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

‘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.’

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.