‘It’s OK, I’m fine about it—’
‘Well I’m not!’ I protest hotly. I’m not kidding, I feel like ringing up those stupid casting people myself and asking them what they were thinking! Fergus was obviously the best. Of course I’ll be polite and everything, I’ll just firmly tell them that he’s way more talented than everyone else and—
‘I think it’s fate if I don’t get it.’
My imaginary speech in which I’m outraged is brought to an abrupt halt.
‘Fate?’ I echo dubiously. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean maybe I’m not meant to be an actor,’ he says blithely. ‘I haven’t been very successful so far, have I? Maybe I need to do something else, something more fulfilling, something that’s really going to make a difference.’
‘Like what?’ I ask warily. I’m not liking where this conversation is heading; in fact, I’m beginning to feel a bit worried.
‘Like going to Thailand to work with elephants.’
Oh god. This cannot be happening.
‘Don’t you think you might be rushing into things a bit,’ I argue hastily. ‘OK, so you didn’t get this audition, but that’s no reason to jack everything in and leave London—’
But he’s not listening.
‘In fact, I’ve emailed Sara back.’
Ping.
As I’m on the phone, an email pops into my inbox on the computer screen. With my heart in my mouth, I open it:
Dear Sara, Wow, what a cool thing to do! I’d love to do something like that. Do they need any more volunteers? Maybe I should come and join you? Fergus x
‘I really feel like it’s a sign.’
I snap back. ‘A sign?’
Oh god, this is all my fault. It’s all because of my email. Instead of making it better, I’ve made it worse. Much, much worse. Fuck. What am I going to do? My mind grapples with a solution. Come on – think, Tess, think. There must be a way to fix this. There must be something you can do.
An idea hits me but I try to bat it away. There must be another option. Another way. But there isn’t. There’s nothing else I can do.
Making my excuses, I quickly say goodbye then, feeling myself digging a deeper hole, I start typing . . .
I’m going to have to email him back.
I arrive back at the chalet to find Seb, all bright-eyed and buzzing with adrenalin.
‘Hey, there you are!’ he beams as I walk through the doorway, carrying my snowboard.
And immediately get stuck.
You know that joke with the man with the ladder who turns sideways? Well, that’s me.
‘Oops, ouch,’ I yelp, banging bits of me as I struggle with my snowboard. Some people are born for the slopes – they make it all look so effortless.
I am not one of those people.
‘You OK?’ he asks, rushing to help me.
‘Um . . . yes, fine,’ I smile, finally making it through.
‘So how was your day?’ he asks eagerly.
He’s so excited and buoyant, I don’t have the heart to tell him it was a disaster, that it was like learning to dance on golf balls and that I hated every cold, soggy, lonely minute of it. Not after all the effort he’s made. And not when our relationship depends on it.
Instead, I pin on a bright smile. ‘Brilliant,’ I nod.
His face lights up. ‘I knew you’d love it, I just knew!’
‘Yup,’ I keep smiling. As if I’m frozen. Which I am, quite frankly, as it took forever to walk back from the internet café with all my blisters. I could feel them popping in my boots like bubble wrap.
‘Amazing, isn’t it? Like nothing else in the world. That exhilaration, that freedom . . .’
I nod mutely. See, there must be something wrong with me. I can’t believe we’re talking about the same experience.
‘And with you doing military fitness, I bet you’ll pick it up in no time!’
His eyes are flashing with excitement and he just looks so pleased and happy that all I can do is stand there smiling and nodding, like one of those plastic dogs you see in the back window of cars.
‘Well, I should really get out of these clothes,’ I say, finding my tongue at last, ‘get in the bath, soak these aching muscles.’
‘Why don’t you jump in the hot tub?’ he suggests. ‘That’s the perfect cure for aching muscles.’
Of course! The hot tub. I’d forgotten all about that. For the first time that day I feel my heart soar.
Except—
‘Where are Chris and Anna?’
‘Enjoying some après-ski, if I know Chris. They won’t be home for hours,’ he laughs fondly, then asks, ‘Why?’
‘Oh, no reason,’ I shrug, trying to sound blasé whilst inside I’m doing a Mexican wave.
‘Go, jump in,’ encourages Seb. ‘I’ll come join you in a minute.’
‘OK,’ I smile. Trust me, I don’t need any more encouragement, and grabbing my things I head towards the bedroom to get changed.
‘Oh, by the way,’ Seb calls after me, and I turn.
‘I came by the ski school earlier but I couldn’t find you. Weren’t you on the nursery slopes? The instructor must have got confused as he seemed to think you’d left already.’
Oh fuck. I’ve been busted. A wave of guilt crashes over me as I realise I must have been tucked up in the café drinking hot chocolate and chatting to Fergus. ‘Um . . . yeh,’ I nod, ‘but they, er, moved me to a different class.’
‘Already? Wow.’ He smiles proudly. ‘See, it won’t be long till you’ll be able to join me off piste . . .’
‘Um yeh, fab,’ I smile.
Oh god, I’m a terrible person. Now I feel even worse.
But I’m not going to think about any of that right now, I tell myself firmly. In fact I’m not going to think about anything apart from the lovely bubbling hot tub just waiting for me outside . . .
Almost giddy with anticipation, I peel off my many layers. I didn’t bring a bikini as I thought I’d just pick one up at the airport if it turned out to be a spa break, but still, I suppose I can just wear my underwear, I decide, reaching for a towel. Then I pause as a thought strikes. Actually, if it’s just me and Seb, I don’t need to wear anything at all, do I? And with a naughty giggle I wriggle out of my bra and knickers, and wrap the towel around me.
Outside the temperature has dropped even further. Gosh it’s freezing out here, I shiver, glancing over at the hot tub which is lit up on the deck, steam rising invitingly from the gurgling bubbles. I brace myself, then whip off my towel and throw it over a chair. The icy air hits my naked body and I race naked across the snow-covered deck and clamber hastily into the hot tub.
Ahhh, bliss. As soon as the warm bubbles hit me I let out a groan of pleasure. Sinking down into the water, I sit up against one of the jets, relishing the feeling of the water pummelling my aching back. I feel as if I’ve died and gone to hot-tub heaven. Maybe I was too hasty earlier. Maybe this snowboarding trip isn’t so bad. OK, so I’m rubbish at actually snowboarding, and yes it is a bit lonely on your own, but I’m seriously enjoying this part – being out here is just incredible.
Enjoying the experience of it being subzero outside and warm inside, I take in the view. Darkness has descended but I’m surrounded by the snowy mountains, whilst below me the resort is lit up with twinkling lights. I gaze upon it, my breath making small white clouds, then tip my head back. Above me the sky is so dark, so clear, I can see a million stars, twinkling brightly. And, hang on, there’s something else . . .
Snowflakes.
As one flutters down and lands on my nose, I’m suddenly reminded of Fergus, and for a moment I’m transported back to his roof terrace. Gosh, was it only last night? It seems like ages ago. So much has happened since then: plane rides, auditions, pretending to be Sara, his Missed Connection . . . Remembering our conversation earlier, my mind flicks back to the internet café and the emails. I wonder if he got my reply?
All at once worry bubbles up inside me, lik
e the bubbles in the hot tub. Maybe I should ask to borrow Seb’s iPhone and try to check my emails.
Abruptly I stop myself. What am I doing? I’ve gone away for the weekend with my boyfriend. I should be thinking about him, not Fergus.
Which reminds me; where is Seb?
As if on cue, I hear footsteps. Oh, that will be him now. Good. I need to push all this Missed Connection nonsense with Fergus out of my head. Concentrate on my own relationship, not somebody else’s imaginary one.
Brushing my damp hair off my face, I try to rearrange myself a bit. I need to look more like sexy naked girlfriend relaxing casually in the hot tub, rather than knackered achy girlfriend slumped over the jets because every single muscle in her body is killing her.
Stifling a hippo-sized yawn, I recline against the edge and wait expectantly for Seb to appear. His footsteps grow louder, closer. That’s funny, but now it almost sounds like two pairs of footsteps . . .
No sooner has the thought struck than I realise with horror that it’s not Seb I can hear.
It’s Chris and Anna.
‘Hey!’ yells Chris, spotting me first. ‘Look who’s here!’
It’s like one of those bad dreams where you find yourself naked in a public place. Except this is much, much worse. It’s not a dream and I AM NAKED. Plunging myself as deep into the hot tub as I can go without drowning, I lunge desperately over to one of the jets and pray for bubble coverage.
With the water up to my neck, I poke out a few fingers. ‘Hi,’ I say weakly, giving a little wave and trying to act, sort of, normal. With any luck they won’t notice I don’t have any clothes on. They’ll just say hi, turn around, and go back to the chalet.
Yeh right. Who am I kidding? Luck officially deserted me on the nursery slopes.
‘Oh . . . hi,’ says Anna, noticing me with obvious displeasure. She’s wearing a bathrobe, which she opens to reveal a white string bikini, a deep suntan and the kind of body that has never seen a Malteser, let alone a whole family-sized bag.
Did I just mention that this is a nightmare? One that I am not waking up from? As they both step into the hot tub – correction: Anna steps, Chris strips off to his boxers and sort of dive bombs – my mind scrambles frantically around, looking for an escape route. But there isn’t one.
I am trapped. In a hot tub in the Alps. With no clothes on.
And a really bloody bright light shining up my you know what, I realise with horror, trying to block it out with my feet.
‘So, did you have a nice day?’ I enquire politely, as if I’m standing at a drinks party and not squatting in an oversized plastic bathtub with both hands clamped over my breasts.
‘Fucking A!’ whoops Chris, who’s obviously been enjoying a bit too much of the après-ski. ‘Totally wiped out on one of the blacks!’
I’m not quite sure what he’s saying as he’s talking in ‘Snowboard’, a language which I’ve discovered is spoken here in Chamonix and which I don’t speak, but I’m saved from replying as he turns his attentions to Anna, who’s been steadfastly ignoring me. Actually, perhaps saved isn’t exactly the word I’m looking for, I soon realise, as his attentions are focused mainly on her breasts and they suddenly start . . .
Well, without giving too much detail, I think the phrase they use in America is ‘fooling around’.
Personally I have another phrase: it’s ‘Get Me Out Of Here!!!’
Cringing with embarrassment, I steadfastly try to ignore them and stare instead at my towel, which is hung over the chair by the door. I’m trying to gauge if I can jump out and grab it before being seen. After all, I can’t stay here all night, can I? I can feel myself starting to go wrinkly. Plus, I can hear sucking noises and I have a horrible feeling it’s got nothing to do with the hot tub’s jets.
Not for the first time do I think about Seb, and not in a good way.
Where the fuck is he? I could kill him.
Mortified, I sit there for a few minutes longer, until I can bear no more and clear my throat loudly. They stop whatever it is they’re doing and turn to me.
‘Oops, sorry, forgot you were there,’ giggles Chris drunkenly.
‘Maybe we should go inside, darling,’ says Anna with a little tut.
I feel myself go beetroot. How can it be that I’m the one completely starkers, and yet I’m the one made to feel like a prude?
But who cares? They’re getting out, I realise, with a rush of relief, as I watch them disentangle themselves and climb out of the hot tub, before disappearing up the path which leads back to the chalet. I wait for a few moments to make sure the coast is clear, then, jumping out, I make a dash for my towel and follow them inside.
I find Seb on the sofa strumming a guitar.
‘Hey babe.’ As I walk in he looks up, seemingly unaware that anything is wrong. ‘How was the hot tub?’
‘I thought you were going to join me?’ I reply, through clenched teeth.
‘Sorry, I got distracted by Chris’s twelve-string . . .’ He gestures at the guitar as if that perfectly justifies forgetting all about your girlfriend who’s outside in the hot tub naked and waiting for you.
And don’t even get me started on the fact that he should have rescued me from Chris and Anna and their floorshow.
Irritation yaps at my ankles but I try to ignore it. I’m just in a bad mood.
‘Let me play you something,’ he continues, and without waiting for an answer, he starts playing a series of chords.
Except I can’t ignore it. Standing there with an aching body, blistered feet, and water from my hair dripping on the floor and forming a little puddle around me, I realise I’ve had enough. More than enough. Because it’s not all my fault. All day I’ve tried my hardest to be grateful and enjoy myself, but being dumped on the nursery slopes while he went off to enjoy himself with the others really wasn’t much fun. And leaving me waiting in a hot tub for forty-five minutes was even less fun. But expecting me to listen to a bad rendition of ‘Wonderwall’?
‘Actually I think I’m going to go to bed,’ I reply, interrupting his chord progression.
Abruptly he stops playing, and looks up sharply. ‘Oh OK,’ he nods, with a flash of disappointment, or is it surprise that I’m not going to stay and listen? ‘I guess you must be tired, first day snowboarding and all that.’
‘I guess so,’ I agree. Except it’s more than that. It’s about how for the first time since we started dating for the second time, I’ve put me first.
As I walk into the bedroom, he starts up again. I close the door behind me and climb into bed. Except I’m too wound up to fall straight to sleep, so I pick up my Obama book and open it to my page, which is . . .
Page three? Is that all?
I try to focus, but I’m distracted by a noise coming from next door. Chris and Anna must be watching a movie. And by the sound of all that screaming, it’s a horror film. Honestly, you’d think they’d turn the volume down. They’re just so selfish. I try to ignore it, but it’s impossible. In fact, it’s getting louder and louder and—
Suddenly it dawns on me. They’re not watching a movie.
Oh, yuk.
Obama makes a loud thud as I chuck the book at the wall in frustration. Not for the first time today does it strike me that my romantic weekend away isn’t turning out quite how I expected. And, turning out the light, I put my fingers in my ears and stuff my head under the pillow.
Chapter 30
Long before the days of Expedia.com I went to a local travel agent’s to book a holiday. I was only seventeen and going on a package to Corfu with my friend Suzie, but as we waited our turn, I remember flicking through one of those Winter Sun holiday brochures. The ones with a laughing couple on the front cover, with the toothpaste smiles and colour-coordinated jackets, skiing down a mountain.
For a girl who’d grown up sledging on a plastic bag down the farmer’s fields, it all seemed very glamorous. I’ll never forget reading about all the fun on the slopes, the benefits of fresh air and exerci
se, waking up feeling rested and invigorated.
OK, so here I am in Chamonix . . . let’s see exactly how much of that brochure was true:
1. Fun on the slopes?
Fall over a lot. Feel like crying. Run away to a coffee shop and eat cake.
2. Benefits of fresh air and exercise?
A bruise that looks like the map of Africa on my left buttock. More blisters on my feet than the last time I walked home from a nightclub in stilettos because I’d missed the last bus. Never again underestimating how much I like sitting on the sofa watching The X Factor.
3. Waking up feeling rested and invigorated.
Waking up feeling as if I’ve been run over by a double-decker bus.
The next morning I can barely move. The word ‘sore’ doesn’t do it justice. It’s as if I’ve aged about a hundred years overnight and it takes forever just to climb out of bed. And to think I’m supposed to do it all over again today, I wince, as I shuffle into the shower. At this rate, I’m not going to be able to walk, let alone snowboard.
But after forty-five minutes of standing under steaming-hot jets of water, I’ve mustered some enthusiasm and am determined to have another go. I can’t give up after one day! OK, so yesterday was a bit of a disaster all round, but I’m not going to let it ruin the whole trip. I can’t let it ruin the whole trip, I remind myself firmly. This is my big chance to prove to Seb that I’m the one for him. I can’t blow it now.
Having loosened up enough to be able to put on my socks without shrieking, I make it into the kitchen for breakfast. Only to discover everyone else has finished eating and are pulling on their boots.
‘Hey, there you are,’ says Seb as I appear. ‘We’re getting ready to leave.’
‘Already?’ I check the coffee pot. There’s only a dribble left. ‘Oh OK, well I’ll just have to grab a coffee on the way—’
‘No need,’ replies Anna sniffily. ‘We’re going to Les Houches to board the Kandahar.’
‘You’re doing what?’ I ask, ignoring her and turning to Seb for an explanation. Like I said, I don’t speak Snowboard.