One Foot Onto the Ice (3 page)

Marcus guffawed. “I’m such a tease! You’ll learn that quickly.” He
nodded at Susan. “Tell her what a jokester I am, Susan. Non-stop gags.” He
looked back towards Jenna and spoke seriously. “We churn out such entrepreneurs
here at St Wilf’s.” He paused in the silence and stretched his arm out towards
the coach. “Ladies, or should I say,
entrepreneurs,
after you.”

Susan momentarily tore her eyes away from Jenna and glanced at her
colleague. “Have you double checked they’re all out?”

“Yes, yes. We’re on the home stretch now.” He ignored his own
offer and pulled himself up the steps first. “Jenna James, you must regale us
all with your rise to riches story.”

Susan stayed on the tarmac and fixed her eyes on Jenna. “That’s
brilliant. I knew you’d make something of yourself. Owner of Club Ski? That’s
incredible.”

Jenna stepped in closer and lowered her voice. “Am I bollocks. I’m
just a bog-standard ski instructor.” She nudged Susan’s arm. “Took the gloat
right off Professor Sheep’s-Arse’s face though, didn’t it? I bet he tells
everyone he taught old Simkins and Gricey. What is he? Twenty-eight going on
ninety-two?”

Susan didn’t have chance to reply. Jenna was already pulling
herself up the stairs and into the coach. “Right,” she said to herself, clutching
onto the clipboard for dear life, utterly unsure how she felt about the whole
situation.

Chapter Three

Jenna had spent a couple of minutes with the coach driver
outlining the best route up to the resort. Club Ski insisted the guides were
with their parties for the final stretch of the journey, even though it meant a
slightly monotonous trip out to the service station on the company minibus, and
a guaranteed whiffy trip back with the tired students who were now on their
fifteenth hour of travel.

It was the guide’s job to highlight the picturesque scenery and
give a general insight into the area, most of which was ignored by the students
whose ears were plugged with one gadget or other. Jenna always opted for a more
personal approach, walking up and down the coach and introducing herself to
each student individually, finding out a little about their skiing ability and their
hopes for the week ahead.

It would take about another forty-five minutes to climb the steep,
ever narrowing roads towards one of the most extensive ski regions in the Alps,
Les Portes du Soleil,
and Jenna knew she had time to get all of the
girls on-side, even the ones who thought they were too cool to play childish
games with the newcomer. She decided to break the ice with
ski pass
recognition
, where she would hand the plastic card to the owner using a
celebrity lookalike.

She stood at the front of the coach, spoke loudly and started with
Marcus Ramsbottom. “So. This is an easy one. He’s the only male on the trip.
It’s Mick Hucknall from Simply Red.”

“Who?” shouted Priggy Bunton-Chatsworth.

Jenna smiled. “Stop making me feel so old.” She held the pass up
and pretended to study the photo again. “Okay, maybe he’s more like a short and
rather plump Ed Sheeran.”

The girls started to laugh.

Jenna handed the lift pass to Marcus, giggling as he snatched it
quickly, clearly not amused. She called for attention and pulled the next pass
from the pile. “Right, here we have your favourite madam.” Jenna glanced back down
at the passport-sized picture on the plastic card, noticing that it was
actually rather flattering. “It’s Katie Holmes.”

Susan smiled and took the outstretched lift pass, using it to fan
her face. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Jenna smiled warmly before turning her attention back to the pile
of passes. She scanned up the coach, spotting its owner immediately. “J-Lo has
joined us!” She walked up the aisle. “It’s Champagne Willington.”

Champagne laughed, thrilled with the comparison, smart enough to
know it was the new lady’s way of currying favour, but shallow enough to let it
work. “How do we address you? Can we call you Jenna?”

“Call me anything you want,” laughed Jenna, “as long as it’s not
madam.”

Jenna moved back down to the centre of the aisle, having ignored
Susan’s request to do all of the introductions with the coach microphone from
the belted seat at the front. She looked at the next passport photo and
panicked. She had a list of gorgeous celebrity names that she would assign to
each student based on hair and eye colour. The similarity often ended there,
but it was a positive way to break the ice. Now, however, she was struggling.
She looked at the picture again. The little girl had white hair, white skin and
a reddish tinge to her eyes, and the thick glasses she was wearing made her
eyes look huge and fuzzy. Jenna thought of the Icelandic singer Björk, not
quite sure why. She slipped the card to the back of the pile to give herself
more time. Jenna knew she couldn’t tell an albino child that her celebrity
lookalike was Björk. That would be cruel. Plus Björk had dark hair. This little
girl’s hair almost glowed. She reached for the next one and shouted loudly.
“We’ve got Kelly Clarkson on the coach! Sing us a song, Priggy
Bunton-Chatsworth.”

Marcus Ramsbottom puffed up the aisle. “Excuse me, Madam James,
that
foie gras
baguette I devoured at the service station seems to want
out.”

Jenna tried to retreat into a seat, almost retching at the
thought.

Marcus edged past her towards the tiny toilet. “Do wait for me
though. This is most entertaining.” He pointed at sixteen year old Eugenie Rohampton.
“You can’t help but notice how she’s been blessed with the body of Dolly
Parton.”

Jenna raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “I think she’s more of a
Scarlett Johansson.”

“That depends where you’re looking,” he hushed.

Jenna wasn’t sure whether it was his revolting remark that made
her shudder or the stench from his breath. She shook herself free from his creepiness
and wandered up and down the coach trying to get a better look at the young,
white-haired, Björk. She paused and did a quick silent head count, checking her
list and counting again. She slowly made her way down to the front of the coach
and sat next to Susan in Marcus’s recently vacated seat. It was warm and made
her shudder once again.

“So, who are you then?” asked Susan, directing her question
towards Jenna. “Mila Kunis?”

Jenna ignored her. “How many students do we have on the trip?”

Susan wanted the chair to swallow her up. She’d been practising
that line for the past ten minutes. It was meant to show off her jovial side.
Jenna had already commented on how funny she used to be at school and she had
just wanted to confirm that this was still the case.

Jenna was sharper. “How many girls should be on this coach?”

Susan forgot her embarrassment as she sensed the tone in Jenna’s
voice. “Sixteen.”

Jenna handed over the lift pass belonging to Daisy Button.
“Björk’s not on the bus.”

“Who?”

“I couldn’t think of any albino celebrities.” Jenna calmed herself
and hushed her voice. “Daisy Button’s not here.”

Susan unclipped her seatbelt and twisted onto her knees, her eyes
drawn to the empty single seat in the centre of the coach. She was about to
gasp out a cry that would have the other students searching in their foot wells
for the youngest member of the group, when she felt Jenna’s hands pull her back
down.

“Stop,” said Jenna, far more calmly than she felt. “Don’t say a
word. Walk up and down the coach and double check that I’ve not missed her.
This is a fifty-two seater; they’re all so spread out.”

Susan was frozen in panic. “I can’t. We must stop. Tell the driver
to stop. She’s only eleven.”

Jenna gripped Susan’s arm firmly. “Do what I’ve told you. Stay
calm. Don’t breathe a word to anyone.”

Susan’s legs wobbled as she hurried up and down the coach,
checking, then double checking, each of the seats, her mind completely blank.
She returned to the front with a face whiter than little Daisy Button’s. “She’s
not here. Marcus is in the toilet, so she’s not in there either.”

Jenna took both of Susan’s hands and hushed her voice. “When did
you last see her?”

“She got off at the services. I said she could use my mobile phone,
but she never came for it.”

“That’s where she is then.” Jenna fixed her eyes on Susan. “Don’t
worry. We’ll find her.”

Susan swivelled back onto her knees. “I’ll alert the girls. I’ll
ask them who saw her last.”

Jenna pulled her back down. “No! How many of these girls have
mobiles on them?”

Susan felt terrible. “All of them except for Daisy.”

“You announce that she’s lost and this group of dramatic eleven to
eighteen year olds will be straight on their phones to their parents who’ll be chartering
private jets and flying them out of here.” She shook her head. “You’ll be sued
straight out of St Wilf’s.” She looked at Susan directly. “Stay calm and let me
handle this.” Jenna jumped out of her seat and crouched down next to the
driver, instructing him to turn back around as soon as possible.

“Everything okay,
mon amie
?” asked Marcus, bringing a
distinctive smell of shit back to his seat.

Susan stammered.

“It’s fine,” said Jenna. “I’ve left my phone at the services.
We’ve only been on the road for ten minutes. The driver’s turning back around.”
She handed the stack of lift passes to Marcus. “Is there any chance you could
hand these out?”

Marcus’s annoyance that the CEO of Club Ski could do something as pedestrian
as lose her phone was instantly overshadowed by the titillating task ahead. He
rose to his feet and sashayed up the aisle, fingering his ginger moustache and
speaking seductively. “Well, well, well, aren’t we a lucky bunch? Looky here.
It’s Pamela Anderson!” He grinned a creepy grin. “Willamena Edgington, come on
up.”

Jenna squashed in next to Susan and spoke quietly. “She’s too
distinctive to be missed. Stay calm. We’ll find her.”

“What must you think of me?” gasped Susan shaking her head and
tapping her nails together.

Jenna leaned to the right as the coach took the unplanned exit and
made a full circle on the roundabout, quickly re-joining the traffic on the main
carriageway. “All I’m thinking about right now is little Daisy Button,” she
whispered, gripping the lonely lift pass as tightly as she could.

Chapter Four

“But Mummy I don’t want to be here. I want to be with you.” Daisy
Button was sobbing into the service station payphone’s grubby receiver. “Please
just come and get me.” She lifted her thick prescription glasses and rubbed her
watering eyes, now unable to see anything at all. “I’m scared.” Daisy dropped
her glasses back down onto her nose and her eyes reverted to the size of
saucers. “No, Mummy. I haven’t told anyone. I won’t. You told me not to. But,
please can I come home? I just want to come home.” She sobbed. “I don’t want to
be here.” She pulled at the cold metal cord and peered at the display. “No, I
bought a phone card. I’ve got fifteen minutes left on the call.” Daisy glanced
around at the bustling concourse area, looking, once again, for familiar faces.
“I need to know you’re okay, Mummy.”

“Daisy Button!” The shriek was one of dramatic relief. Susan Quinn
raced to the payphone and knelt on the dirty tiled floor, gently taking hold of
her student’s shoulders. “Is that your mum on the phone?”

Daisy nodded.

“Can I talk to her?”

Daisy shook her head.

“I need to talk to her, Daisy. I need to explain.” Susan nodded in
reassurance and slowly unpeeled Daisy’s clutched fingers from the receiver.
“Mrs Button. This is Madam Quinn from St Wilfred’s. I need to assure you that—”
She took the phone away from her ear and looked at the display. “She’s gone.”
She looked at the receiver. “That’s strange. It sounded like she hung up.”

“Are you all waiting for me, Madam?” asked Daisy. “I’m sorry, I
might have lost track of the time. Is everyone on the coach?” Daisy Button’s
white cheeks were flushed with speckled colour.

Susan started to reply. “We were half-way up—” But Jenna cut in.
“Hi! I’m Jenna. I’m your ski guide for the week. No, you’re not late at all.
We’re just rounding up the last few.” Jenna rustled around in her pocket and
drew out a two euro coin. She handed it over to Daisy. “Any chance you can grab
me a Ritter bar from that machine?” She pointed towards the entrance. “If you
chose my favourite flavour I’ll let you have half.”

Daisy shrugged. “What’s your favourite flavour?”

“Guess.” Jenna watched the little girl head despondently towards
the battered vending machine and quickly turned her attention to Susan. “She’s
got no idea we left her behind. Get back to the coach. Tell them I need another
five minutes to find my phone. Be spontaneous. Get the girls off for a group
photo or something. Take them over to that big French flag behind the coach so
I can get Daisy back on without anyone noticing.”

Susan couldn’t concentrate. Her heart was racing. “I’m not
spontaneous.”

“Pretend!” shouted Jenna, pushing her towards the doors.

****

Susan hurried across the tarmac, guilt and relief mingling in a
strange cocktail of panic. She climbed up the coach’s steps two at a time and
clapped her hands loudly. “Ladies, ladies! Madam James needs a further five
minutes to find her phone. They say they have it in lost property.” She
realised she was waffling so she tried to step it up a gear. “Let’s go crazy!
Let’s take our first funny group photo.”

“No thanks, Madam,” said Francesca Hamilton with a mouth full of
sweets.

“They’re all settled,” added Marcus, turning another page of his
well-thumbed Ernest Hemingway novel.

Susan jumped into the seat next to her colleague and placed a hand
on his knee. “Marcus. I have a secret. I’ve always dreamed of being that fun
loving teacher held horizontally in a wacky school photo.” She nodded. “You
know the type I mean? Me lying across the students’ arms? All of us in front of
some important landmark or other.” She realised how ridiculous she sounded given
the fact they were parked up in a bog standard French motorway service station.
“We could have a practice now. I’ll need someone strong like you to support me.”

Marcus looked up, and then down again at Susan’s baggy lilac
fleece, instantly aroused by the prospect of finally knowing for sure just what
was hidden under all of those layers. He reached into his backpack for the
school camera and turned to face the group. “Madam Quinn’s right. Let’s go
crazy! Hop off the coach, ladies. Let’s seize the moment and get snap happy.”

****

Jenna delved even deeper into her pockets and fed another collection
of euro coins into the machine, unsure how much longer she could carry on the
ooo,
it’s a new flavour, I must try it
, charade. She glanced out of the service
station window, relieved to see the group from St Wilfred’s finally trudging
off the coach and heading towards the large French flag. “I think that’ll do.”
She smiled, bending down to retrieve the eight bars of square shaped chocolate.
She pointed at the mint variety still stacked in the centre of the machine. “But
I’m sorry, Daisy. That one’s my favourite. Looks like these will all be for
me.”

“That’s fine,” whispered Daisy.

Jenna stayed crouching and looked up at the little girl, puzzling
at her distance. “How come you were on the phone to your mum for so long?”

Daisy’s eyes darted away. “I’m not meant to talk about it.” She
looked to the floor and scuffed her worn shoes together. “Am I allowed to go
back to the coach now?”

“Sure.” Jenna stood up and placed her arm around Daisy’s shoulder
guiding her towards the revolving doors. “But I need to tell you something. I’m
absolutely thrilled and I can’t believe how lucky we are.”

Daisy squinted as they stepped into the dazzling sunlight. “Why?”

Jenna balanced the chocolate bars in her right hand and reached
into her pocket with her left. “I’m thrilled that we have Gwenn Stefani on the
trip.” She handed over Daisy Button’s lift pass. “You’re a dead ringer.”

Daisy studied the plastic card. “Am not.”

“Are too!”

Daisy started to smile. “You think so?”

“Definitely.”

Daisy looked up at her new friend. “I might try one of those
Ritter bars if that’s okay?”

Jenna nudged the little girl and smiled. “We’ll have to sit
together then. I don’t want Professor Sheep’s-Bottom scoffing our stash.”

Daisy laughed and slipped her hand into Jenna’s, skipping slightly
as they increased their pace. “I’ll show you where I’m sitting.”

****

“That’ll do, thank you!” shouted Susan to the French truck driver who
had been snapping away on the school camera.

Marcus tightened his grip around Susan’s right tit. “Just take a
couple more,” he urged, trying to lower Susan’s body against his erection.

Susan wiggled her feet that were clasped tightly in Champagne
Willington’s hands. “Set me down, please, ladies.”

“With pleasure, Madam,” nodded Champagne, releasing her teacher rather
clumsily and heading, with a surge of other girls, straight back to the coach. Champagne
waited for a couple of the younger students to climb aboard before turning to
her best friend. “So, how did it feel then, Priggy?”

Priggy Bunton-Chatsworth had red cheeks. “What?”

She whispered. “Finally touching Madam Quinn’s arse.”

“It was harder than I thought. More muscly.”

Champagne laughed. “I was joking! Christ’s sake, Priggy, you’ve
actually thought about it? You’ve actually spent time debating what her arse
would feel like?”

“Haven’t you?” shrugged Priggy.

Marcus interrupted the conversation and placed his hands on the
girls’ lower backs. He guided them forwards. “Up we get, ladies.”

Champagne and Priggy immediately jumped up the coach’s steps,
getting as far away from Professor Ramsbottom’s wandering fingers as they
could.

Susan was the last to board, bright red from embarrassment, nerves
and humiliation, sure that Marcus had actually tried to tweezer her nipple. She
felt sick.

“Shall I do a head count,
mon amie
?” Marcus nodded towards
the middle of the coach in Jenna’s direction. “It looks like the chief’s back.”

Susan glanced at Jenna sitting and chatting with a smiling Daisy
Button and couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more gratitude or relief.
“Thank you, Marcus. That would be kind.”

Marcus inhaled proudly, noticing the deep satisfaction in Susan’s
voice, assuming she was totally spent from his manly touch and reminding
himself to repeat his forthrightness whenever possible.