Snow Blind: Secrets in the Snow, # 5, page 1
Contents
Copyright
Title page
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
An extract from 'Cold Comfort'
A note from the author
Other Secrets in the Snow books
Glossary
Characters
Acknowledgements
Copyright © 2015 Roz Marshall
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. You must not circulate this book in any format.
The characters, places and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
Printed in the United Kingdom
First published, 2015
Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.rozmarshall.co.uk
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About this book
Callum Johnstone discovered early on that when you're challenged in the height department, humour is the easiest way to deflect unwanted attention. Working for White Cairns Ski School in Scotland, he's found the love of his life — but she has him placed firmly in the 'friend zone' and it's easier to make her laugh than risk telling her how he really feels.
Debbie McNeill knows that if she can just pass her instructor exams and lose a few extra pounds of weight, she's bound to meet her tall, dark and handsome Mr Right — just like in the romance novels she loves to read. But so far, life hasn't emulated fiction and her love-life has been a non-starter.
When a competition gives Callum the chance to shine, he's torn. He has to decide whether to run away and mend his aching heart, or stay and give love one final chance.
Saturday 4th March 2006
Scotland
FROM THE BLACKNESS behind the spotlight, someone jeered. Callum swallowed, trying in vain to find some moisture for his barren throat. Like flicking through a filing cabinet, he scanned desperately through his mental inventory of jokes, but his mind was a blank.
"An Englishman an Irishman and a Scotsman went into a bar," he started, and croaked to a halt. Even the most banal old chestnuts were eluding him.
"You're a joke!" came a voice from the cheap seats.
Something clicked into place. "The bartender looked at them and said, 'What is this, a joke?'" He stopped, waiting for the laughter.
Silence.
"Give up, short-arse!" This time it was a bellow from the back of the room.
Callum swallowed, dismissed the ghost from his past which had flitted — unbidden — into his brain, then pointed at the heckler. "It was comments like that which got me into comedy." He gestured self-deprecatingly at his small stature. "It was that or pantomime."
The word triggered something else. "I auditioned for Snow White once." He raised an eyebrow. "But they said they wanted a girl for the part." That raised a snigger or two. "I said I wasn't happy, and they asked which dwarf I was instead!"
He was into his stride now. "And another time, before I'd even said anything, they told me I'd got the part of Little Red Riding Hood," he pointed at his ginger hair, "and thanked me for coming in costume."
He stepped closer to the microphone. "I said, 'Oh no I didn't', and they replied 'Oh yes you did!'" There was some outright laughter at this. "Another time, they asked if I knew how to fly on a wire, and I said I didn't know it, but if they hummed it, I'd play it."
Ten minutes later, he was in the wings, listening to the last dregs of applause while gulping from a bottle of water and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the other hand. I never want to go through that again.
The manager lumbered over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Well recovered, boy, you won them over."
Callum nodded. "Eventually." By the skin of my teeth.
Slipping a hand into his inside pocket, the older man pulled out a thin brown envelope. "Here's your share of the pot." He looked sideways at Callum. "Same time, same place, next week?"
-::-
Headlights flashed past on the other side of the motorway as Callum travelled north. Driving rhythms from Coldplay blasted from the speakers, but it wasn't enough to chase away his despondency. Maybe I should just give up on my showbiz dreams. I tanked. I totally lost it. Standing in front of an expectant audience with a brain filled with cotton wool was the closest he'd come to experiencing hell on Earth, and he never wanted that to happen again. Even a blizzard on the Highlander run was a trifle compared to that.
He was so annoyed with himself that he hadn't even wanted to drown his sorrows at the bar after the show. But that meant that he was sober, and he could drive straight back to White Cairns and find a different kind of release
He felt for his phone, which was lying on the passenger seat, and thumbed it on. Alternating glancing at the screen and watching the tarmac glide under the beam of his lights, he tapped a quick text: 'R u in? Can I come over?'
A few minutes later, his phone beeped. 'U sure can'.
He smiled in the darkness. Direct and to the point. He liked that about her.
Sunday 5th March
ON THE TELEPHONE, Forbes' voice sounded even more like a brigadier general than he did face-to-face, Jude thought, trying hard to stop the smile creeping into her voice. "Of course that would be okay, but you realise that I haven't made a decision yet, so you may be wasting your time?"
She was aware of Debbie in the background, filling the kettle and clinking mugs as the operations manager's impatience travelled down the phone line. "Yes, I understand, but I need to speak to my lawyer first, and it's the weekend so they're shut till tomorrow." That seemed to mollify him. "Okay, I'll speak to you tomorrow." Debbie was heading out of the ski school hut as Forbes rang off, mouthing something about getting milk.
Jude pulled the bookings diary from under the counter and scanned the entries. The only name she recognised was the American, Vernon, who'd booked Callum for private lessons last weekend and was due back today for a late-morning lesson.
Her own name was down against an open group of beginners. Just another day at the office. She smiled to herself. It was funny how quickly she'd slotted back into the routine of being a ski instructor after so many years off. And the rediscovery of these skills must have improved her confidence as well — there was a time when she'd never have dared to stand up to someone like Forbes.
Ben's arrival interrupted her musings, his footsteps quick and his greeting cheery. She studied him for a moment. He seems different today. Maybe going out with Debbie has been good for him.
A minute later, the object of his affections arrived back with a carton of milk and a lightness in her step that belied the serious injury that had kept her from skiing for the last couple of weeks. Jude looked from one to the other. Yes, maybe they're good for each other.
The door swung open again, heralding Callum's arrival. "Morning, campers!" he said, but the catchphrase lacked his usual verve.
She frowned. I wonder what's bothering him? She didn't like it when things rocked the boat for her band of instructors. They'd been in her employ for nearly three months, and she felt somehow responsible for all of them, like a robin with a nest full of cuckoo chicks. Right now, with Mike away, Callum was acting-up as chief instructor, so he was even more important to her than usual.
"Thanks!" she said, smiling at Debbie as the girl handed her a coffee. Taking a grateful sip, she looked across at Callum again, wondering why he could be so down. But everything suddenly fell into place when she caught the look on his face as he glanced between Debbie and Ben. Oh! Callum likes Debbie. How did I not spot that before? Slowly, she put her coffee down. Poor guy. She pursed her lips. Maybe I'll get a chance to speak to him later, once things quieten down.
-::-
Callum sat down on the wooden bench and unlaced his boots, glancing surreptitiously at Ben. How could he do that to her? An image of what he'd seen in the car park after he'd dropped Linda off was seared on his retinas, like one of those trick photos that imprints a negative version of itself if you stare at it for long enough.
Ben and Neil. But not just Ben and Neil. Ben and Neil kissing.
Debbie will be devastated. He sighed. She looked so happy this morning, smiling to herself as she carried a coffee across to Jude; although her stiff bearing made it evident that her injury still bothered her. What's it been — three weeks? The rib should be starting to knit now, but he knew from experience that she would still be sore.
And she would be sore — really sore — if he tol
She cradled her coffee, holding the mug against her bottom lip — the lip that made him long to sweep her into a never-ending embrace — and breathing in the aroma, as her eyes tracked Ben across the room.
Ben, of course, was oblivious to this mute adoration, examining the bases of his skis and pulling a tin of wax out of his rucksack. He seems like such a nice guy, too.
Fumbling with his boot clips, Callum glanced back at Debbie and shook his head imperceptibly, realising that he, too, wanted to be a nice guy. I can't do it to her. It would kill her. Maybe Ben would do the right thing and tell her himself.
JUDE WAVED GOODBYE to her class and climbed the steps to the ski school hut. Inside, she found Callum and Debbie at the counter with Vernon, booking him in for another private lesson. "Good—" she glanced at the clock, "—afternoon, Mr Hawkes. Did you enjoy your lesson?"
"It was mighty fine, Ms Winters, mighty fine." He clapped Callum on the shoulder. "Callum here took me on a grand tour of the mountain. I think we came down nearly every single run in the ski area."
Grand tour? That reminded Jude of Forbes' business venture. "Mr Hawkes, would you mind if I asked you a question?"
"Of course you can."
"Have you ever come across Segways? I think they're quite common in America for tours and suchlike."
"Why, yes, I do believe they are. I've never used one myself, though." He rubbed a finger on his chin. "Are you thinking of setting something up over here?"
Jude waved a hand. "Not me, a friend. I just—"
"I thought Segways were banned over here?" interrupted Callum.
"Banned?"
"Yeah, I'm sure I heard they were banned on the roads; you can only use them on private land."
Vernon nodded slowly. "If I'm not mistaken, they're also banned in some states in America."
"Oh, that's interesting, thank you." So why did Forbes think he could start a business running Segway tours — from their paddock? I wonder what he's up to?
-::-
Debbie closed the lesson diary and pushed it under the counter. Time to scrounge a lift home. She looked up at the clock. Bummer. It was after three, and lessons would have finished for the day. All the others will be free-skiing for ages yet, since it's sunny. Sighing, she resigned herself to wait.
On her way to find her book in her day-sack, she passed the hut window and stopped abruptly. Ben was at the other side of the car park, talking to someone. She smiled to herself. Ben. Even his name made her heart sing.
The other guy turned, and she recognised him as Neil, the marketing guy from the race training charity that Ben kept talking about. They started walking across the car park, still talking, and she could see from their expressions that there was some laughing and joshing going on. She smiled. It's nice to see him having fun.
As they got near to the hut, Ben blipped his car key, and the lights flashed on his old Fiesta which was parked nearby. He opened the passenger door for Neil and put a hand on his back as he ushered him into the car. But instead of stepping in, Neil turned to face Ben, put a hand up to cup his cheek, and kissed him tenderly.
Debbie's mouth dropped open in shock, and she staggered slightly as her legs turned to water. What? She sat heavily on the nearest chair, her happy thoughts crumbling to dust, replaced by a cacophony of disbelief. I— that can't— I must've been mistaken. She jumped up again, sure that she'd just misconstrued something innocent. But this time she saw Ben lean back into the car and kiss Neil, who was now seated inside. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she sat down again. No!
Footsteps clattered up the wooden steps, and she hastily wiped her eyes, grabbing her rucksack and pretending to hunt for her book.
"Hi Debbie," Ben said as he bounded in, popping his skis into the rack and crossing over to the nearest bench to remove his boots.
"Hi," she replied, not trusting herself to look at him. But he seemed oblivious to the unsteadiness of her voice and, in no time at all, had changed into his trainers and headed back out again.
Debbie made herself watch at the window as Ben drove out to the main road with Neil in the passenger seat — where she used to sit. Then she pulled her chair closer to the table, sat down and dropped her head onto her arms, letting the blackness take over.
CLOMPING UP THE ski school steps, Callum pushed the door open, then dropped his skis into the rack and hooked the straps of his ski poles over the top. Pulling off his sunglasses as he crossed to the bench, he suddenly noticed Debbie sitting at the table. She was wiping her eyes.
In two strides, he'd crossed the room. "What's wrong, Debbie?" But as soon as the question left his lips, he had worked it out. Ben.
"I just…" She shook her head, then started delving into her bag.
Sliding a hand into his pocket, Callum produced a handkerchief. "Here." He offered it to her. "It's clean," he raised an eyebrow, to try and make her smile, "though it's nothing to sneeze at."
"Thanks," she said with a watery smile.
He sat down beside her, and put an arm around her shoulders. "Is it Ben?"
She started to nod, then turned on him accusingly. "You knew?" She pushed his arm away and stood up. "You knew, and you didn't tell me?"
He raised his hands. "I just found out this morn—"
"What sort of a friend would know something like that and not tell me?" she interrupted, then grabbed her rucksack and jacket. "I'm off to get the bus," she spat at him, before storming out of the door.
He was ashamed that one of the myriad thoughts that went through his head as he sat there, stunned, was that she was even attractive when she was angry. But she was also being pig-headed — she'd regret getting on the bus as soon as the jostling and bumping hurt her sore rib. He hurried out of the hut to try and catch up with her.
-::-
Debbie could hardly see where she was putting her feet as she trailed across the car park to the waiting bus, regretting her angry outburst and feeling trepidation about the idea of the journey back to the village. Digging in her pocket, she found Callum's hanky. She stopped, looking at it in her hand, and turned, just as its owner caught up with her.
"Debbie!" he said, out of breath, "I'm sorry, maybe I should've told you." He looked down at his ski boots and shook his head, as if realising for the first time that he still had them on. "But I didn't want to hurt your feelings."
Tears welled up again, and she tried to swallow the lump that was stopping her voice from working.
"C'm 'ere," he said and put an arm around her, enveloping her in a hug.
"I'm sorry," she said a minute later, ineffectually brushing at the shoulder of his jacket, "I've made your jacket all damp."
He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. C'mon, I'll give you a lift back," he looked down at his feet again, "just as soon as I've changed my boots."
-::-
Driving down the mountain road with its sharp bends, Callum had to concentrate to avoid a mishap on the frost-scarred surface and didn't dare to look across at Debbie. But her uncharacteristic silence spoke volumes. To fill the void, he'd started to tell her a sensationalised version of his lesson with Vernon, exaggerating the thrills and spills in a vain attempt to make her laugh.
The dramatised account ran out of steam around the same time as the road flattened, and he risked a glance. She was staring morosely out of the window at the snowscape of lumpen heather, frost-enveloped bracken and white-camouflaged rocks.
He reached across and squeezed her hand. "What's up, Debs?" he asked, and then realised what a stupid question that was.
But she just shook her head, and a tear careened down her cheek.
Something inside his chest constricted, and he pulled over to the side of the road. Once the car had stopped, he turned to her and took her hands. "He's no' worth it, Debbie."
"But I really liked him." Her voice was about half its usual volume.
"If he'd been worth anything, he'd have told you himself." He gave her hands a squeeze. "He wouldn't have let you find out the hard way."
She let out a long breath, and nodded slowly, then looked out the window again. "There must be something wrong with me."
