my music to drown her out, feeling very sorry for whoever she’s going on holiday with.
Never mind: I’m finally spending quality time with Leo. He has to travel a lot for work since he’s an engineer, and most of his weekends are already spoken for with football, cycling and running – and those are just the winter sports. I like to be active and I do sometimes join him on the odd day trip, but you’d have to be Jessica Ennis to keep up with all Leo’s outdoor pursuits.
Of course, I’m busy too. I love my job as a microbiologist, and I have friends and a life of my own. I certainly don’t want to make Leo give up his beloved hobbies. But sometimes I wish he wasn’t quite so tied up with them, or with all his friends and teammates. One night in the pub, I ended up discussing it with his sister, Holly.
‘The thing about Leo,’ she said, ‘is that he’s a free spirit. You’re the first proper girlfriend he’s had in years. So he’s used to going away with his sports buddies every weekend and travelling for work and not having to make plans with a girlfriend. He loves you and he’ll adapt, you just have to be patient.’
I think it’s ironic that Leo is called a free spirit for being single for five years, whereas I was single for two years before I met him and felt like the village spinster although I’m only twenty-seven. But I know Holly’s right, and that I have a tendency to overthink everything – and to be too sensitive. I’m hoping this holiday will get me and Leo back on track. And if we do move in together – which I hope we will sometime soon – that will solve all our scheduling problems, as we’ll see each other all the time.
Just as I’m thinking that, the train arrives at Heathrow and I see Leo himself waiting for me on the platform, skis propped up beside him and wearing the Paul Smith scarf I gave him for Christmas. I make my way down the carriage, waving at him through the window as I wait for everyone to get their luggage before me. Suitcase Girl barges out of the train ahead of me, flicking her long highlighted hair in my face as she does. To my surprise, she makes a beeline for Leo, who greets her with a big hug. What the hell? Seeing me behind her, he beams and starts waving.
‘Mags!’ he says, pulling me towards him for a quick kiss. ‘This is my girlfriend, Maggie. This is Jen – Jenny,’ he adds to me.
Great. So this is Jenny: the one single girl in our group of couples. I’d intended to be extra nice to her, but now I can see she’s able to look after herself. As we walk towards the terminal, she elbows her way in between Leo and me and starts peppering him with questions. She has an obnoxiously loud voice, and I find myself looking around to see if people are staring at us.
‘So how ARE you?’ she asks him. ‘It’s been ages. How was your Christmas and everything? Did you do that swim on Christmas Day? I heard it was amazeballs.’
I try not to get annoyed, reminding myself that I’m used to girls paying Leo a lot of attention. He’s very cute: tall and well built, with light brown hair that he wears very short (though I wish he’d let it get longer) and gorgeous blue eyes. But even though girls often flirt with him, the great thing about Leo is that he doesn’t flirt back. He’s just sociable; the kind of person who’ll always get people together, or welcome someone who’s new to a group. In fact, that’s how we met. I’d recently joined his triathlon club and was skulking around on the edges when he chose me for his swim team. I must admit, seeing him in his wetsuit was a good incentive for those 6 a.m. starts.
‘Hey, Maggie Moo,’ he says to me, as soon as there’s a gap in Jenny’s monologue. ‘Are you ready for your new addiction? Maggie’s a skiing virgin,’ he adds to Jenny; I think he could have phrased it better. ‘But I think she’ll love it.’
Jenny, however, isn’t interested in whether or not I’ll love skiing. ‘There they are. Dave! Over here!’ she shrieks at the top of her voice, almost puncturing my eardrum. Waving madly, she strides across towards the check-in queue where the other two couples are waiting. I’ve never met them before; I know that the two guys are doctors, and that Leo knows them from his tennis club, but that’s about it. I really hope they’re not like Jenny.
‘I might grab a tea quickly – do you want to come?’ I ask Leo, thinking it would be nice for us to have a few minutes alone before we join the others.
‘Wait, Mags,’ he says. ‘You can get one later, once we’re through security. Come and meet everyone.’
This is typical of Leo: he’s a social animal and a team player, whereas I can be more of a lone wolf. The others have obviously been here a while and Jenny has joined them, even though this means skipping the queue. ‘We’re together,’ I hear her snap to a woman behind her, as Leo introduces me to the others, starting with his friend David.
David is short, blond and handsome. He’s wearing a navy quilted jacket with a corduroy collar, and looks very preppy and serious.
‘Great to meet you. David Fitzgerald,’ he says. I find it odd when people give you both their names in a social situation – as if you’re going to write a report about it or something.
‘And this is … I’m really sorry. I’ve forgotten your name,’ Leo continues, turning to David’s girlfriend.
‘Sorry, this is Nina,’ David says. Nina is petite, pretty and dark; she looks as if she could be Spanish or French. She’s wearing white jeans and has her hair in a French plait, both of which strike me as unusual – especially her hair: she must have got up very early to do that.
‘And this is Rachel and Oliver – guys, this is Maggie. Hello? Guys?’ Leo prods Oliver to attract his attention.
‘What? Oh, sorry, we we
re just …’ Rachel and Oliver look at each other and giggle. They’re wrapped around each other in a kind of standing embrace, barely breaking apart even when we have to shuffle along in the queue. They’re both tall and dark, but Rachel is definitely the more attractive half of the couple, with long glossy black hair and gorgeous pale skin. Oliver’s a bit too tall, and his ears stick out, and his glasses are perched on the end of a big nose – but he looks friendly and fun.
‘We were just saying … Never mind, it’s not interesting,’ Oliver says, gazing at Rachel with a dopey grin. Even if Leo hadn’t told me they’re a new couple, I think I would have guessed.
‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ Rachel shakes my hand, beaming blissfully; it would obviously be lovely to meet me even if I were Jack the Ripper, she’s so loved-up. I feel momentarily jealous that they’re going on holiday so early in their relationship. But then I stop myself. What could be more romantic than celebrating my one year anniversary with Leo in the French Alps?
Unfortunately I have to make a rather unromantic purchase: tampons. With any luck, I won’t need them during the holiday, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. As soon as we’ve passed security, I scoot over to Boots to sort myself out. I grab a box quickly, and then stop by the Rimmel counter to try a new cream eyeshadow that’s been recommended by my favourite beauty blogger. I pick out a gorgeous bronzy shade that works nicely with my muddy green eyes.
I have a bit of an eyeshadow problem: I tried to count my eyeshadows recently, but I gave up when I got to fifty. In my defence, I always think you need more eye make-up when you have a short pixie haircut, like me – otherwise I think I can look like a boy. I had long hair for years but it got so wrecked from constant highlighting that I cut it all off a few months ago and let it go back to its natural light brown. I love it, though it is chilly in winter.
‘There you are! Hurry up, our flight’s boarding.’ It’s Jenny, startling me out of my hair/eyeshadow reverie. As she strides away, I hear her say in her foghorn voice, ‘Found her, she was buying tampons.’
I’m still fuming when I leave Boots to find Leo waiting for me. He rolls his eyes when he sees I’ve bought another eyeshadow. He’s always telling me that I don’t need make-up. I’ve tried to explain to him that it’s not a question of needing it, but it’s a waste of time.
‘Come on, Mags, we’re boarding – the others have gone ahead.’
‘I can’t believe she said that!’
‘Said what?’ Leo asks, tugging me gently along.
‘Told you all I was buying tampons! Is she always like that?’
‘Maggie,’ Leo says. ‘Chill. We’re on holiday. It’s not a time for stressing.’ He slings his arm around my shoulders and I feel myself relax a little. ‘I didn’t hear her,’ he adds.
‘I’d say they heard her in France,’ I mutter, but I drop it. Leo’s right; there’s no point making a big thing of it.
On the plane, Jenny sits with David and Nina, and I can hear her going on about some hospital Christmas party, which was full of people David knows and Nina doesn’t. Jenny seems to be a surgical registrar, like the other two boys. God help her patients: I can imagine her on ward rounds, bellowing out the gory details for all to hear. Rachel and Oliver sit together a few rows behind us and I can hear low murmuring and laughing, followed by a lively argument about euthanasia, of all things. Bizarre. Rachel is Irish, like David; I wonder if that’s how they know each other.
‘Sort of,’ Leo says, when I ask him. ‘Rachel’s friend Zoë used to go out with David. That’s how Rachel met Oliver.’ He frowns. ‘Can’t believe I forgot David’s girlfriend’s name.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure she didn’t mind, she seems sweet.’ I’m about to add, ‘Unlike Jenny’, but I stop myself.
‘Rachel said something nice about you,’ he says. ‘What was it … She said she loved your hair and that it made you look like that actress … Jennifer something? Sorry, I can’t remember who exactly.’
‘Doesn’t matter. That is nice.’ That’s what I love about Leo. He might look like a hearty, rugger-bugger type, but he’s thoughtful. My previous boyfriends were both scientists, and both sporty and straightforward like Leo, but neither of them would have remembered to pass on a compliment like that.
‘How’re things at the Death Trap Crime Scene?’ Leo asks, referring to my flat.
‘Well, the good news is we weren’t broken into over Christmas, and the toilet is fixed. But the latest thing is that the ceiling of my room has flooded.’ It was while I was packing: water came pouring through the light fitting, making a sizzling noise like a horror film. It’s made me even more determined to scrape together a deposit for a flat. Realistically I couldn’t buy one on my own, but if Leo and I were to join forces …
‘And is the landlord going to sort it?’
‘He can’t, the handyman’s gone on holiday now.’
‘That’s ridiculous! I’ll call him for you if you want, and make him do it.’
‘Thanks, Leo.’ Now I feel bad for resenting Leo being busy. He really is a great boyfriend. Suddenly I remember something. ‘Oh, guess what my brother gave me. Two tickets to that new play at the Royal Court! It’s totally sold out.’ I’ve already decided one of my New Year’s Resolutions will be to do more cultural things instead of just going to the pub after work. ‘It’s on the twenty-fifth of January. Can you make it?’
‘I’m not sure … I think there’s something on that day.’ Leo shifts in his seat and pulls out two diaries from his pocket – his old and new ones. ‘Ah,’ he says. ‘I thought so. That’s Brownie’s thirtieth and he’s planning drinks somewhere.’
‘Who?’
‘Nick Brown. Squash club.’
‘Oh. Never mind, I can go with someone else.’ I genuinely don’t mind going with a friend, but I’m dismayed to see that the January pages of Leo’s brand-new diary are already filling up, and it’s still only 29 December.
‘I tell you what, though,’ Leo says. ‘The play will probably finish by ten or so, won’t it? So we can go to it, then on to Brownie’s drinks afterwards.’
I smile at him. ‘OK.’ Compromise: the secret to all successful relationships, according to magazines and my mother. Although I wish just once we could have an evening entirely to ourselves without having to dash across town to some acquaintance’s drinks. I wouldn’t mind if it was a close friend, but I’ve never even heard of Brownie. But then I think of one of my lab mates who complains that her boyfriend never wants to go out anywhere, and tell myself how lucky I am that Leo is sociable and outgoing and up for doing things like the theatre.
We land late and Leo hurries to buy sandwiches for everyone so that we can have lunch on the bus. After about an hour, we’ve left the suburbs of Grenoble far behind and we’re in the foothills of the French Alps. I’ve never seen the sky look so blue in winter, or snow so white. And the mountains! Soon they’re soaring up on either side, higher than any mountains I’ve ever seen before, dotted with pine forests and blanketed with sugary snow … I hope to God we’re not going to be skiing down anything like that.
The guys are now having a very competitive discussion about moguls, black runs and off-piste skiing. Everyone except me and Nina is clearly a skiing fanatic; even Rachel, who I was hoping might be a beginner too, seems to be experienced.
‘Have you been skiing lots of times before?’ I ask her.
‘Twice, in Italy. I can do red runs, that’s about it,’ Rachel says.
‘Red runs in Italy are way easier than in France,’ says Jenny.
Rachel and I exchange glances at this and I decide we’re going to get along. I’m about to ask her if she took lessons when Oliver says, sounding fascinated, ‘I didn’t know you’d been skiing in Italy. When?’
‘Oh, did I not tell you? Well …’ Rachel turns back to him and within seconds they’re deep in conversation again. They’re obviously at the stage where they can’t wait to tell each other everything about themselves
.
‘How about you, Nina, have you been skiing before?’ I ask.
Nina shakes her head, and I realise I haven’t actually heard her speak yet. Can she speak? Of course she can; she’s obviously just quiet.
‘Maybe you’ll keep me company on the baby slopes,’ I suggest.
‘You should both try ski school,’ says David. ‘Spend a day or two getting the basics down.’
Now Oliver, Leo and Jenny are talking about cross-country skiing. I knew Leo and I would be at different levels, but it’s beginning to look as though we’re basically going to be on different holidays.
‘Oh, wow, look!’ says Nina suddenly, in a surprisingly deep, sexy growling voice.
I look out the window and see that we’ve arrived in Méribel. It’s adorable, full of wooden chalets and little winding streets knee-deep in snow. There’s a huge Christmas tree lit up in the main square, which is lined with bars and cafés, their lights glowing invitingly in the purply winter dusk. Glamorous-looking people in full-length puffa and fur coats and even fur hats are parading up and down, lit up by the jam of Mercs and BMWs with foreign registration plates crawling along the narrow streets.
‘Looks like a real dump, doesn’t it?’ Rachel says.
Though I’ve only just met her, I know she’s joking, but Jenny seems to think she’s being serious. ‘Méribel’s one of the nicest villages in the French Alps, you know,’ I hear her saying reprovingly.
The bus parks in a car park off the main drag, where we’re greeted by a blond English girl with a clipboard.
‘Fitzgerald party? Come with me.’
We follow her along the slushy street. My feet are freezing and I’ve realised that it was stupid to bring these suede boots: they’re going to get wrecked. Everyone we pass without exception is wearing snow boots. After about five minutes we turn off towards a group of wooden chalets topped with thick snow and lit by yellow lanterns.
We follow our rep up a flight of wooden steps. She unlocks a door and we all troop in, with Oliver holding the door open for me and the other girls. It opens straight into a big room with beams on the ceiling and a log fire surrounded by big sofas. Through the window we can see the last of the sunset casting a golden glow on the mountains. On a round table there’s an array of mini smoked salmon sandwiches and bowls of pistachio nuts, and a bottle of champagne in a bucket, with seven glasses.
Girls on Tour Page 17
