Chapter 3
‘December the first and not one flake falling.’
Hamish Skelton’s muttered words steamed up the window of the attic apartment on the third floor of the Cairn Dhu ski centre where he had an osprey’s eye view over the northern end of town and the foot of Mount Cairn Dhu which offered up its gentle slopes to what had once been a flourishing small ski resort.
This inauspicious start to December was definitely going to be a problem.
In fact, every December, going back three years now, he’d had the same problem as manager of the ski centre. The snows were arriving later and melting faster each year, meaning that what limited business they could squeeze out of the snow sports season, was growing less and less profitable.
His eyes lifted higher, seeking an answer. The grey clouds held only rain and one small plane darting down towards the air strip on the other side of the mountain.
The Ptarmigan bar and nightclub, an après-ski stalwart, on the floor below his apartment, was still turning a decent enough trade, though on rainy weekends when it was tipping down, the place could fall a bit dead.
But he’d diversified, like the business podcasts had advised, and he’d hosted his northern-lights-spotting, stargazing and fondue nights all throughout the year, aided by the nightclub’s massive mountain viewing windows lined along one side of the dance floor.
But the ski centre on the building’s ground floor, with its equipment hire shop and ‘slope slushies and snacks’ concession could go a full day without seeing one paying visitor, even with the dry ski slope still in fair nick.
Since the ski lift had proved way too expensive to maintain, and eventually conked out a few years ago, the other big resorts, all at higher, snowier elevations across the region had enticed away most of Cairn Dhu’s winter visitors in search of snowy thrills.
He tugged at the cuffs of his favourite Dale of Norway sweater and raked back his hair. He couldn’t stand here all day. There was a business to run, and no one else to do it but him.
He pulled on a coat, one of the long black puffas that had once been supplied for the club’s doormen’s use.
It had been a year since he’d had to let them all go, unable to cover their wages from the bar profits.
There was only Big Kenneth left by way of other staff, and he functioned as the ski centre’s entire security presence, general helper and club night bouncer.
Lying among the circulars and an early Christmas card on the doormat was a letter, postmarked November thirteenth. ‘Took your time getting here,’ Hamish said to it.
He’d been down to the little gate, unlatched it, came back to lift the shutter on the ski equipment shop, and brewed himself his second coffee of the morning before he ran a finger inside the envelope and read the missive from the Regional Authority letting him know they were considering cutting off the gravity that had held him here these last twelve years.
He had to grip the counter as he read to stop himself drifting off into the atmosphere.
Dear Mr Skelton,
Further to your recent submission of mid-year accounts, our own internal audit of the Cairn Dhu Ski Centre’s viability, and having seen no improvement in profit margins for the last eight quarters, we have no choice but to take the step of inviting an external auditor, Norheim Ski Businesses Consultancy International, to visit the premises and make a detailed assessment of the enterprise and its future.
Please expect Ms. Norheim to arrive on the first of next month. The consulting period will last no longer than two weeks and Ms. Norheim will submit her recommendations directly to the Regional Authority.
We have asked her to recommend only one of the two following options:
1) Ms. Norheim will deliver a business case recommending continued trading of the ski centre and Ptarmigan nightclub with extreme cost-cutting measures and self-funded improvements to its services where an annual net profit of at least fifteen thousand pounds, after payment of wages, can be guaranteed within the next four quarters, OR
2) The ski centre will cease trading with effect 25th December.
In the meantime, please continue to run the centre as contracted, but understand that, should Ms. Norheim recommend immediate closure, your tenancy with the Regional Authority will cease also. Therefore, we recommend you begin the process of seeking alternative accommodation forthwith.
We look forward to working with Norheim Ski Businesses Consultancy International in order to find a satisfactory conclusion to the long-term decline of the centre.
Signed on behalf of Barry Banks, Cairngorm South and East Regional Authority, Leisure, Tourism and Sports Contracts Officer.
When Big Kenneth arrived at noon with the cans from the cash-and-carry, he found Hamish sitting blinking at the letter, his coffee gone cold in its cup.
‘Boss?’
The hulking presence of his doorman snapped Hamish out of his stupor.
Kenneth had worked here for longer even than him.
There wasn’t a more loyal man in all of Cairn Dhu.
He’d finish his doorman duties on club nights then head straight out to the dairy for his milk round, still in his tuxedo, no matter the weather, and, since Cairn Dhu wasn’t the type of town that questioned minor eccentricities like this, no one thought to bat an eyelid.
He was hardworking and fiercely protective of his boss, and now Kenneth and his girlfriend had their first baby on the way.
Hamish knew he’d have to tell him right away, and with a sorry sigh he showed him the letter.
Kenneth accepted the news without fuss. ‘When’s this wummin rockin’ up then?’ he asked.
The question sent a jolt through his boss who jumped to his feet. ‘Jeez-o! Today! The first of the month!’
‘Right, right,’ Kenneth said, calmly. He was thinking, his eyes scanning their stock of ageing ski equipment as if he was wondering where on earth they were going to shelve this Ms. Norheim.
‘I’ll need to tidy up,’ Hamish said, both hands on his stomach like he had to hold himself together. ‘Restock the bar? Sort out the… sort the…’
What exactly could he sort in the next few hours, if he even had that long, that he hadn’t been able to sort out in the last twelve years?
This Norheim Ski Consultancy corporate gonk would steam in here, clock all the slope-worn skis and snowboards, the diminished stock of tubing rings, the sorry collection of rental suits, and the absolute, incontrovertible lack of any customers whatsoever, and she’d make up her mind on the spot. Option two. Closed by Christmas.
If only it would snow. One day and night of flurries and the dedicated hardcore of regional skiers might still choose to pop in on their way to the bigger resorts, giving the familiar old piste a run, for nostalgia’s sake.
Snow would also bring in the hot-toddy drinkers and folks in want of fireside fondue.
A dry slope’s all very well, but it’s nothing compared to the romance of a fairy-lit mountainside in full white-out.
‘And why must she arrive on a bleedin’ Tuesday, of all days!’ he wailed.
The club didn’t open on Tuesday nights. What would there be for her to observe? Was she going to watch him cleaning the windows and washing out the wheelie bins?
‘Kenneth,’ he said grimly. ‘You know I’ll write you the very best references, right? You’ll find something else.’ The words hurt him to say. ‘The pair of us will be redundant, and at Christmas too.’
Until he’d been forced to consider the future of his old pal, Kenneth, and his Annie-Beth, three months pregnant, he hadn’t felt like crying; now he could sob himself a river and skate away on it.
Kenneth didn’t blanch at all. ‘We’ll get through this,’ he said, assuredly, just as he had when Hamish turned up for work, years ago now, when Peaches McDowell had handed him back his heart, having stomped on it just at the point when Hamish had been falling wildly in love.
Hamish had been younger and softer then and thought he’d never recover.
Kenneth, a wee bit older and wiser, had helped put him back together, and they’d been best mates ever since.
Kenneth hadn’t had to help him with his heart on any other occasion. There’d been very little in the way of falling head over heels for Hamish, only hard graft and trying to keep the ski centre’s doors open for the sake of the town.
Kenneth was eyeing him with growing concern.
‘Hey there, pal, dinnae fret. This consultant’s some big-shot, fancy pants ski business expert, right?
She’ll be able to see things we can’t. Potential new revenue streams. Ways to save money.
Investment opportunities. Who knows! And she’ll be getting paid a fortune to come here.
The Regional Authority must think the ski centre’s worth saving or they’d have shut us down already, saving themselves the money and the bother of an audit. Surely she’s coming to help us?’
Hamish wasn’t hearing him. ‘When one business closes in a town like this, others follow,’ he said to the spot on the wall where a certificate hung in its frame.
Visitor Attraction of the Year, Cairngorms Region, 1997.
The year he was born. A new urgency possessed him and, finding a cloth under the desk, he ran it round the frame.
‘I cannot believe my best days are already behind me, Kenneth.’ He looked to his friend, faltering a little. ‘I mean, the ski centre’s best days. There has to be a future. Right?’
Kenneth nodded as vehemently as he could. ‘Of course.’
Both men knew well enough there was nothing certain about their situation.
‘You get the cash-and-carry stuff in the bar fridges. I’ll open the concession and get the slushie machine on, and then we’ll wax the skis and boards again.
I’ll have to nip out at some point to the accountant’s office to get the Ptarmigan’s books for the last few years.
The consultant will want to see them too, no doubt. ’
‘Right-o, boss. And I can replace those popped bulbs on the slope lights an’ all.’
‘Good man. This Ms Norheim’s no’ arriving here to find us twiddlin’ our thumbs!’
The two men threw themselves into their work while over Cairn Dhu the dark clouds accumulated thickly until they could hold their raindrops no longer. The icy December downpour began in earnest.