Читать книгу Chalet Girls - Lorraine Wilson - Страница 11

I’m having a bad day. The kind of day when the past feels as tangible as the present and no matter how much make-up I put on, or how bright I fake my smile, I can’t get away from the heavy sadness tugging at my bones. It’s true, these kinds of days are happening less and less recently and I’ve learnt techniques to manage them but … Well, let’s just say today’s effort is a crappy one, like I’ve been driven over by a tank.

I wish I could escape it all forever, but no matter where I go, I can’t seem to leave it behind. I thought in Verbier, a world away from my native Streatham, I would feel safe and be able to drop my hyper-vigilance, but I still can’t sit with my back to a door and I sleep lightly, with one ear open, like a dog. That’s if you can call patches of unsatisfactory rest broken up with nightmares sleep.

I should feel safe. It’s clean and beautiful here and there’s hardly any crime in the mountains. I know, I checked the statistics. But, as I stand outside Chalet Amélie wearing my best black dress and knee-high boots, I‘m gripped by the sudden sense that I‘m adrift.

Like I could just float away.

‘Are you coming in, Beth?’ Holly‘s voice cuts through my particular brand of crazy. Her tone is kind.

As bosses go I‘ve had far worse than Holly. I‘ve not really spent much time with her because she‘s just had a baby, but what I‘ve seen of her I like. I meet her eyes, touched by the kindness I find there. I wish I could open up to her. But that’s really not a good idea. That way madness lies – the proper losing-the-plot kind. The only hope I ever have of leaving the past behind is to never talk about it. Never think about it.

‘Sure, I was just getting a breath of fresh air,’ I lie, not convincing either of us.

Get. It. Together.

I need to use tonight as an opportunity to meet someone, to find a way to distract myself. I‘d like to feel safe and grounded, even if it‘s just for one night. To not be alone in my head. I think I‘m going to drive myself nuts otherwise. I want to be touched. I need the affirmation of sex, to know I can still do it, that I‘m strong enough.

‘How are you settling in at Chalet Repos?’ Holly‘s kind voice jolts me.

I try to drag myself back down to earth, to grab hold of the rope Holly is throwing me. Who knew I‘d be so grateful for small talk?

‘Well, thanks. It‘s so beautiful here and I can‘t wait to learn to ski.’ I reply stiffly, like a second-rate actress reciting her lines.

Again. Not kidding anyone.

Holly slips her arm through mine. ‘It must be hard not knowing many people here. I‘m sure Rebecca and Lucy aren‘t that far away. They went down to the spa, I think. Let‘s go and find them.’

‘Okay.’ My smile is genuine this time. I’m grateful to Holly for pulling me out of my mental quick-sand. ‘Amazing chalet, by the way.’

Chalet Amélie is truly out of this world. I‘ve never been anywhere so fancy. It‘s nicer even than Chalet Repos and much bigger. As Holly shows me round my jaw drops.

Fancy having so many rooms you have spares left over for a games room, dance floor and cinema room. I think the games room alone is bigger than the dingy flat I used to share with Mum. When we get to the spa suite I think I‘ve walked into heaven. You couldn‘t get further away from the public swimming baths back home. No smell of chlorine – instead a sweet scent of orange blossom is piped out of discreetly placed diffusers. And instead of the usual public baths accompaniment of shrieking kids there‘s mellow lounge music filling the air. Chill-out music.

It’s working. The ambient peace washes over me, easing the kinks out of my tightly wound nerves and taut muscles. I gaze around and then stiffen. I’m sure that couple in the Jacuzzi aren’t wearing swimsuits. Um, perhaps there’s such a thing as being too chilled. Or maybe I’m being too buttoned-up. Too English. Part of me kind of admires anyone with the body confidence to be that brazen. I turn away, cheeks burning, desperate to pretend I’m cool with it and to hide the evidence I don’t belong in this world. I’m ashamed of the buzz of arousal humming through my body. It makes my need to be touched flare into life, the visceral ache in the pit of my belly gripping me, demanding attention.

Holly has turned to talk to Rebecca, so I walk around, taking everything in and trying to relax. When that doesn‘t work I store up details to share with Eva and Debbie in my next email instead.

‘Fancy a skinny-dip?’

I turn to see who‘s spoken and find I‘m face to face with a scruffy surfer type with light-brown hair, laughing eyes and a large grin.

‘No thank you.’ I reply, sounding horribly prim and proper. I‘m irritated with him for making me into ‚that‘ girl. For laughing at me.

‘Only I saw you watching.’ He nods over at the Jacuzzi.

‘Excuse me?’ I arch both my eyebrows and fix him with my best piss-off glare. How dare he? ‘I wasn‘t, you know, watching them. I was just looking at the Jacuzzi.’

A hot flush creeps up my neck. His being right does nothing to placate me, it‘s just winding me up. In a way, I‘m telling the truth, though. I‘ve never actually been in a Jacuzzi and I do fancy going in one, but not naked. At least not naked in public. With the right man, well maybe.

‘You were so.’ His grin stretches ever wider. ‘And why not? They wouldn’t do it in public if they didn’t want an audience. Are you sure I can’t persuade you? There’s nothing nicer than feeling the warm water against your naked body, bubbles tickling your skin and getting you in the mood.’

I wish his words weren’t getting me hot and bothered so easily. I feel desire uncoiling deep inside me, unfurling tendrils of sharp arousal. It doesn’t help that he’s really attractive. I mean the drop-dead gorgeous, totally shaggable kind of attractive you hardly ever come across in real life. I bet he knows it too.

‘I’m Dan.’ He smiles. He totally knows it.

When he reaches out a hand, I shake it on auto-pilot, confused by conflicting emotions and the ability of this stranger to get under my skin so quickly.

‘I’m not skinny-dipping,’ I reply firmly, ignoring the stirrings of desire.

‘Interesting name.’ He grins. ‘Can I go and fetch you a drink Miss Not Skinny-Dipping? Is that hyphenated, by the way?’

‘Very funny, and no thanks. I always fetch my own drinks at parties. I had a friend who was roofied at a party once. No offence.’ As soon as I say it I regret my reply. It came out far brusquer than I intended. Why am I scaring a drop-dead gorgeous, twinkly-eyed sex god away?

I sigh inwardly. Luckily I’d been out with Debbie when her drink was spiked and I was able to get her home. Eva made us both promise to be ultra-careful after that. She’s always been much more of a mum to me than my own ever was. I’d be jealous of Debbie if she hadn’t chosen to unselfishly share her mum with me. Eva’s been amazing. It’s not an exaggeration to say she saved me when the myth I could cope alone exploded so spectacularly. So I take her advice seriously.

‘Ouch, I think I’ve just been shot down and accused of being a date rapist in one sentence.’ Dan places a hand over his heart.

‘Well, you did try to get me naked before I even knew your name.’ I point out and try to soften my response with a smile, but I don’t think it works. Dan’s body language no longer mirrors mine. I’ve blown it.

‘Can’t blame a guy for trying,’ he laughs. ‘See you around, Miss Not Skinny- Dipping.’

Then he turns around and walks off. I‘m pierced by a pang of disappointment he‘s giving up so easily. Should I go after him, apologise, explain? Hardly. One question usually leads to another and then another. It‘s easier to let him go.

I need a drink.

There are no cocktail-laden waiters or waitresses in sight down here so I head to the bar. I really do need a drink. Everyone else seems to have had the same idea, though, and I can‘t get through the crowd.

‘What are you after?’ The man standing next to me turns and smiles. He has short dark hair and a five o‘clock shadow. He possesses an undeniable charm, even if his smile doesn‘t quite reach his cool-blue eyes. ‘I‘ll push through and get it for you.’

‘Anything fruity and alcoholic please.’

I suppress any unhelpful comparison with Dan. He walked away, didn‘t he? Whereas Mr Five-o‘clock-shadow is here and giving me all the right signals. I smile at the stranger, determined not to muck it up this time. If I walk around to the side of the bar I should be able to keep my eye on him the whole time so he can‘t drop something in my drink.

I bite my lip. I hate being like this. Why can‘t I be normal? If I‘m not careful I‘ll end up totally paranoid like Mum. Bipolar disorder often runs in families. I‘ve done the research. At three am I lie awake worrying there’s a rogue gene in my DNA, just waiting, like a ticking bomb, to ruin my life.

My doctor said if I think I’m mad, then I’m probably not. I can‘t believe a modern GP still uses the word ‘mad’, but he did. He said mad people usually think they’re sane and ordered me to stop worrying. As if it were that easy. I’m not sure I‘m capable of doing that, but I do have to start taking chances again. If I see danger around every corner I‘ll never be free to live the life I want. For so long all I cared about was surviving. That‘s not good enough any more. If I live a curtailed life, then I‘m the one being constantly punished and that‘s wrong on so many levels.

I‘m going to have sex tonight. It‘s a start and it‘s just sex. Only sex. A meeting of bodies, nothing more. I can keep my mind locked tight, metal shutters down and padlock on. I‘ll keep the two separate. I have to. I need to be touched really badly. I want to feel hands on my skin and be caressed and made love to. I need the connection, a tether to stop that floating-away feeling.

The dark-haired guy comes back bearing two bottles. He‘s tall and good looking. A sporty type. There‘s a confidence in the way he holds himself that I like. Something in me wants to cling to that confidence. As though I can acquire it by osmosis.

‘Thanks so much. I‘m Beth.’ I say, trying to dispel images of a scruffy surfer sex god with laughing eyes.

‘I‘m Thomas.’ He chinks his bottle against mine. ‘Cheers.’

I sip the fruity alcohol a little too quickly and warmth spreads through my chest.

‘Do you live in Verbier?’ I ask, searching in vain for interesting conversation to hold his attention.

‘I‘m based here but I have to travel a lot because I compete. Boardercross.’ He says, as though that‘s supposed to mean something to me.

‘Oh? I don‘t know much about the sport, I‘m afraid. I‘ve only just arrived here. I‘m a chalet girl.’

‘A chalet girl? Ah.’ A wolfish smile crosses his face.

It should make me run, but it‘s actually kind of sexy. My body is letting me know, in no uncertain terms, it would be happy if Thomas gobbled me up. It’s good to feel desire again. For a long time I felt nothing, nothing at all.

He places a hand on my back to guide me away from the bar. It seems conversation isn’t going to be required. Well, that’s … okay, I suppose. This is what I came here for, wasn’t it? I’ve got something to prove to myself. That I’m no one’s victim. I’m taking control.

Adrenalin surges through me, but I’m split. I‘ve got the mind-body disconnect thing going on, making me separate from the sensations of attraction. As if this is happening to someone else.

It‘s a feeling that triggers alarm bells.

Maybe Eva is right and I‘m not ready to be out doing this. But I can‘t hide from the world forever and why should I have to? Plus, it‘s not like staying in on my own is such a great option. Being alone is when I feel most afraid.

On my own is vulnerable, unprotected and unsafe.

I get enough attention to reassure me I‘m reasonably attractive to men who are into willowy redheads, or want to be. I‘m willing to trade anything I‘ve got for someone who might make me feel safe. When Thomas‘s hand snakes down to my hip I lean in closer, craving the contact. Part of me wishes he was interested in small talk. This is giving me far too much time to think.

I don‘t give a flying fuck if I‘m being anti-feminist. Alone is unsafe. I learnt that the hard way, growing up essentially alone. Mum was there physically, but she was never great at being the grown-up. Some days she was great. When she was spiraling up she‘d cook me a meal like a normal mum and maybe want to watch a DVD with me or go shopping. But even then there was a manic quality to her happiness that created a distance between us. I could never quite believe it. I never knew how long it would last. On other days she wouldn‘t get out of bed or eat, or even drink unless I made her. When she took her medication things improved but I still felt shut out. She‘d feel better and then she‘d stop taking her tablets because she didn‘t feel as if she needed them any more. Then she‘d get worse again.

It was a seemingly endless repeating pattern.

I thought everyone grew up feeling alone, that it was normal to be afraid all the time. Until I was paired up with Debbie for a geography project at school and she took me home to meet her family. Then I realised what Mum and I had wasn‘t anything approaching normal.

We did a good enough job of pretending, though. I remember a social worker coming to see me once and I lied through my teeth. I had to protect Mum and our version of family. We were very lucky. The scarce visits had coincided with Mum‘s good days. Although being ‚lucky‘ meant I had to deal with everything alone. There was no dad on the scene to protect me, to help me, to be there for me. Well, he was around for a bit when I was a baby, but I don’t remember him.

Thomas guides me upstairs and we step out onto the terrace, the cold night air assaulting us. I shiver. My fantasy of a man who’ll take care of me and defend me against the monsters under my bed seems really foolish. Am I doing the right thing?

‘Shall we go back to my place?’ He pulls me closer.

‘Sure, why not?’ I smile, my heart hammering. So Thomas probably isn’t going to be the guy who sticks around to help me slay monsters, but at least tonight I won’t be alone in bed and that might keep the nightmares away for a while.

On the short walk back to Thomas’s flat he doesn’t bother to get to know me, but that’s fine by me. I will my body to respond to him when he gropes me in his apartment block’s lift, but I only feel numb as he runs his hands over my breasts, kneading them like they’re dough, tweaking my nipples so they hurt. And not in a good way.

A shiver of fear runs down my spine. I ignore it. I‘ve got to get back to normal. I need this. I give him the benefit of the doubt and try to kiss him back with enthusiasm. I‘ve committed to this and I‘ll see it through. Like an experiment. As we enter his flat my fragile desire ebbs away and I‘m starting to think I‘ve chosen the wrong man to experiment with. The surroundings are cramped and bare. There are dirty dishes in the sink and the place needs a good vacuum. This is nothing like I imagined; it doesn‘t match Thomas‘s charming veneer. A veneer that‘s showing a good few cracks now he‘s confident of getting into my pants.

A detachment creeps over me, a disconnected sensation that leaves me stone cold. Is it too late to change my mind?

Before I can speak he pulls my dress up to my waist and is tugging my knickers down with one hand and undoing his flies with the other. Before I know it he‘s nudging between my legs without even bothering to warm me up.

‘Condom,’ I gasp and try to pull away, but his fingers are digging into my upper arms, gripping in a way I know will leave bruises.

The forceful grip triggers a first flicker of real panic.

‘Oh, for fuck‘s sake.’ His handsome face clouds with irritation.

It‘s the irritation that does it.

‘We need to use a condom,’ I repeat, resisting the urge to flinch, fuelled by anger that he‘s trying to make me feel unreasonable in asking for basic protection. I stare round at the grubby flat and realise he‘s making me feel grubby too. ‘Tell you what, let‘s not bother, if it‘s that much of a problem to you.’

His cold, blue eyes glint maliciously and the grip on my arm tightens.

Rage surges up in me so ferocious it practically chokes me. Never again.

Never again.

Even if I have to fight with tooth and nail and every trick in my arsenal, I‘m not going to let another man hurt me without fighting back. The rage gives me strength to wrench out of his grasp and pull my knickers back up.

He follows me down the hallway as I make my escape. I can feel him behind me, his breath on my neck.

I spin around and confront him.

‘Don‘t you dare.’ I hiss the words, one hand on my hip, the other pointing towards his chest. Rage still surges through me, spewing molten lava.

Giving me strength.

‘You‘re a frigid bitch and you know what else you are?’ His upper lip curls.

‘I really don‘t give a flying fuck what you think of me.’ I barely recognise my own voice. My legs are trembling and I can feel the sweat trickling down my back. ‘But take one step further and I‘ll call the police. I‘m sure you‘ve left bruises on me they’d be very interested in seeing.’

The red marks on my arms sting. For once I‘m glad I bruise easily.

That halts him in his tracks but doesn‘t stop the stream of filth coming out of his mouth. I slam his front door on the words, trying to block my ears as I make my way down the stairs as fast as my shaky legs allow.

Soon I‘m walking through the snow, wondering if tears can freeze on your face. It certainly feels cold enough. I stick to the darker side of the street, wanting to skulk in the shadows. Hoping to disappear into a giant black hole.

‘Stupid, stupid, stupid girl,’ I whisper. This wasn‘t part of the plan at all. Am I so desperate for physical affection I‘m prepared to put myself through this?

God, I don‘t think I even want to know the answer to that.

I force myself to take a deep breath and focus. So, tonight was crap. But I have to put it behind me. I‘ve coped with far worse than this. Men much crueler than Thomas have tried to crush me and didn‘t succeed. I won‘t let them.

I always promised myself if something like this ever happened again I‘d fight back, no matter what. My trembling fingers itch to ring Eva but she‘ll tell me to come back home. I can‘t do that, it‘s too awkward to be at Eva‘s and, anyway, I can‘t bear to be in London right now.

I pause and squeeze my eyes shut so tightly I see stars. I have to get my emotions under control before I get back to Chalet Repos. You‘d think sharing a bunk room with three other girls would mean I felt less alone but it seems to highlight my isolation. I feel more trapped in my head than ever, without someone who gets me and knows how to draw me out.

They all know each other; I‘m the only newbie. It doesn‘t help that I‘m so used to holding things back I struggle to connect with other people in a way that means anything. I‘m worried they think I‘m aloof and snobbish. I hope they don‘t. Maybe they could become friends in time if I really make an effort.

I brush tears away from my cold cheeks. I‘m fine. I‘m absolutely, totally fine and my plan is going to work. I‘ll bloody well make it work.