Five Ladies Go Skiing: A feel-good novel of friendship and love

His voice boomed, jolting her from the zone. ‘Would you like tea?’

Cathy took a deep breath and turned her head. ‘Yes, but please, darling, I shouldn’t have to keep reminding you. Just bring it, and quietly. If I don’t want it, I’ll leave it.’

‘Yes, sorry again.’ Anthony clenched his jaw. ‘How’s it going?’

‘It was going fine. I want to finish, edit and post by lunchtime. I’m cooking the gammon and sausage rolls this afternoon and your last two meals for freezing so I want to get this off.’

Anthony rubbed his thighs sheepishly. ‘Right. Anything I can do?’

‘All done, I believe.’

‘Need any last-minute bits for your trip?’

‘No, darling, but thank you for asking.’

‘I might meet Terry and the guys in the pub later. What do you think?’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘It will be good for you to see the boys,’ she said patiently as he padded out the door. ‘And, just tea, love, please.’ She returned to her keyboard gripping her knuckles, wondering why she felt she had to treat her husband like a child these days. He knew she craved peace and quiet to write. In fact, meeting friends for a Christmas drink would do him good. His friends hadn’t yet retired like Anthony had, but it would help him when they did. The last year or so he was like a lost puppy, moping around and interrupting her, trying to please her. Not the wildly energetic man she married at all. Where was her confident Anthony?

Growing up in an emotionally repressed household, she had basked in all the attention that Anthony used to lavish on her. Unlike her parents, he listened, gave her his undivided attention and allowed her to speak her mind. She didn’t have to eat the meat on her plate and behave like the perfect daughter to avoid embarrassing him like she did her famous father. Anthony was proud of her whoever she was and never let her think otherwise. Anthony adored the fact that she was well read. He was always proud of the fact that she could meet his demanding clients at functions and events and talk to them on any level. The devotion and energy he had for her, and his clients, was a rare gift and had very likely contributed to making his talent agency extremely successful.

Cathy had been teaching a few months when she met and fell in love with Anthony and it was at a time when her confidence was sagging with her pupils, struggling to get to grips with exerting authority over rebellious teenagers. His support was tremendous. As luck would have it, he was working with a client who was a speech and confidence coach, so it was fortuitous that he was able to relay some tricks. With trial, error and persistence, and a belief in herself, along with her passion for books, she soon delighted in sharing her love of literature and the English language with her pupils. Kids grew to love her lessons and respect grew among her peers and superiors. She threw her soul into her career, her writing ambitions quashed. Even thoughts of having her own family: quashed. But retirement meant she was freed. She could write her stories down.

Ginny and Lou, her closest friends from childhood, had loved hearing her stories. They used to gather in the little summerhouse her father had built, and their encouragement spurred her on to write more. Many were still stored in the attic. And although she didn’t get around to writing a great deal whilst teaching, she had continued to read like a girl obsessed whilst remaining close to her friends.

She still giggled to herself when she thought about skiing. She wasn’t sporty or outdoorsy at all like Ginny, Lou, Angie and Kim, but was strangely looking forward to the challenge, especially after the effort it had taken to prepare physically. And, crucially, she couldn’t wait to spend time with her old friends, particularly Ginny who was still down after losing Mike and the job she loved. Ginny had spent far too much time hiding herself away this last year. Cathy hoped this trip would show her just how much they all loved and cared for her and that their encouragement would help her turn the next corner. Though, naturally, she would take some books and her Kindle for the quieter times or – she shuddered – in case she broke a leg.

Her door rattled again, only gentler. Anthony edged in slowly, carrying a china cup and saucer, and smiling. ‘Here you are, beautiful. You’ll miss my cuppas when you’re away.’

‘I will.’ Cathy smiled up at his glistening brown eyes. He was still her sweet husband and she did love him dearly, but at times he was a pain. ‘Thank you, darling. I don’t think tea will be readily available in the mountains.’

‘Exactamundo! But I could pop some teabags in your case.’

‘Yes, good idea. Thank you, darling.’

‘Anything else before I watch Jeremy Kyle?’

‘I’m fine, honest,’ Cathy said. She jumped up suddenly and moved over to the bookcase. ‘Actually, I came across that sudoku book you were looking for if you’ve done the crossword.’

Anthony reached out and took the book from her hand. ‘Ah, thanks, love. I might do some after Jeremy.’

Cathy sat down, resting her elbows on her desk with her head in her hand. She listened to the door close. ‘Right – focus,’ she told herself. ‘Roll on Boxing Day and Switzerland.’

Angie

Scratching the upper right side of her torso, Angie Ricci raced from her car to her front door. As she opened the door, despite it being the middle of winter, aromas of summer soared up her nose: garlic and lemon infused with fresh herbs. She poked her head into her spacious shiny kitchen and her husband Robbie peered up from the chopping board where evenly sliced juicy tomatoes lay. A grin lit his cheeks.

She pursed her lips and kissed the air. ‘Hi, sweet, this is a nice surprise. Smells delish! I’m just going to run upstairs and take off this bra. It’s been driving me mad all day.’

‘No rush,’ Robbie said waving the knife before resuming his task. ‘I’ll pour you a glass of wine.’

‘OK, I’ll jump in the shower then.’

Angie dashed up the stairs to her newly fitted bedroom which, with its floor-to-ceiling mirror wardrobes along one wall, reflected twinkling orbs from the other side of the river in the distance. Closer, a light shining from Ginny’s home, just down the valley, brought a smile to Angie’s face. Not long now and she and her beautiful friends would all be together.

Stripping off an oversized navy fleece, she slipped three edamame beans into her mouth that slid from her pocket onto the bed. They reminded her to pack some of her supply for the journey and the trip. They were difficult to get in the smaller shops even though veggie food was more freely available. Munching, she stripped off her pale blue T-shirt and threw it on the bed too, before removing the offending undergarment. She inspected it before stepping closer to the mirror and raising her arms. Instantly she scowled at the red rash-like swelling on her smooth light brown skin.

‘Nasty bra,’ she mouthed, reaching for a bottle of moisturising cream on a chest of drawers and pressing the top to release the liquid balm. ‘I hope you’re not going to aggravate me when I’m skiing,’ she moaned to the sore on her torso. As she massaged the cream in, relief surged, soothing her. Had she been at her own health centre on any normal day, she would have had the opportunity to change, but promoting on a stand in a bustling local shopping mall all day on Christmas Eve, alone, it had been impossible. Wiping it so that all the cream disappeared, Angie then removed her leggings, trainers and socks and seeing a long, lean reflection, posed with a pout.

‘Looking hot, babe,’ she praised, admiring the recent changes. Her body was the best it had ever been, with a sleek tone and definition she had always envied in younger women.

‘If only I could notch off twenty years of real time,’ she told her reflection. Not that she hadn’t always kept herself fit. Since joining the WRENs at eighteen she had trained as a PT instructor. It was the one thing that gave her the identity she craved, being a biracial child in the Fifties. Later, as the UK became more multicultural, she grew proud of her heritage. Unlike her mother, who never felt London had embraced her. Her dear, now departed mother had sailed from Barbados to train as a nurse and met her father at a stall on Greenwich market where he was selling ladies’ fashion.

Her father had also passed. She recalled his claim that he was instantly struck by her mother’s exotic beauty and didn’t care that his neighbours gossiped or crossed the road to avoid them. He was happy, and prejudice had never entered his brain. Angie relished the colour of her skin now and appreciated the fact that its texture remained taut, even on her face, and had aged without too many creases or wrinkles. Many a time compliments had been forthcoming that she could be thirty-something, despite now being sixty-two, a little older than her besties.

After a quick shower, and another soaking of moisturiser, she towel-dried her thick black curls and slipped on one of the oversized shirts that she left undone at her breasts, before she returned downstairs to the kitchen.

‘Sorry,’ she said, reaching up to Robbie on tiptoe and pecking him on the lips. ‘That bra was grinding under my arms all day. I think I’ll just pack my sports bras for skiing.’ She perched on one of the stalls at the central island where Robbie had prepared the salad, rubbing her hands together and inhaling the Mediterranean fragrance.

‘Haven’t you packed yet?’ Robbie asked turning to her as he reached in the fridge for the salad dressing he’d prepared.

Angie splayed out her hands in wonder. ‘When have I had time to pack?’ she asked, spotting a small bottle of nail varnish submerged among satsumas and Granny Smiths.

Rob shook his head from side to side. ‘I hope you don’t think you’re going to pack when everyone’s here tomorrow. Danny and Matt will probably tolerate it, but you know Jonty will moan.

‘Of course not. I’ll do it later. After dinner,’ Angie stated. She unscrewed the nail varnish top. ‘I’ve started piling it, ready.’

‘You really need to start delegating. You can’t do it all.’

‘It’s not that easy, Rob,’ she said, brushing a thin layer of the ruby-red lacquer on to her thumbnail. ‘There’s nobody at the centre who knows about promoting or marketing. Any more than me anyway.’

Rob flicked his greying thick fringe from his forehead. ‘Get a professional in then. Surely it will pay for itself. The rate you’re going, you’ll run yourself into the ground.’

He made it sound so simple, but marketing personnel were so expensive. Only in the last few years had the business been turning a good profit and she was squirrelling that extra money away in the hope of buying a little bolthole somewhere warm – a winter hideaway she and Robbie could escape to if ever they had free time.

She watched as Rob tossed sweet potato wedges over on the hot oven tray. ‘Anyway, don’t lecture me about delegation or managing my time or myself. I manage to work and keep myself in tip-top condition – you’ve surely no reason to complain. I could certainly give some of those young actresses you watch a run for their money. Anyway, I waited for you last night. Did you watch another film? Horny as a rig worker I was.’

Angie had always been conscious that men would look elsewhere for gratification; after all, she knew only too well what her father got up to when he took ladies to try on dresses in his van when he worked the markets.

‘I fell asleep, I’m sorry. I still need a shower and a shave actually. I was late for work and I’ve been busy.’

Angie sighed. ‘Yes, I can see that. So why are you cooking? I could have popped into M&S or John Lewis for a meal deal.’

Rob shrugged and even blushed slightly. ‘I suppose guilt and the fact that you’ve been on my mind this afternoon as I wrapped your Christmas presents. I left the office a bit earlier to collect one, popped into the Horse and Groom of course, but got back to wrap them before you got home.’

‘Ooh, something mega sexy I hope. Yours is.’ Angie’s black locks bounced with excitement as she imagined a seductive silk negligee coupled with the latest, most wonderful sex toy on the market. Robbie knew how much she liked to try new gadgets. Their sexual connection had been major from the off. He was the first man she had ever met who knew how to please her, as well as being warm and funny.

Ginny and the girls had never really grasped her insatiable appetite for sex, but it had always been a huge part of her and Rob’s relationship. Even after the menopause, Angie persuaded her GP to keep her on HRT just in case her libido faltered. Lately, though, she had found Rob a little forgetful and complaining of being tired; maybe it was his age – he was sixty-four in a month. But he hadn’t forgotten her Christmas present. Hopefully things were looking up. ‘Eek, I’m so excited. Can’t wait until tomorrow. In fact, if we’re still waiting for the food to cook, we could fit in a quickie.’

Placing the sweet potatoes back into the oven, Rob swiped his neck with the back of his hand. ‘I don’t know where you get your energy from, sweetheart, but I’m bushed.’

‘Nonsense. You just want me to seduce you, don’t you?’ she said and, wasting no time, screwed the nail varnish top back on and leapt swiftly from the stool. She sidled up to him and pulled him close, sweeping one arm around his neck and reaching for his crotch with her other hand. ‘You are sex on legs, Rob Ricci, and what if we don’t get another opportunity before I go away?’

Lou

It was almost two o’clock when Lou Cavendish checked her watch and straightened the last cushion in the show house. She pulled her scarf tighter so that it hugged the back of her neck; it probably wasn’t her greatest idea to get her hair cut so short in the winter, but she was certainly pleased with the result and it would be easier to wear a ski helmet. She decided she looked and felt so much younger and Terry, her husband, had approved too, which was unusual. He usually preferred her hair long.

She switched off the lamps and headed to the hall, happy that the house was finally furnished and tweaked ready for the New Year launch. She opened her classic Chanel flap bag, pulled out her Chanel lip gloss, leaned towards the mirror and stroked her lips with the pink-orange tones of Corail Naturel, until they shone. Satisfied, she rolled and smacked her lips before tossing the lip gloss back in the black bag and slipping on her matching ballerina flats. After a final smile at her reflection, she turned off the hall light and rubbed a speck off the switch with her shiny long fingernail.

‘OK, done.’ She grabbed her winter coat from the hook and brushed the faux-fur collar before sliding it on. At least that was one more thing ticked off her list; now all she had to do was finish her packing and decide what to wear for Christmas Day.

She and Terry weren’t cooking a Christmas dinner this year. They had all been invited to her son Ollie’s house with his wife Ella and their two girls, as well as her daughter Emma and Emma’s partner Joe. Lou was looking forward to not having to rush around like a headless chicken with all the usual pressures of preparing food for Christmas Day and all the mess that came with it. It was Terry’s job to tidy after her. Lou hated any kind of housework but still held a passion for her and Terry’s property business – building and selling them. Fortunately, show houses didn’t get too messy when you employed good cleaners.

Once out and on the road, the traffic was lighter than she had expected for Christmas Eve, so she was soon back in the village, clocking that Ginny’s car wasn’t in the drive opposite. She parked her Range Rover Evoque beside Terry’s big Range Rover. She knew he would still be down the Horse and Groom with Robbie, possibly Anthony if he dared to leave Cathy alone in the house, and Mike’s old partner Scott, along with the contractors who often worked on the developments together. They went Thursday nights and every Christmas Eve. Terry and Anthony even wheeled Mike down to the pub last year – to think he was only a day away from entering the hospice. Lou shivered at the thought. Mike’s last day at home had been Christmas Day.

After a bite to eat and a much-needed hot cup of tea, she climbed the stairs to one of the spare bedrooms, Emma’s old bedroom, where a case lay partially full on the crimson carpet and clothes were scattered across Emma’s pink and purple duvet cover. Ski garments were neatly folded, whilst others awaited their fate.

‘So, who is travelling to Switzerland with me?’ Lou began to pair up some more outfits, wondering what was most suited to après-ski and what accessories to include. Opening a drawer containing several boxes of costume jewellery, she rummaged through for some navy and pearl beads that had matching earrings. With her new haircut she wanted earrings, but she had no idea which box they were in. She found a set of red beads with earrings, which she thought would go splendidly with her charcoal-grey cashmere, and she placed them on the bed. Tugging at the lid of the next box, her eyes brightened, and her heart gave a light flutter. She lifted a gold belcher chain with a half-sovereign and untangled it from a silver one. The gold one, her parents had given her for her eighteenth birthday. The silver chain, now tarnished, with the words ‘I Love You,’ also in silver, was from her ex, Jimmy Dixon, when she was twenty-one.

Lou bit her lip remembering her first love. They met at university in Sussex. Instantly smitten with each other, their chemistry had been strong. She smiled while picturing him then, his black curls flopped over the most gorgeous sultry brown eyes. He was two years older, drove a sporty Ford Capri, and treated her with the latest records, her first ever cassette player and album cassettes among other gifts.

They were inseparable at university and, once home, Jimmy had even proposed. But according to her parents, it was too soon. She should wait, they said, persuading her to concentrate on her banking career for a few years and encouraging her to travel, explore life. Knowing her mother had never had the same opportunities as herself, she considered it fair advice. And after much heartbreak, all she could do was forget him. That is, until he found her on Facebook a few years ago.

Lou heard the front door slam and, instantly blasted from her trance, threw the jewellery back into the box. Speedily, she searched the other boxes for the navy and white beads and placed them together with the red in a small drawstring bag before tucking them into the case.

‘Terry, hi. I’m upstairs finishing my packing,’ she shouted, grabbing a polo neck sweater from the bed and arranging it in her case.

She heard the loo flush in the downstairs cloakroom and the thump of Terry’s bare feet stomping on the carpet on the stairs. As she stood back up, the alcohol on his breath and his clothes wafted straight to her nostrils as he walked up beside her.

She met his lips and pecked them. ‘How was the pub?’

‘Mm, downbeat to begin with. Sad, without Mike, but we soon came to the conclusion that Mike wouldn’t want us moping. He was our social secretary – we couldn’t let him down – so we toasted his memory a few times. Poor sod. I do miss him.’

Lou rubbed her husband’s arm. Terry was still very attractive for a man of his age and she cared for him deeply, despite the chemistry between them never matching her and Jimmy’s. ‘I know, darling. Must be hard. How was Robbie? Did Anthony go?’

Terry shrugged, clasping her hand. ‘Both like me – still missing Mike and grateful we’re all still alive. What can you do? I just hope it doesn’t happen to us yet.’

‘I know – poor Ginny. I can’t imagine going through what she has. And I didn’t think Ant would go today if I’m honest. He’s been down. He seems to have missed Mike most.’

‘Nah, I don’t think it’s just Mike he’s missing. I think he’s getting bored. Maybe retirement makes you like that. Bit worrying, isn’t it?’

Lou squeezed Terry’s hand and kissed him briefly on the lips again. ‘Well, if and when we sell the business and retire next year, I hope we don’t get bored. I want to do a variety of things. As well as watching our children prosper and grandchildren grow up, I want to explore new activities, learn new skills, travel and go on adventures with you, and I intend to spend lots of time with my friends, so make sure you do too.’

He hugged her tight. ‘I love you so much, Lou Cavendish, and I hope we have many more years together, enjoying our retirement. At least we know we can work together after all these years, so I’m sure we can get through and enjoy our retirement together. So, don’t you go doing anything stupid like knocking yourself unconscious on the slopes. Let’s just hope nothing happens and we have a ball.’

As predictable and cautious as ever, she thought, pecking him on the lips. ‘Absolutely. I love you too, Terry.’

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