One Foot Onto the Ice (2 page)

Susan Quinn fanned her face, desperately trying not to get
flustered. “Yes, thank you, Daisy, I know exactly what she said.” She walked
quickly back down to the front of the coach. “Professor Ramsbottom, I think we
may need to remind these young ladies about expected etiquette.”

“I don’t need to remind you girls, do I?”

There was a general groan of: “
No Professor Ramsbottom
.”

“Good. Seatbelts stay fastened until we pull in.” He twisted back
down into his seat and patted the space next to him. “We need to show them
we’re fun, Susan. Trips like these are the stuff of legend.”

Susan Quinn bent down and picked up the blue itinerary folder from
the floor. She sat down and fastened her seatbelt. “Not on my watch, they’re
not.”

Chapter Two

Susan Quinn watched the sixteen girls from St Wilfred’s walking,
mostly sensibly, into the French service station. She reached into the blue
itinerary folder for the briefing sheet from Club Ski, searching for the name
of the instructor who would be spending the week with them, aware that this was
their designated pick up point. She scanned down the details, fixing her eyes
on the name.
Jenna James.
Susan felt a rush of nerves, immediately transported
back to her own school prom. Sixteen years old, crap mousy brown hair, spots,
and zero confidence. Not a great start in itself, but then the ever-so gorgeous
Jenna James, with volumised wavy brown hair, exotic eyes, and perfect behind,
walks into the hall with the same blue polka-dot dress on as her. Jenna’s,
however, accentuated her curves, shaped her body, and fitted to perfection. Her
own hung loosely around the chest and was a strange length at the knee. It was
mortifying.

Susan looked out of the window at the snow-topped mountains and
started to think about the other mortifying things that had happened at school.
She stopped, aware that it was only a twenty minute service break. She smiled
to herself. There was no way the charismatic, endearingly cheeky, and
gorgeously beautiful Jenna James, with her to-die-for dimples, would have ended
up as a ski instructor in the French Alps. She was probably the editor of a
top-class art and fashion magazine, or a producer on some well-loved television
show. Susan smiled. Jenna James had in fact been one of the few girls at school
who hadn’t made her life an absolute living hell. Susan remembered how she’d secretly
pretended they were friends, latching on to every small comment and kind smile,
paying great importance to the fact that Jenna actually passed her the ball that
one time in netball back in year eight. There was no way Jenna James would
remember her though. There was no way Jenna James would have replicated her own
version of their imaginary friendship.

Susan focused her attention and caught a glimpse of herself in the
coach window. Her hair was still crap. No amount of volumising spray, shampoo,
or after care could ever combat its definite flatness and the hazelnut shade in
this latest dye was still being overshadowed by her hair’s natural mousiness. She
studied the shoulder length style and had to admit that the new choppy layers
were helping somewhat. She peered closer and checked her skin, always relieved
that her confidence crippling acne had finally cleared up in her early
twenties. She reached back into her bag and brought out her pink shimmer-gloss
lip balm. It wasn’t a full-on lipstick but it gave the impression of effort,
and now, at twenty-six, Susan Quinn felt confident enough to make an effort.
She shopped in the
Per Una
section of Marks and Spencer and would
occasionally venture into Monsoon for the very special occasion, even though
most of those were school related. She sighed to herself. Maybe she should give
Marcus a chance. He had good prospects. He lived on the school site like her. His
breath didn’t smell all of the time. She stopped herself and thought about it
logically.
Why was she even considering it?
She paused in thought. He was
taking an interest. That was the reason. He was taking an interest, where no
one else really had.

****

Marcus Ramsbottom studied the bottle of wine carefully. He had tried
his best to select a good but reasonably priced one from the small shop inside
the service station.

“No alcohol allowed on the trip, Professor.”

“I’m an adult, Champagne. The rules don’t apply to me. Madam Quinn
and I will be partaking in a
bouteille de vin
when you little ladies are
tucked up in bed tonight.”

Champagne Willington and Priggy Bunton-Chatsworth pushed in front
of the wolf-whistling leather-clad French bikers and positioned themselves next
to their teacher. Champagne placed her hand on the professor’s shoulder.
“Number one, I’m eighteen, already legally an adult, and number two, I’d rather
not know what you and Madam Quinn partake in, thanks all the same.”

Champagne Willington was a good five inches taller than her maths
professor and he struggled to focus on her eyes, instead letting his gaze hover
at breast height. “New top, Champagne?”

Priggy Bunton-Chatsworth laughed. “Ding! You’re one point up,
Champs.”

Marcus frowned, turning his attention to the stocky brunette. “And
what’s this new game?” he asked, noticing the top button of Priggy’s shirt had
come loose.

Priggy licked her finger and made an imaginary mark in the air. “Ding!
One–one! Come on, Champs, we’re not buying anything, let’s head back to the
coach.”

Marcus Ramsbottom nodded. “Round up any stragglers for me, please,
this queue just isn’t moving.” He lifted himself onto his tiptoes. “For
goodness sake, is that Willamena Edgington and Eugenie Rohampton on the slot
machines?”

****

Susan was standing on the tarmac outside the coach ticking off
another two names as she watched the girls climb safely back into their seats.
Six students left to return. She lifted her face to the sun. It was glorious.
February was always the best month for snow, but the temperature could often vary.
She opened her eyes and squinted at the dazzling glow from the blanketed
mountains; it looked like they’d got lucky. Powdered snow and blazing sun. She
took a deep breath, actually able to feel her skin absorbing some much needed
vitamin D.

The holler was loud. “This is just too strange!”

Susan opened her eyes into the direct sunlight and blinked
furiously, trying to clear the blinding haze of brightness.

The giggly voice continued. “Susan Quinn. Can you believe this?!”

Susan blinked even faster. She looked at the lady and stammered,
“Jenna? Jenna James?”

Jenna nodded, bouncing her bunches around and adding to her
already animated introduction. “Sure is. Jenna James, Club Ski, at your service.
Assigned to St Wilfred’s All-Girls School.” She stepped forwards and gave Susan
a full-bodied hug. “What’s it been? Ten years? I noticed last week that I was scheduled
to be with St Wilf’s. Imagine me in charge of a group from my old school! I
guess you can tell me what it’s like, can’t you?” Jenna smiled warmly. “So how
come you’ve ended up back here?” She quickly clarified herself. “Not that
there’s anything wrong with teaching back at our old school. This is just such
a funny coincidence.”

Susan was physically shaking with nerves, unable to return the
hug, making the whole introduction feel really rather awkward. Her voice
cracked as she spoke. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

“The classes were tiny. Of course I remember you.” Jenna saw Susan’s
eyes dart away and clarified once again. “Sorry, no I didn’t mean I remember
you because of that.” She paused. “Ten years, wow.”

Susan tried to act relaxed. “Yeah, wow,” she said, immediately
realising that
yeah wow
, wasn’t a combination of words she used very
often.

Jenna reached around and hugged her old classmate once more. “It’s
good to see you again. I often wonder what happened to everyone in our year.
I’m awful at keeping in contact. I really should make more of an effort. It’s
so easy with Facebook and Friends Reunited, but I daren’t go on either. Too
many skeletons in the closet, if you know what I mean? I like to live in the
moment. Keep the past where it belongs. Focus on the here and now. Living in
the past only inhibits our future. I’m sure one of our old professors taught us
that.”

Susan wasn’t quite sure how to act. This was the most direct
conversation she’d ever had with Jenna James.
The
Jenna James. She took
a deep breath and reminded herself that she wasn’t the spotty girl sporting an
ankle length skirt any longer. She was the woman with lip gloss. The woman with
recently pierced ears. The woman whose lilac fleece came from the expensive
range in Cotton Traders. She moved her weight onto her right hip, slid her pen
behind her ear and tried to play it cool. “I must admit I just spotted your
name on the briefing sheet and I did wonder, but I never imagined—”

A voice interrupted her. “I’m back, Madam!”

Susan fumbled with her clipboard, searching for her pen.

“Priggy and Champs are here too!”

More bodies filed past Susan and climbed up the steps. “Here,
Madam.”

“Madam Quinn, we’re back. We’re the last two. Professor Ramsbottom
says he’ll just be a minute.” Willamena Edgington and Eugenie Rohampton boarded
the coach with their hands full of dirty euro coins.

Susan yanked the ballpoint from behind her ear, catching a clump
of mousy brown hair in the pen’s grip, trying not to wince as the pain shot to
her temples.

“Do you need a hand?” asked Jenna, watching Susan Quinn desperately
try to free the pen. She was twirling it the wrong way and making the knotting worse.
“Please, let me help.”

Susan laughed as if this happened all of the time. “No, no, it’s
fine,” she said, shoving her clipboard under her arm so she could use both hands.
The clipboard slipped and Susan instinctively reached to grab it. She missed
and quickly bent to retrieve it from the floor. By the time she stood back up
the ballpoint pen was swinging gently at her jawbone.

“Here,” said Jenna, stepping forwards and taking control of the
situation.

Susan breathed in the sweet smell of Jenna’s coconut suntan lotion,
devastated by her ability to revert back to the nervous fumbling girl of her
youth. “Looks like I’m the same old Susan,” she said.

“As long as you don’t…” Jenna stopped herself. A reference to the
quiff this early on wasn’t appropriate.

“As long as I don’t what?” Susan froze. She remembers. Jenna James
remembers. Of course she remembers. Her yearbook entry had her down as Susan
Quiffy
Quinn.

Jenna thought quickly. “As long as you don’t try and kiss me.” She
nodded towards the coach at the girls peering down at their teacher. “We’re
standing rather close.”

Jenna yanked the pen free and Susan stepped backwards. “Why on
earth would I try and kiss you?”

“I’m just teasing,” said Jenna. “But we all had crushes on each
other at school, didn’t we?”

Susan flattened her slightly static brown hair. “Well I certainly
did not.” She saw Marcus approaching. “Not all women who go to girls’ schools
end up like that.” She nodded towards her plump, ginger colleague. “I’m
dating.”

Jenna didn’t turn around. Instead she fixed her eyes on her
flustered classmate. “That’s a shame, because I did.”

Susan paused and slowly gained the confidence to look into the
deep-set exotic eyes. “Have a crush?”

“No!” Jenna immediately realised she had said it too
preposterously. “Sorry, no, I mean I ended up
like that
.”

“Sorry ladies, the French don’t know the first thing about customer
service.” Marcus Ramsbottom wiggled the bottle of wine. “But hopefully this’ll
be worth the wait.” He puffed up his chest and stretched out his hand to Jenna
James. “Our ski guide, I take it?”

“Yes. I’m Jenna James. Nice to meet you…” She paused for his
introduction.

“Professor Ramsbottom.”

Jenna tried not to smirk. “Nice to meet you, Professor.”

Susan was still trying to flatten the static in her hair. “Call
him Marcus.”

“No Susan, she’s staff. Professor will be fine.”

Jenna nodded. “It’s okay, I understand how St Wilf’s works.
Protocol is paramount.”

Marcus fingered his thinning hair, genuinely surprised. “Really?
It often takes some getting used to for people who haven’t been through the
private system.”

Susan attached the pen to the clipboard and held it against her
chest, desperately trying to regain her composure. “She has. Jenna and I were
classmates.”

Marcus took a visible step backwards, reassessing the lady’s
childish bunches and over-familiar smile. “Never! Well would you ever?”

“I guess I don’t get a mention at the Presentation Evenings then?”

Susan smiled, aware that she too was never mentioned as one of St
Wilfred’s greatest success stories. She shook her head at Jenna and giggled. “They’re
too busy talking about Jemima Grice, MP, and the latest DNA discovery made by
Flavia Simkins.”

Jenna laughed loudly, making Susan’s blush run even deeper. “You
always were funny at school.”

“Inspirational women.” Marcus nodded solemnly. “And all down to
the work we do with them at St Wilfred’s.”

Jenna eyed the young professor. “You taught them? Wow. Have you
been there long? I was in their year at school and I don’t remember you
teaching us.”

Marcus pulled on the corners of his moustache. “If I had taught
you, you might not be standing there in that garish red tracksuit.”

Susan was aghast. “Marcus!”

Jenna tapped the company logo on the top of her jacket. “I own
Club Ski, actually. I built it up from scratch. We’re worth millions.”