L'amour Actually (41 page)

  
'Mademoiselle…'
a strong, tanned hand appeared and I looked up into a pair of stunning blue eyes.

  Just my bloody luck, I thought. A gorgeous man appears on the scene and I'm floundering around in the snow like an ice-skating hippopotamus. I unconsciously sucked in my stomach again.

  He bent down to fasten my boots, chatting as he did to the elderly lady. I didn't catch all that he said but he definitely mentioned novice skiers and I'm almost certain he said
régime
. I blushed scarlet, making a mental pact to cut out the croissants and start the diet, again.

  Thanking them for their help, I skied off to the ski school to book in another lesson with JC.

  He greeted me warmly with a big, loud kiss on each cheek and we set off, this time for the chair lift. At least I couldn't fall off that – I hoped. By the end of the lesson I was almost feeling confident. I had nearly mastered the parallel stop, though it was more out of self-preservation than anything else when I found myself heading, ever so slightly out of control, towards the queue for a lift. The looks on the faces of my fellow skiers, as they dived for safety in a torrent of French abuse, would be imprinted on my memory for a long time to come.

  As the sun started to dip behind the mountains and the temperature dropped noticeably, a
chocolat chaud
in the café at the bottom was calling me. We did one last leisurely run back to the ski school and I bid goodbye to JC, promising to come back again. He skied off into the sunset, literally, and I kicked off my skis and headed into the café to wait for the others. I didn't have to wait long before CeeCee made her appearance in a whirlwind of pink ski suit and sunglasses.

  'Hey there, did you have a good afternoon?'

  'Great! I'm so glad I came. How about you?'

  'Very good. You're not doing anything tonight are you?'

  'Only thing planned is a hot bath, why?'

  'I've organised a little bit of
après-ski
entertainment for us. It's about time you got back into circulation again. Can't be nursing that broken heart forever, you know.'

  I smiled. 'You know, I think you are right. A good night out is just what I need.'

'Urrggh,' I groaned as the sun fell across my face, waking me from a drink-induced sleep. The night out with CeeCee had been huge fun. Dinner then a nightclub, the first one I had been to since arriving in France.

  Gradually, as the fog started to lift, snippets of the evening began to come back to me. I rather wished they wouldn't. I had turned into one of the people that my ultra-cool friends and I used to laugh at. The sort of people that would come up from the country and go a little bit mad, generally making fools of themselves, knocking back vast quantities of alcohol.

  I had vague recollections of jiving with someone, I couldn't quite picture his face. My jiving was only slightly better than my line dancing and I could recall little other than being thrown around in ever more extravagant dance moves until I had started to feel sick.

  CeeCee had got off with some tall, blonde god-like creature and made an early exit, leaving me dancing with a group of French students from Toulouse University. I felt practically old enough to be their mother but they were a good laugh, gently teasing me about my accent. One of them had tried to get me to go back to his chalet but I had declined, choosing instead to stay at the club and drink some more and bump and grind with all manner of strangers until the early hours. I had staggered home, helped along by Kéving, one of the students. All the lovely French names there were and his parents called him Kéving. The French, I had found out, loved to give their children English names, but invariably they chose the names that the English had given up years ago. I had met several Brians and Kévins, but this was doubly tragic as his parents had clearly misheard the name and added a 'g' on the end. I had vague memories of him trying to kiss me and asking if he could come inside. What happened next was lost in the alcohol mist, but I was fairly sure that I had sent him on his way.

  The door to the bathroom opened and Kéving walked out, dressed in a towel. I looked at him horrified. I hadn't, had I? Well the evidence was directly in front of me, so clearly, I had. He dropped his towel, standing stark naked in the middle of the room with a rather impressive erection.

  'Oh my God, what are you doing?' I hissed at him, leaping out of bed to grab the towel and wrap it round him again. He looked understandably confused.

  'How did you..? Oh never mind. I've got to get you out of here.'

  I saw his clothes spread across the floor on the other side of the bedroom and hastily ran round, gathering them up in my arms before shoving them at him and turning him round, pushing him back into the bathroom. 'Get dressed,' I ordered him.

  There was a knock at the door. 'Tea,' called Chummy, pushing it open without being asked.

  I slammed the bathroom door, telling Kéving wordlessly not to make a sound.

  'So how are you this morning?' Chummy asked, putting the tea down on the bedside table.

  'Yes, I'm fine, good. How about you?'

  'Yes, I'm fine too. Tired after the skiing but well rested. We plan to leave around midday today so we aren't too late home.'

  'Great. Yes. OK.' I replied.

  There was a bang in the bathroom and a muttered
'putain
'.

  'What was that?' Chummy asked.

  'Oh, nothing, probably just something falling over in the bathroom. I'm dreadfully untidy.'

  I noticed a stray pair of men's blue boxers on the floor and pushed them under the bed with my foot.

  'Well, breakfast is in twenty minutes then we'll pop you and CeeCee back to the ski shop to return your skis.'

  'OK. I'll be ready.'

  'You can come out now,' I whispered through the bathroom door to Kéving, having waited a few minutes after Chummy left to make sure the coast was clear. He came out, fully dressed but minus his underwear, looking confused.

  'Look, I don't know how this happened, but I'm a guest in their chalet so I shouldn't be bringing strange men back for sex.'

  Clearly this was something that didn't figure in the French psyche. Kéving started to protest but I shut him up. 'Look, I've got to get you out of here without anyone seeing you.'

  I opened the door a crack and peered through onto the landing. There was no sign of anyone. From downstairs, the sound of voices could be heard from the kitchen and I strained my ears to hear if everyone was there. I couldn't miss Chummy's voice, which could probably be heard in Spain and the low growl of Rodders' voice confirmed he was there too. CeeCee, if she had come home, would no doubt still be sleeping off the mother of all hangovers.

  Kéving was standing looking dejected in the middle of the room, his boots in his hand.

  I beckoned, motioning him to be quiet, then quickly led him out onto the landing. I stopped at the top of the stairs and listened again. Rodders and Chummy were still in the kitchen and from my room it was a straight run down the stairs to the front door. I tiptoed down, beckoning Kéving to follow me, wincing every time a stair creaked and at the bottom, held up my hand to stop him, and listened again. Chummy was reading out some hysterical story about immigrants from an English tabloid newspaper she had got her hands on. That would keep her occupied for hours.

  I waved Kéving on again. We were nearly home and dry. I carefully pushed down on the handle of the door, praying it wasn't locked, but the planets were aligned. The door opened soundlessly and a rush of wintry air blew round my bare legs and I quickly pushed Kéving outside, still in his socks. He turned to say something to me but I put my hand across his mouth.

  'Has someone left a bloody door open again?' boomed Chummy. I heard a chair being pushed back from the table and quickly shut the door on Kéving before bolting for the stairs again. I took them two at a time and had practically reached the top by the time Chummy hove into view. She looked up at me.

  'Not dressed yet? Come on, lazybones. Can you call CeeCee for me?'

  'Sorry, yes of course. I won't be a minute.'

  Chummy returned to her 'state of the nation' discussion with Rodders in the kitchen leaving me to slump against the wall, heart pounding and breathing like a steam train. I composed myself then headed to CeeCee's bedroom to wake her up. Later, with my stomach filled with bacon sandwiches and coffee, I went upstairs to finish packing. I wandered round the bedroom, retrieving make-up and toiletries from the bathroom and damp socks from the radiator and stuffing them carelessly into my holdall.

  Downstairs, CeeCee was begrudgingly running round with the vacuum cleaner while Rodders tidied up the kitchen. Chummy had drawn the short straw and was on boot room and toilet duty.

  Once Chummy was happy that the chalet was left as we had found it, CeeCee and I bundled our suitcases into the car while Rodders strapped the skis to the roof.

  'I'll just do a quick whizz round to make sure we haven't forgotten anything,' said Chummy. 'I know what CeeCee is like.'

  I settled myself in the back with a book for the journey, while Rodders tried to tune the radio into anything that wasn't white noise or crackle.

  After a few minutes Chummy reappeared and turned to lock the front door. In her hand I caught a flash of blue fabric.

  'Oh shit,' I said under my breath, remembering Kéving's boxers that I had left under the bed.

  'What is it?' CeeCee asked me.

  'Damning evidence.'

  'Yours I think,' Chummy said, handing them to me.

  'Look, I'm sorry, I can explain…' I stammered.

  'Nothing to explain,' she replied, no hint of annoyance in her voice at the liberties her young guest had taken. 'You want to wear boy's pants, that's your business. Look pretty comfortable to me.'

  CeeCee stifled a giggle and I kicked her hard.

  'Right chaps, ready to go,' said Rodders, looking at everyone in the rear view mirror.

  'Ready,' we said in unison.

  I smiled at CeeCee and made a gesture of wiping my brow before settling back for the journey.

  As we started our slow descent of the mountain, I rested my head on the window and reflected on the past few days. I wasn't really the 'one night stand' type but surely the fact that I'd had one meant I was definitely moving on from Julien. I was certainly thinking less and less about him and when I did, the all-consuming pain I had felt a while ago seemed less acute. A weekend of skiing and a one night stand were no real cure for a broken heart, but they didn't seem to have done me any harm.

'Shit, shit, shit,' I shouted to the empty barn flinging the axe so hard that it hit the far wall, throwing up a spray of stone chips.

  I had spent the past two hours trying to split wood for the wood burner. It was like reinforced steel and the pile was depressingly small. On top of that, I had blisters on my palms. The snow had lain thick on the ground like a vast white overcoat for the past week and St Amans had been largely cut off as the temperature dipped to minus twelve during the day. Even with the wood burner running full blast 24/7, I had been sleeping in a coat and gloves. On the third day, the pumps running the water up to the hamlet had frozen and the taps had run dry. Today, thankfully, it felt noticeably warmer.

  'This is supposed to be a bloody First World country,' I shouted again, stomping over to pick up the axe and attack the wood again, 'and here I am chopping wood and melting snow for water like some bloody medieval peasant.'

  I lifted the axe over my head and swung it viciously at the log, hitting a knot in the wood so the axe vibrated painfully up my arms to my hands. In the cottage the phone rang and grateful for something else to do apart from chop wood, I rushed to answer it.