L'amour Actually (40 page)

  I peeped out from behind my hands. 'Oh, Rodders, yes, I'm fine. You were going a bit fast weren't you? I thought you might break something.'

  'Not me. Alpine ski rescue with the army in my younger days. Bit of a specialist if I say so myself. When's your lesson?'

  'In a few minutes actually. I'd better get going.'

  'It's like riding a bike,' he said heartily, clapping me on the back.

  'Yes, well I've fallen off a good few of those in my time.'

  'Well, have fun. Don't break anything. Has CeeCee made arrangements for lunch?'

  'Yes, here at one.'

  'Marvellous!'

  He skated off towards the ski lift, ready for his second battle with the mountain.

  I left the money for my coffee on the table and went to retrieve my skis. There were twice as many there now and it seemed that most of them had come from the same ski shop as they were identical. I walked up and down the line, looking at them all, before making an educated guess at which were my pair. Taking the coward's way out, I walked to the ski school, passing CeeCee setting off for her lesson with a gorgeous instructor in skin-tight ski pants. She waved and gave me a thumbs up sign.

  Reporting at the ski school, I was told that my instructor had been delayed but would be there any minute. There didn't seem to be anyone else in my lesson. After a few minutes a loud, deep voice boomed out,
'Bonjour mademoiselle, j'arrive.'
I turned to see a rather plump, middle-aged man whose ski pants were only marginally looser than my own. A rather pendulous belly hung over the top of them and his jacket barely did up round his girth. He shook my hand vigorously and babbled on at me in warp-speed French, his bushy moustache wobbling on his upper lip as he did so.

  'I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that,' I told him.

  'Ah,
une anglaise
. Hello. I am Jean-Christophe. You can call me JC. How are you? I am very well.' He beamed at me, sounding like a comedy Frenchman.

  'Me too. I'm really looking forward to this.'

  'Only little English,' he said, shrugging his shoulders, palms turned upwards. It looked like my French skiing vocabulary was about to be sorely tested. He motioned at me to put on my skis. I placed them carefully in the snow in front of me before sliding the toe of my boot into the binding. As soon as I did so, it became apparent that I had the wrong skis. The bindings were way too loose.

  'I don't think these are mine,' I told him in my best French. 'I must have taken someone else's from outside the restaurant. I'll just go back and have a look.'

  It didn't take long to find my skis. A tall and very cross-looking man was swearing loudly as he tried to ram his feet into ski bindings that were clearly too small for his boots.

  
'Monsieur?'
I said tapping him on the shoulder. He turned and glared at me. 'I think I took yours by mistake,' and held them out to him. He looked at me briefly, snatched them and hurled them on the ground before thrusting his boots into the bindings and skiing off without so much as a backward glance.

  'Parisian,' said JC, in much the say way as you would say 'mass murderer'.

  I clicked my boots into their bindings then turned to JC. 'I'm ready.'

  He led me to the bottom of the ski lift, skating on his skis like an ice skater while I followed behind as best I could, shuffling my skis along the ground. I watched carefully as the lift attendant helped each skier to place a T-shaped bar carefully behind their legs which dragged them slowly up to the top of the ski run.

  Nervously, I followed JC to the head of the queue and waited for the next T-bar to come round.

  'You go first, I will follow,' he told me. He whispered something to the attendant, which I took to mean that there was a complete skiing dunce coming up. The T-bar came round and the attendant passed it to me, helping me to get it in position. The bar was on a cable which in turn was attached to a long spring. It pulled taut until it could go no further then launched me up the slope.

  I screamed as I took off on one leg and struggled to right myself. Behind me JC shouted instructions but I was so busy trying to stay upright that I couldn't hear what he said. By some miracle of gravity, I got my weight central, breathing a sigh of relief as I sat back against the bar. JC hadn't thought to tell me that it was only intended to pull me along, not take my weight. As I started to sit back on it, the cable got longer and longer until I was practically crouching.

  'JC!' I screamed. 'What do I do?'

  'Push down into your skis and stand up,' he called.

  Despite months of using my Turkish toilet, my thighs weren't up to the job and slowly and very inelegantly, I rolled off the lift, ending up flat on my back in the snow, just as JC was dragged past me. A few metres further up, he let go of the T-bar and skied back down to me.

  I lay in the snow and looked up at him, my thighs burning from the effort of trying to keep my balance.

  'Hard work this skiing lark,' I said as he reached a hand down to help me up.

  Having assured him I knew how to do a passable snowplough, I pushed my skis out into a V-shape to slow down my descent and set off for a second go at the drag lift.

  This time, I was ready for it. I relaxed and let the T-bar pull me slowly up the mountain while JC shouted instructions from behind me. I even felt confident enough to have a look round at the scenery. The higher we got, the more stunning the scenery was. It opened out as far as I could see onto a white expanse of snow-capped mountains, dotted with colourful stick figures weaving down the
pistes
. Now, having mastered the 'getting on' bit, all I had to do was sort out the 'getting off'. Up ahead, I could see the end of the lift so I concentrated on what everyone else was doing. It didn't look too difficult. You got to the end, conveniently signposted, unhooked the T-bar from behind your legs and skied off, your sticks in your hand, onto the main run. All of which was fine if you could steer, ski without poles and keep your balance, none of which I was showing a particular aptitude for.

  My stomach was in knots as the end of the lift approached. A conveniently placed sign told me when to let go and a small child on the T-bar in front of me safely negotiated the dismount. How difficult could it be? I braced myself for the moment and as I drew level with the sign, I unhooked the T-bar, pushed it away and made my way rather unsteadily onto the run.

  
'Bien fait,'
called JC, congratulating me as he pulled up next to me in a spray of snow. 'Are you ready?'

  'Ready as ever,' I replied nervously.

  I felt my heart start to soar as I took in the view from the top of the run. Snow-capped mountains spread out as far as I could see. In places, clouds had attached themselves to the sides and hung like flags. It was like the top of an old-fashioned chocolate box. There was nothing like a bit of natural beauty to lift my spirits. A smile spread slowly across my face and for the first time in weeks, the heartache of 'The Julien Affair' as I now called it, was forgotten.

  We set off in long, sweeping traverses across the run, with me following in JC's ski tracks. The run was wide and not too steep and mercifully free of trees. After a while, I started to relax and enjoy myself. I was happy just to mooch along slowly in a nice wide snowplough, leaving the youngsters to whizz down the slopes at breakneck speed even if it was a little disconcerting to be overtaken by a five-year old.

  At the bottom, I felt exhilarated. The Queen of the Ski had conquered the slopes. I had never really been one for sport but this was so much fun. I loved the feel of the sun on my face contrasting with the snow all around me and the feeling that I was doing something healthy and outdoors. Letting my mind run away, I saw myself zipping down the black runs, skis together, legs working hard, jumping moguls, hair flying in the wind. I was also about 20 pounds lighter but enough of that.

  'Well done,' said JC enthusiastically. 'You are a natural.'

  I somehow doubted that but I smiled anyway. We set off up the slope again, this time managing to get on the drag lift first time. The run wasn't very long but with each descent I felt my confidence growing. The ski bug was starting to bite, which made a nice change from the mosquitoes.

  The hour seemed to pass in minutes and just as I was really starting to get into it, the lesson was over and I was saying goodbye to JC with a promise to arrange another lesson soon. I took off my skis and headed to the café to meet the others, being careful to make a mental note of where I left them this time.

  CeeCee was already there, sitting by an open fire, nibbling on a bread roll. 'I do wish they'd give you butter as well,' she moaned to me.

  'Good morning's skiing?' I asked.

  'Yes, not bad. No one very interesting in my group though. How about you?'

  'No one in my group at all except me.'

  'Well, you'll be an expert before long then.'

  'Hmm, I don't know about that but I enjoyed it.'

  'Do you fancy coming up with me this afternoon?'

  'I don't know. Maybe. You're a lot better than me.'

  'Hello girls,' boomed Chummy coming through the door like a whirlwind and stomping across the restaurant towards us. In her bright red ski suit she looked like an overripe tomato. Collapsing onto a chair, she stretched her chubby legs out in front of her.

  'I'm parched. Get me a
vin chaud
will you CeeCee? You should try one,' she said to me, 'bit like mulled wine. Just the thing after a morning on the slopes.'

  'Anyone else want one?' said CeeCee, getting up.

  'Sounds lovely,' I replied, 'I'd definitely like to try one.'

  A blast of cold air heralded the arrival of Rodders, ruddy-faced from the cold.

  '
Vin chaud
, Dad?' asked CeeCee.

  'Bloody marvellous. Just what the doctor ordered.'

  He sat down next to me, patting my knee. 'Good skiing?'

  'Well, more snowploughing than skiing,' I smiled.

  'Never mind, you'll be schussing with the best of us soon.'

  'No doubt,' I replied, wondering what schussing was.

  'Right,' said Rodders, 'what's for lunch?'

  He picked up the menu and looked through it. 'Looks like chips with everything. The choices are
steak haché
and chips, chicken and chips or omelette and chips, with a bit of lettuce on the side to make it healthy.'

  I didn't really fancy anything but the others gave their orders to the waitress and we chatted about our respective mornings, sipping on the
vin chaud
until the food arrived.

  'This stuff is really nice,' I said, pouring myself another glass of
vin chaud
from the big jug that CeeCee had put on the table.

  'Steady on, girl, it's more potent than it looks,' said Rodders.

  'Better get yourself some blotting paper,' said Chummy. Dutifully, I ordered a plate of chips, and picked at them as I felt the warmth of the hot wine flood my body. It made me feel all snug and cosy inside. I bent down to unclip my boots, pulling my feet out and wiggling my toes to get the circulation flowing again. Then I stretched them out in front of the fire and leant back in my chair, my glass of wine resting on my knee.

  'Yes,' I announced to the table, 'I could get into this skiing business. Thanks so much for bringing me.'

  'Our pleasure, dear,' said Chummy. 'You've not had an easy time of it recently,' her voice softened as she spoke.

  I looked down and chewed on my bottom lip. 'No, I haven't, have I?' I looked up at Chummy as I spoke and smiled at her. A lot of people couldn't stand the woman but I knew that under that hard-nosed exterior, beat a heart of, well, maybe not gold, but certainly some sort of semi-precious metal.

  'Anyway, that's all ancient history now. Onward and upwards, eh?' said Rodders.

  'So, are you coming with me this afternoon?' asked CeeCee as we finished lunch.

  'No, but thanks. I think I need to get a bit more practice with JC if he's free. Maybe tomorrow?'

  Rodders paid the bill, refusing to take any money from me and they headed off to the slopes leaving me to finish the
vin chaud
and wait for the ski school to open again.

  'See you back here at four then,' called CeeCee as she left.

  I sat quietly, enjoying the relative peace of the café. Almost everyone had gone skiing for the afternoon and there was only me left and a young girl with a broken leg who clearly wasn't going anywhere.

  I looked at my watch. Quarter to two. I downed the last of my drink and got up to go and find my skis.

  As I clomped across the room, I felt a little bit light-headed. Probably just the heat of the fire, I thought to myself but the cold air that hit me as I stepped outside made me feel positively dizzy. Maybe skipping lunch wasn't such a good idea. I located my skis and pushed my boots into them, forgetting as I did so to re-fasten the clips that I'd undone in the café. The moment I tried to ski away from the café I discovered that I had no control at all over my skis and with a thud, fell over backwards, winding myself. I lay for a moment, staring up at the blue sky, struggling for breath until a face suddenly blocked my view. It was an elderly French woman who looked far too old to be skiing. She looked down on me with concern.

  
'Ça va?'
She asked.

  'Yes,
oui
, I'm OK,
merci
,' I replied, mixing up my languages.

  The woman reached out for my hand and helped me sit up. I put my head on my knees for a moment, slowly regaining my breath, then tried to stand up but with my boots still undone my skis just kept sliding out from beneath me. The woman, who was both small and very slight in build, tried her best to haul me up on to my feet. I was making a beached whale look positively graceful and after another struggle, I admitted defeat and sat back down.