One Foot Onto the Ice (5 page)

Jenna looked at her old classmate carefully. “No, she wasn’t
actually.”

“Well I doubt you were either,” snapped Marcus, coming to the
defence of his maiden, not realising that Jenna had meant it as a compliment.

Susan sighed. “Jenna was, actually.”

Sylvie, the elderly French guest house owner wandered back into
the room with a tray of pâtés and cheeses. “Supper for
zee
professors,”
she announced in her heavy French accent. “Your girls are angels.
Zee
quietest we’ve
‘ad
all season, isn’t that right, Jenna?”

Jenna nodded. “Sylvie’s the best host in the area. She runs a
tight ship, but as long as we drink at her bar and eat off her tray, she’ll be
happy.”

Sylvie placed the tray on the bar and reached out to squeeze Jenna’s
cheeks. “And you’ve got
zee
best ski guide of them all.”

“And the highest ranking too, it seems,” added Marcus.

“
Oh oui.
Probably that too,” smiled Sylvie, creasing up her
weathered cheeks and shuffling back behind the small bar. She noted their
depleted glasses and started to fetch three fresh drinks. “When Joseph and I
aren’t around, just
‘elp
yourself and make a note on
zee
pad.
We’ll settle up at
zee
end of
zee
week.”

“Sylvie’s the best,” smiled Jenna. “You don’t get this service
over at The Tavern.”

Sylvie’s face scrunched up like she’d just bitten into the sourest
lemon. “
Non, non, non, non, non.
Don’t mention
zee
name of that
woman’s guest house in here.”

“You’ve still not made up?” Jenna shook her head. “Poor Delphine. You’ve
been best friends for almost forty years.”

“
Oui
, before
‘er
Renard passed away and she tried to
steal my Joseph.”

“You know I’m going to sort you two out, don’t you, Sylvie? Before
the season’s finished.”

“Humph,” muttered Sylvie, bending down to the small fridge and
reaching for the plastic container of Sangria. She twisted the lid and began to
pour, proud of the stubbornness that had seen her through the best part of
eighty years.

“Regale us, Jenna,” said Marcus, “the Club Ski story. How does it
feel to be the owner of such a huge brand?”

Sylvie forgot her self-enforced silence and tried to stifle her
titter, sloshing the margarita sangria into the glass far too forcefully and splashing
the red booze all over the counter. “So that’s why you’re so generous with your
tips,
eh
Jenna?”

Jenna didn’t dare look at Sylvie, knowing they would both burst
into a fit of giggles at the idea she was anything other than standard crew. Instead
she clasped her hands together under her chin and lowered her voice towards
Marcus. “Have you ever seen the programme,
Undercover Boss
?”

Marcus immediately twisted his head from side to side, dramatically
scanning the empty corners of the room. “Are there secret cameras?” he hushed.
“What a thrill! Are they filming us now? I wondered why the company owner would
slum it as a basic ski guide like the rest of those uneducated, infantile,
adrenaline junkies, as they like to call themselves.” He sniffed. “They’re
probably just regular junkies. Thank goodness we’re blessed with you. I
wouldn’t like to imagine the type of character we might have been paired with.
Dreadlocked and smelling of weed I might imagine.” Marcus noted Susan’s look of
shock. “Sorry, sorry. Listen to me, Professor Faux Pas. I’m sure you have a
great policy of weeding out the good from the bad.” He laughed at himself. “Quite
literally. Weeding out the weeders.”

Jenna ignored the provocation and nodded seriously. “I just like
to keep my feet on the ground. I like to know what’s going on at grass roots
level.”

“Paramount, paramount,” said Marcus, reaching over the counter for
his freshly poured sangria. “I bet you feel honoured, don’t you, Sylvie? The
chief of Club Ski choosing to base herself in your little, run of the mill,
guest house?” He took a swig without saying thank you. “I bet she vets the
schools for you. That must be a bonus. Look at us, she’s clearly vetted out the
riff raff and chosen a top lot to spend this week with.”

Sylvie crossed her arms and screwed up her face. “It’s a shame she
can’t vet out
zee
teachers too.”

Chapter Six

The first evening of the trip hadn’t actually been a long one.
Marcus and Susan had both tried twice more to go up and settle the girls, to no
effect, so Jenna had offered to try. It wasn’t in her remit to help the
teachers discipline their students. She was more of a facilitator, organising
the children and staff into the correct ski groups, managing the schools’ bespoke
evening activities and providing that essential link between the schools and
the slopes. Last night, however, sensing the tension rising between Susan and
Marcus, she had kindly offered to
have a word;
and that was all it had
taken. One word. Or maybe it had taken
one promise
. Jenna had promised
the older girls a few cans of cider at the disco on Friday, and the younger
girls a playlist with non-stop Bieber and One Direction. The students had, in
reality, been completely shattered and were thrilled at the opportunity to go
to sleep without ‘losing face’ in front of each other. Jenna wasn’t a teacher
and it wasn’t like they were giving in. Instead, they’d forged a deal with the
funky ski guide and it was only fair that they kept their side of the bargain.
Within five minutes everyone was asleep. Jenna had returned to the bar and
ignored Marcus’s insistence that it was his final warning, before her trip upstairs,
which had actually made the difference. Susan had simply said
thank you
,
relieved that the girls would be getting a good night’s sleep before the first
full day of skiing.

Now, standing at the bottom of the small nursery slope, Jenna was pleased
to see the girls were indeed looking fresh faced and motivated for the day
ahead. The first hour of the morning had been spent in the local ski shop, collecting
boots, skis, and poles, and huge cries of injustice could be heard each time a
body conscious young lady was told to get on the scales. An accurate assessment
of their weight was required to ensure their ski bindings were tight enough,
and no amount of protesting or assurances that they had weighed themselves
yesterday and were sure of the figure, did anything to change Bruno, the ski
shop owner’s, mind. He simply pointed at the scales and said, “
Maintenant!
”

Jenna had taken it upon herself to shield the girls’ weight from
the other gawping classmates and whisper a word of reassurance to each young
lady that ski gear was actually made from the world’s heaviest fabric and the
figure displayed on the dial was at least a stone heavier than they were in
reality. It was enough to score Jenna an instant fan base and she was now
officially the coolest adult on the slopes.

Jenna looked up at the gentle nursery slope and rubbed her gloves
together. The task for the next twenty minutes was to finalise the ski groups
for the week ahead. There would be three classes, based on ability. The
beginners and the intermediates led by Club Ski instructors Lisa and Hugo, and
the advanced, led by herself. The girls had given Jenna a rough idea of their
individual ability level, but she liked to watch them ski, just to make sure. Daisy
Button and four other girls, who’d never skied before, were sitting in the
snow, watching the other girls show off their skills.

Champagne Willington was the next to traverse down the tiny slope.
She displayed perfect parallel turns and an impressive hockey stop that sprayed
fine powder snow all over the front of Jenna’s ski boots. It had taken her less
than four seconds to ski from the top to the bottom.

“You’ll be in the advanced group with me, Champagne,” said Jenna.
“If you could stand to the left, please.”

“Can’t I go with Hugo?” Champagne was pouting and plumping up the faux-fur
hood of her all-in-one pink ski suit.

“No, he’s taking the intermediate class. You’ll be bored.”

“Trust me, I won’t,” said Champagne, pulling her designer shades
low enough to check out his tight fitting salopettes.

Jenna put her arm around Champagne’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m
sure Hugo will be happy to sit next to you when we meet up at lunchtime. Just
don’t be too disappointed when he starts talking about his boyfriend.” Jenna
signalled to Priggy Bunton-Chatsworth at the top of the slope. “Next,” she
shouted.

“No! What a let-down.” Champagne pouted once more then shrugged. “Oh
well, he’ll have to be my gay best friend instead.”

“I’m sure he’ll love that,” laughed Jenna, watching an equally
impressive Priggy ski down with confidence and flair. “Advanced,” she shouted.

“Yay! We’re together, Priggs,” cheered Champagne. “I might have to
switch to your team though. Hugo’s a no-go.”

Priggy Bunton-Chatsworth shuffled over the flat snow. “Don’t you
dare. I’ll have no chance with Quinny if you’re on the scene with your big J-Lo
hair, pouty lips and Amazonian height.”

Jenna couldn’t help but laugh. “Girls, are you really having this
conversation in front of me?”

Champagne scanned the tranquil snowy surroundings. The majority of
the group were at the top of the slope and it was still too early for the other
ski schools to be out and about. “No one’s listening. Plus you don’t mind,
Jenna. You’re cool. You’re one of us. Not like old Arsey and Quinn.”

“Madam Quinn’s cool,” defended Priggy.

Champagne pulled a face in disgust. “Yeah, if you like middle
aged.”

Jenna waved to Eugenie Rohampton who was next in the queue. “You
cheeky so and so, Champagne. Madam Quinn and I are the same age.”

“Never!” squealed Champagne with wide eyes.

“Yep. We were in the same class at St Wilfred’s.”

“You’ve got to be joking! You look about twenty! You wear the
funkiest ski gear
ever
and I just
love
that pink belt and the way
you wear your pants slightly too low.” Champagne continued her assessment. “Plus
your hair’s always so cool.” She suddenly snorted with laughter. “Madam Quinn
looks at least forty with that flat hair and bloody awful lilac fleece. Have
you seen it? It’s already covered in bobbles.”

“Slow down!” shouted Jenna, distracted. She stepped forwards and
waved her arms up and down in an attempt to stop Eugenie Rohampton who was
whizzing down the nursery slope.

Eugenie ignored the warning and bent her knees even further,
trying to gain as much speed as possible, suddenly lunging into a sharp snow
plough as she realised the slope was about to end.

Jenna gasped as Eugenie came to a wobbly stop. “You nearly hit the
netting!”

“I wanted to show you my skills,” smiled Eugenie.

“Well, you can only have speed when you have control, Eugenie. I
want you to start off with Hugo in the intermediates.”

Eugenie grinned and shouted back to the top of the slopes at the
remainder of her classmates. “Be good, but not too good, and you get Hugo!”

Jenna heard someone puffing behind her and turned around. Marcus had
been delayed at the ski shop after insisting on a pair of 180cm skis even
though he was only five foot five. Jenna had gone ahead with Susan and the
girls leaving Marcus to sort out the situation. “Did you get the 180’s?” she
asked.

Marcus dropped his shiny new skis and poles into the snow. “I
ended up buying a pair. That Bruno character wasn’t shifting. He said he didn’t
think they were the right length for me and he wasn’t willing to have me skiing
around in the wrong sized skis when they have his shop name on them. So I’ve
bought myself a pair of Rossignol 180’s instead.”

Jenna shrugged. “I’m five foot nine and I only wear 170’s.”

“Ahh, but the more skilled the skier, the longer the skis.”

Jenna didn’t have time to get into a discussion. “I’m not sure
that’s true, but you can prove your point right now. Get them on then and jump
onto the magic carpet. I’ll need to see you coming down the nursery slope.”

Marcus briskly shook his head. “Heavens no, I’ll be with you and
Susan in the advanced group.”

Jenna signalled to the top of the snowy mound at Susan and the
remaining St Wilf’s girls. “I’ve asked Susan to ski down too. I just like to be
sure.”

Tiara Taundry-Thompson was frantically waving her ski poles at the
top of the slope desperate to have a turn. “Come on then, Triple-T,” shouted
Jenna, “show me what you’ve got!”

The girl with the luminous green ski suit fixed her legs into the
snow plough position and pushed off with her poles. The resulting trip down the
slope was slow and unsteady.

Jenna clapped her hands together. “Good attempt. But I’d like to
start you off in the beginners with Lisa, please. Could you go and stand over
on the right hand side, Tiara.”

Tiara Taundry-Thompson looked slightly miffed. “Really?”

“Yes. But Lisa will move you up if she thinks it’s too easy for
you.” Jenna smiled. “You definitely win the award for the best outfit though.”
She gave the young girl a thumbs-up. “I
love
luminous green!”

Tiara’s face burst into a huge smile. “Thanks, Jenna!” she said,
shuffling happily to the right.

Champagne was jabbing the fresh snow with her ski pole, stabbing
out her initials. She looked up at Jenna who was coming back over to the group.
“Professor Ramsbottom, did you know that Madam Quinn and Jenna were in the same
class at St Wilf’s?”

Marcus was still struggling to clip his boots into his skis. “That
I did. I’m sure they’ll regale us with many an anecdote when we’re up on the
slopes.”

Priggy didn’t disguise her grimace. “You’re in our group,
Professor?”

Jenna re-joined them. “Professor Ramsbottom needs to ski down the
nursery slope first.” She nodded. “I need to make sure that he has the best
week possible, just like the rest of us.”

Champagne laughed. “Ooo, all eyes on you, Professor.”

“Not a problem, not a problem,” smiled Marcus relieved to finally hear
the click of his boot. “I’m in. I’m off,” he declared, pulling his tinted ski
goggles down over his eyes and shuffling slowly forwards towards the bottom of
the magic carpet.

Priggy folded her arms and looked over at Jenna. “Why are his ski
trousers so short? They’re almost half-mast.”

Jenna smiled. “Maybe the shorter the trouser, the better the
skier?”

Champagne laughed and pointed at the bottom of the conveyor belt.
“I don’t think so. He’s fallen over. Who falls over on the magic carpet? It’s a
flat escalator. How can you fall over on a flat escalator?”

Jenna looked up at Marcus who was now in a very awkward sideways
position, being pulled, skis first, up the nursery slope. “Oh crikey! He needs
to be standing by the time he gets to the top or that group of kids are going
to fall over him.” Jenna pointed at the ten five year olds clad in bright
yellow ski-school bibs who’d just whizzed down the slope and back onto the
magic carpet. “Use your poles,” she shouted at Marcus.

Marcus dug a ski pole into the rubber conveyor belt and tried to
lift himself up, but it slipped and flipped out into the snow instead. “My
pole!” he shouted, quickly trying to use the other one to hook it back. He
flung it too hard and watched in dismay as it also disappeared in the snow behind
him.

“I’ll get them, Professor,” shouted Francesca Hamilton from the
top of the slope, pushing off and displaying well controlled snow plough turns.

Jenna watched as the girl gracefully picked up Marcus’s poles.
“Can you parallel turn the rest of the way down, Francesca?” she shouted.

“No. I can only snow plough.”

Jenna waited for the girl to skid to a stop in front of her. “Well
they’re fantastic snow ploughs, especially with those extra poles you’re
carrying,” she said. “Intermediates for now, but I’m sure you’ll progress
really quickly. Over to the right please, Francesca.”

“Shouldn’t someone be helping Professor Ramsbottom?” asked Priggy
fixated by the drama unfolding at the top of the magic carpet.

Jenna smiled. “Sometimes you’ll meet people in life that you’ll
never be able to help.” She watched as Marcus rolled off the top of the conveyor
belt and into the snow. The ten five year olds then flopped, one after the
other, on top of him. The children did their best to get themselves free, not
caring where they stuck their poles as long as they could push out of the ever
increasing mound of bodies.

“Ouch,” said Priggy, “he just took one in the nuts!”

Jenna laughed and turned to the running commentary. “The
nuts
?”

“Yeah, the giblets! Disgusting things, whatever you call them.”

Jenna stared at the confident Kelly Clarkson lookalike. “Priggy,
are you out? I’m getting the impression you might be.”

Priggy lifted her hands to her hips and posed. “I’m out and proud.”
She did a little wiggle. “Out, proud, loud,” the wiggling stopped and she started
to sulk, “but not very laid.”

Jenna laughed again. “You two are going to keep me entertained
this week, aren’t you?” She smiled and shouted back up to the top of the slope.
“Next.”

“Have you got a boyfriend, Jenna?” asked Champagne.