Don’t You Forget About Me (37 page)

After the freezing cold of the slopes, I’ve never been more grateful for the cosy warmth of inside and, taking off my sodden gloves, I warm my hands against the cup and take a sip. It’s delicious. Sometimes there really is nothing that hits the spot like a mug of thick, creamy hot chocolate.

For the next few minutes I do nothing but sit there in a sort of trance-like daze, eating cake and drinking hot chocolate, feeling myself slowly coming back to life. Gradually thawing out and feeling a bit better, I glance absently at one of the computer terminals. Actually, while I’m here I might as well check my emails, I decide, putting down the cup and reaching for the keyboard.

I’m just logging on when I hear my mobile beep. It’s a text from Fergus:

How’s your mini-break?

Reading it I feel a beat of pleasure. Getting a text from a friend never fails to cheer me up. I start texting Fergus back but my fingers won’t work properly, the result of being previously frozen solid, and it’s taking forever with all the fiddly buttons. I give up. I’ll just call him instead. Vodafone have sent me a text telling me I’ve got some new special cheap rate to use my mobile abroad, plus right now I could do with hearing a friendly voice.

I dial his number and he immediately picks up.

‘Don’t tell me, you’re in some swanky hotel in Paris, surrounded by champagne and red roses,’ he quips in his Irish accent.

Why does everyone keeping saying that? Fiona said exactly the same thing when I called her while I was on my way to the internet café, to check on Flea, and didn’t even try and hide her disappointment when I told her the truth. Her voice dropped about two octaves, from all high and excited to all flat and bored-sounding, and she suddenly said she had to go as there was someone at the door.

‘Not exactly,’ I say, shifting my damp bottom in my chair. ‘You got the country right, but I’m not in Paris. I’m in Chamonix, snowboarding.’

‘Crikey.’ He sounds impressed. ‘I didn’t know you snowboarded.’

‘I don’t, I’m rubbish, it’s Seb who’s the expert,’ I sigh, then realising I sound like I’m complaining, I try to be more positive. ‘It’s my first time. I’m having lessons; hopefully I’ll be a quick learner.’

‘Well, good on you,’ he says supportively. ‘Never fancied it myself. Give me a beach any day . . .’

Not for the first time, I feel myself silently agreeing with Fergus.

‘So anyway, come on, forget about me, don’t keep me in suspense, how was your audition?’ I ask, switching topics.

‘It was great craic!’ He sounds suddenly galvanised. ‘I was in a really good mood as – guess what? – she replied!’

‘Who did?’ I ask innocently.

‘Sara! My Missed Connection!
’

For a brief moment I feel a clutch of anxiety, a split second of guilt that zips across my consciousness as I have a sudden recollection of creating that fake email account late last night, pretending to be someone else and writing the email, signing myself as Sara . . .

But then my doubts vanish as I listen to him gabbling excitedly down the phone.

‘. . . really gave me that boost I needed for the audition, my nerves completely vanished . . .’

‘Brilliant,’ I enthuse, feeling a swell of happiness and more than a little relief.

‘. . . apparently she noticed me too, but was too shy to say hello . . .’

I’ve never heard him so happy, sending that email was definitely the right thing to do. I’m so pleased it worked.

‘. . . and that she’d love a coffee but she’s flying to Thailand next week to go and work in an elephant sanctuary.’

OK, so I admit it’s not the best excuse, but it was late and I had to think of a bulletproof reason to let him down gently. It’s the best I could come up with under the circumstances.

‘Oh well, never mind,’ I soothe, ‘at least it proves you weren’t rejected. And I bet you get the part too.’

‘Well, actually there’s a rumour they gave it to someone else, I’ll find out for sure next week—’

‘No way!’ I exclaim indignantly. ‘But that part was perfect for you!’ Now I know how mothers must feel when they think their child is much better than everyone else’s.

‘It’s OK, I’m fine about it—’

‘Well I’m not!’ I protest hotly. I’m not kidding, I feel like ringing up those stupid casting people myself and asking them what they were thinking! Fergus was
obviously
the best. Of course I’ll be polite and everything, I’ll just firmly tell them that he’s way more talented than everyone else and—

‘I think it’s fate if I don’t get it.’

My imaginary speech in which I’m outraged is brought to an abrupt halt.

‘
Fate?
’ I echo dubiously. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean maybe I’m not meant to be an actor,’ he says blithely. ‘I haven’t been very successful so far, have I? Maybe I need to do something else, something more fulfilling, something that’s really going to make a difference.’

‘Like what?’ I ask warily. I’m not liking where this conversation is heading; in fact, I’m beginning to feel a bit worried.

‘Like going to Thailand to work with elephants.’

Oh god. This cannot be happening.

‘Don’t you think you might be rushing into things a bit,’ I argue hastily. ‘OK, so you didn’t get this audition, but that’s no reason to jack everything in and leave London—’

But he’s not listening.

‘In fact, I’ve emailed Sara back.’

Ping
.

As I’m on the phone, an email pops into my inbox on the computer screen. With my heart in my mouth, I open it:

Dear Sara, Wow, what a cool thing to do! I’d love to do something like that. Do they need any more volunteers? Maybe I should come and join you? Fergus x

‘I really feel like it’s a sign.’

I snap back. ‘
A sign?
’

Oh god, this is all my fault. It’s all because of my email. Instead of making it better, I’ve made it worse. Much,
much
worse. Fuck. What am I going to do? My mind grapples with a solution. Come on – think, Tess, think. There must be a way to fix this. There must be something you can do.

An idea hits me but I try to bat it away. There must be another option. Another way. But there isn’t. There’s nothing else I can do.

Making my excuses, I quickly say goodbye then, feeling myself digging a deeper hole, I start typing . . .

I’m going to have to email him back.

I arrive back at the chalet to find Seb, all bright-eyed and buzzing with adrenalin.

‘Hey, there you are!’ he beams as I walk through the doorway, carrying my snowboard.

And immediately get stuck.

You know that joke with the man with the ladder who turns sideways? Well, that’s me.

‘Oops, ouch,’ I yelp, banging bits of me as I struggle with my snowboard. Some people are born for the slopes – they make it all look so effortless.

I am not one of those people.

‘You OK?’ he asks, rushing to help me.

‘Um . . . yes, fine,’ I smile, finally making it through.

‘So how was your day?’ he asks eagerly.

He’s so excited and buoyant, I don’t have the heart to tell him it was a disaster, that it was like learning to dance on golf balls and that I hated every cold, soggy, lonely minute of it. Not after all the effort he’s made. And not when our relationship depends on it.

Instead, I pin on a bright smile. ‘Brilliant,’ I nod.

His face lights up. ‘I knew you’d love it, I just knew!’

‘Yup,’ I keep smiling. As if I’m frozen. Which I am, quite frankly, as it took forever to walk back from the internet café with all my blisters. I could feel them popping in my boots like bubble wrap.

‘Amazing, isn’t it? Like nothing else in the world. That exhilaration, that freedom . . .’

I nod mutely. See, there
must
be something wrong with me. I can’t believe we’re talking about the same experience.

‘And with you doing military fitness, I bet you’ll pick it up in no time!’

His eyes are flashing with excitement and he just looks so pleased and happy that all I can do is stand there smiling and nodding, like one of those plastic dogs you see in the back window of cars.

‘Well, I should really get out of these clothes,’ I say, finding my tongue at last, ‘get in the bath, soak these aching muscles.’

‘Why don’t you jump in the hot tub?’ he suggests. ‘That’s the perfect cure for aching muscles.’

Of course! The hot tub. I’d forgotten all about that. For the first time that day I feel my heart soar.

Except—

‘Where are Chris and Anna?’

‘Enjoying some après-ski, if I know Chris. They won’t be home for hours,’ he laughs fondly, then asks, ‘Why?’

‘Oh, no reason,’ I shrug, trying to sound blasé whilst inside I’m doing a Mexican wave.

‘Go, jump in,’ encourages Seb. ‘I’ll come join you in a minute.’

‘OK,’ I smile. Trust me, I don’t need any more encouragement, and grabbing my things I head towards the bedroom to get changed.

‘Oh, by the way,’ Seb calls after me, and I turn.

‘I came by the ski school earlier but I couldn’t find you. Weren’t you on the nursery slopes? The instructor must have got confused as he seemed to think you’d left already.’

Oh fuck. I’ve been busted. A wave of guilt crashes over me as I realise I must have been tucked up in the café drinking hot chocolate and chatting to Fergus. ‘Um . . . yeh,’ I nod, ‘but they, er, moved me to a different class.’

‘Already? Wow.’ He smiles proudly. ‘See, it won’t be long till you’ll be able to join me off piste . . .’

‘Um yeh, fab,’ I smile.

Oh god, I’m a terrible person. Now I feel even worse.

But I’m not going to think about any of that right now, I tell myself firmly. In fact I’m not going to think about anything apart from the lovely bubbling hot tub just waiting for me outside . . .

Almost giddy with anticipation, I peel off my many layers. I didn’t bring a bikini as I thought I’d just pick one up at the airport if it turned out to be a spa break, but still, I suppose I can just wear my underwear, I decide, reaching for a towel. Then I pause as a thought strikes. Actually, if it’s just me and Seb, I don’t need to wear anything at all, do I? And with a naughty giggle I wriggle out of my bra and knickers, and wrap the towel around me.

Outside the temperature has dropped even further. Gosh it’s freezing out here, I shiver, glancing over at the hot tub which is lit up on the deck, steam rising invitingly from the gurgling bubbles. I brace myself, then whip off my towel and throw it over a chair. The icy air hits my naked body and I race naked across the snow-covered deck and clamber hastily into the hot tub.

Ahhh, bliss. As soon as the warm bubbles hit me I let out a groan of pleasure. Sinking down into the water, I sit up against one of the jets, relishing the feeling of the water pummelling my aching back. I feel as if I’ve died and gone to hot-tub heaven. Maybe I was too hasty earlier. Maybe this snowboarding trip isn’t so bad. OK, so I’m rubbish at actually snowboarding, and yes it is a bit lonely on your own, but I’m seriously enjoying this part – being out here is just incredible.

Enjoying the experience of it being subzero outside and warm inside, I take in the view. Darkness has descended but I’m surrounded by the snowy mountains, whilst below me the resort is lit up with twinkling lights. I gaze upon it, my breath making small white clouds, then tip my head back. Above me the sky is so dark, so clear, I can see a million stars, twinkling brightly. And, hang on, there’s something else . . .

Snowflakes
.

As one flutters down and lands on my nose, I’m suddenly reminded of Fergus, and for a moment I’m transported back to his roof terrace. Gosh, was it only last night? It seems like ages ago. So much has happened since then: plane rides, auditions, pretending to be Sara, his Missed Connection . . . Remembering our conversation earlier, my mind flicks back to the internet café and the emails. I wonder if he got my reply?

All at once worry bubbles up inside me, like the bubbles in the hot tub. Maybe I should ask to borrow Seb’s iPhone and try to check my emails.

Abruptly I stop myself. What am I doing? I’ve gone away for the weekend with my boyfriend. I should be thinking about him, not Fergus.

Which reminds me;
where is Seb?

As if on cue, I hear footsteps. Oh, that will be him now. Good. I need to push all this Missed Connection nonsense with Fergus out of my head. Concentrate on my own relationship, not somebody else’s imaginary one.

Brushing my damp hair off my face, I try to rearrange myself a bit. I need to look more like sexy naked girlfriend relaxing casually in the hot tub, rather than knackered achy girlfriend slumped over the jets because every single muscle in her body is killing her.

Stifling a hippo-sized yawn, I recline against the edge and wait expectantly for Seb to appear. His footsteps grow louder, closer. That’s funny, but now it almost sounds like two pairs of footsteps . . .