Chapter 14
Acceptance felt like self-care in the face of the inevitable, and so if there was a lockup belonging to the business that needed emptying, that’s what Hamish had set his mind to doing on that dry and chilly Sunday morning.
Under cover of white winter cloud, he’d hauled out onto the ski centre car park some old signage, broken furniture, bits of wood, lost properties thick with spiderwebs, mouldy woollen hats and mittens, unmatched skis and any number of ski poles, three torn-beyond-repair donut rings, and various other relics of the ski centre’s history, all thick with dust and the bloom of damp, and so far, he’d only cleared four foot deep inside the garage.
‘No gold bars?’ came a voice at his back.
‘Not one.’ He turned, unable to conceal his spreading smile, to find Florrie standing there in full mountain sportswear, her hair over one shoulder in a thick plait.
‘I did, however, find this. Does it count as a business asset?’ He unrolled the threadbare rug, exploding a dust cloud in the air between them.
‘I’d have to have it independently evaluated by an expert, but,’ she said with a cough, ‘I’m guessing, probably not.’
Their smiles faded fast.
‘So, this is you coming to say goodbye, then?’ He chose to ignore the inconvenient feelings of regret and something resembling panic eating away at him. But he knew she had to leave sometime in order to get the very last, painful, part rolling. The quicker the better, he lied to himself.
‘I was wondering…’ Saying the words seemed to discomfort her. ‘Do you drive?’
Whatever this was, it didn’t sound like goodbye quite yet, so he was only too glad to answer. ‘I do.’
‘Then, I was wondering, would you bring me to the nearest large ski resort? Please.’
‘Planning on a day at leisure?’
‘I thought we could look at a profitable resort.’
‘Ooft!’ He flew a hand to his chest. ‘Kick a man when he’s down.’
‘No, I mean, we haven’t looked at the nearest competition and what they’re doing that we could perhaps replicate here?’
‘We, is it?’
He liked the grudging smile this provoked in her.
‘You’ll need your kit,’ she said. ‘If those skis even can come down off your wall, that is.’
‘Nice of you to assume I didn’t have any plans for today,’ he remarked, once they were bouncing along the main road out of Cairn Dhu in his van.
The hills lined the wide carriageway like rows of slumbering giants.
He felt her eyes snap to the side of his face as he changed gear.
‘You didn’t, did you? Have plans?’
‘Well, no. In fact, you saved me from meeting an early death in a junk avalanche. I should thank you.’
In truth, he’d jumped at her suggestion, leaving the lockup door raised and bouncing on its hinges and all the mouldy paraphernalia spilled out on the tarmac, ready for the skip.
Florrie had looked like she was regretting her request when he’d informed her it was going to be an hour’s drive northeast to the nearest big resort.
She probably wasn’t relishing the idea of being stuck with the enemy, making small talk.
But if she wanted to know who was taking all his customers, then Glenfoss was the answer: the biggest and best ski resort in the country.
If Scottish ski industry innovation was what she wanted, she’d find it there for sure.
Not that he’d been down the Glenfoss runs since before their multimillion-pound renovation a couple of years ago.
He found himself wishing the radio worked. Even over the van’s puttering engine and squeaky suspension, things were growing stiflingly awkward.
‘I did hear some good news this morning, actually,’ he tried. ‘My sister, Holly, had her baby overnight. A little boy. Jovi.’
‘Ah, so you’re an uncle, for the first time?’
‘Yep.’
‘And they’re both OK? Holly and Jovi.’
‘Yeah, my parents are with them, up in Orkney.’
Silence settled again and Hamish glanced at the satnav. Another fifty-five miles of this.
‘Are you close with your family?’ The question seemed even to surprise its asker.
‘I suppose,’ Hamish replied. ‘Mum and Dad live here in Cairn Dhu, but when Holly left for Orkney after she married Frazer, it really affected my parents. Mum’s been knitting baby jumpers for the whole nine months, or that’s how it feels.’
‘They’re excited for their first grandkid.’
‘Small families will get you like that. How about you?’
They glanced at each other then, and Hamish caught her look of surprise.
‘Do you have a big family?’ he clarified.
‘Oh, right, uh…’
She didn’t seem to know for sure. Maybe if he didn’t fill the silence, she’d have to give him something?
‘I have my parents,’ she said resignedly. ‘And two older brothers. And…’ she sighed like he was extracting the words by force ‘…my mum got married again, so there’s some…’
‘Some…?’ he coaxed.
‘Some step-siblings.’ Her voice was shaky and not just because of the chugging engine.
‘Was this marriage and its step-siblings a recent development, by any chance?’
He saw her nod from the corner of his eye. He wanted to ask if she got on well with her new family members, but she seemed to have shrunk smaller in the passenger seat.
‘Will you go to Orkney to meet your nephew?’ she deflected, and out of sympathy for her, he wittered on about how it was a long journey, and expensive, and he’d probably be required at the ski centre while it closed down, and he’d a new flat to find, though there was always his mum and dad’s spare room, but that place wasn’t his home, not since they’d downsized to a new house, and they might not even want him moving back in.
He’d eventually stopped himself. ‘Sorry, I can ramble when I’m…
’ He let the end of that sentence die on his lips.
She didn’t make him nervous, as such, but he had to stay on his toes to deal with her pricklier side, and the fact she gave away so little of herself, keeping the real Florrie locked behind that stubborn veneer of professionalism he’d briefly seen behind on Friday night while she raked in the tips and poured out shots.
She’d been happy then. Why did he feel it was his job to make her happy now?
‘I, erm, brought these,’ she was saying, unwrapping something in white paper. A good smell of chocolate arose in the chilly air between them.
One glance was enough to confirm that what she was offering him was one of Senga Gifford’s speciality chocolate-dipped meringues, shaped like a pointed mountain peak and deadly sweet.
‘You stopped in at the repair shed? Is the café open at this hour on a Sunday?’
She didn’t reply. So, he reached for the white confection and bit into it with a crunch, spilling a snowfall of crumbs down his ski jacket.
He could tell she was horrified at the idea of messy eating so he made a greedy show of taking exaggeratedly big, untidy bites to encourage her, and that’s how after a while they both ended up smiling and crumb-scattered.
‘Senga’s famous for her baking,’ he said between bites. ‘She can be a bit snappy but we put up with it to get the goodies.’
‘What about her sister?’ Florrie asked, seemingly forgetting her earlier reticence.
Hamish had to admit he hadn’t had much to do with the other Gifford sister; she always seemed to take a backseat to Senga. ‘She’s nice, though. I reckon she has a lot to put up with. I’m glad you’re getting to know some of the locals. You’re discovering we’re not all that bad?’
She laughed lightly at this, but stopped abruptly. ‘Ah! My ears just popped!’
‘We’re climbing steadily now,’ he told her as they took a turn that led them off the main road and alongside a slushy river flowing slowly down the deep ditch parallel with the road.
Up ahead, the character of the sky was shifting from the mournful low shroud that had sat over Cairn Dhu since she got here, to altogether brighter, whiter clouds with breaks of blue sky.
A clustered mass of mountains rose into view, appearing impenetrable from their viewpoint.
Mile by mile, the grassy roadside verges grew marked with dirty old snow.
The higher they climbed, the whiter the world grew, evidence of weeks of snowfall, erasing the green and brown they’d been used to.
The windscreen silvered as temperatures rapidly dropped and their breath steamed the inside of the glass.
‘Here we go; mountain snow,’ Hamish said, as wistful as he was glad to see it, leaning over the steering wheel to watch as the first fat snowflakes drifted down upon them.
The little van continued its climb.
Florrie read the Glenfoss mountain snow report from her phone screen while Hamish found a space between the cleared snow piles in the massive car park.
‘It says light snow and light winds this morning. Best skiing is on the groomed runs, Devil’s Basin and Randall Valley.
Snow is currently dry. Lower runs have some small breaks they expect will patch up after the forecasted snow dump late this afternoon and overnight.
Skiing will be most suitable for intermediate and above unless with the ski school or backcountry and glade guides.
Uh, what else? Sledging area and bunny slope remain in excellent condition.
All eleven chairlifts and tows open. Plateau bar and Etive Restaurant open until 5 p.m.’
‘Sounds perfect.’ Hamish opened the van door and stepped out into the car park busy with campervans and minibuses.
Florrie stepped out too, and waited for him to open the side of the van so she could retrieve the kit he’d loaned her from the ski centre shop. She hadn’t failed to pick up the tiny note of resentment in his voice.
‘It’s good that they’re busy. It means there’s enough business to go around. We need to observe what they’re doing well and where we can up our game.’
‘You keep saying we,’ he said, not unkindly. Still, it was a jolt.
‘I’ll level with you. I’m not hopeful for any kind of quick fix. Or indeed any kind of answers at all. But it can’t hurt to scope out your nearest competitors.’
‘So at least I know who I’m losing out to?’
She didn’t want to encourage optimism, so she didn’t contradict him. ‘Come on. Let’s check it out.’