Rebecca shut the screen down and punched the pillows beside her. Romance novels late at night were not always good for a woman who had … gone without for a while. A long while. Years. No wonder she was fantasising about what her squatter looked like without his bins on. He wasn’t exactly built like Dean Cain. More sugar cane.
She turned her head to her window, looking through the ineffectual curtains at the mountains around her. They looked blue tinted in the dim light, beautiful. It made her long to get back out there, but after the accident, it was done. She’d never just be a hobby skier. It would be like licking the frosting and not eating the cake.
Robbie had said the same, before they’d parted. How different she was now, how much she needed to get back out there. Back to reality. Easier said than done when you’d had as much time to sit and think as Rebecca had. Nothing but time to pore over the moments in your life where a decision led to something else. Another life entirely. Another person. Whoever she was that day, up there taking her next shot at the top, she’d left her up there. A piece of herself that she would never get back. What was the point in trying, when the last time almost broke you? Career, relationship. Both shattered. She wasn’t some old vase, the cracks in her body and soul were not fused with gold. They were creaky, chalky, jagged pieces. If she moved too fast, it would all crumble. Taking a last look, she turned her back on the mountain, flicked her book back on and waited for sleep to claim her.
Chapter 3
‘Smug lil’ git, arent ya! I’ll get you, you … buffoon! Next time, you’s can fix your own ruddy dongle!’
Rebecca was jolted awake by a deep voice, and a large crash. Her kindle, propped up on a pillow, pitched forward and smacked her straight in the face. Cursing, she flung it to the side, her back against the pillows, heart hammering, listening for whatever it was that woke her.
‘Awww shit!’ Her startled ears could make out the Yorkshire twang in the voice this time, and her heart started pumping again as realisation set in. It’s just my unwanted lodge guest. She squinted at her bedside clock. It’s 3.45 a.m. I have to be up in a few hours, and this gobshite is just rolling in. Not a good start to our enforced living arrangement.
‘Bloody Hans.’ She grumbled her way out of bed, shuffling around the room. She’d sent him a text earlier, basically asking him why he hated her and wanted to destroy her, but the big lump had never replied. Too busy with his new little bestie, probably. She heard an odd series of knocks. It sounded like someone was knocking on the interior door. Great.
She headed straight down the stairs, only stopping to put her slippers on, and opened the door slowly. It opened inward, and as soon as she pulled down the latch, the door swung towards her, bringing with it a huge lump of something that smelled like it had been marinated in alcohol. He dropped backwards onto the stairs like a sack of potatoes.
‘Eugh, you stink!’ She pinched her nose, stepping over him gently. She was feeling a little drunk on the fumes, and felt an icy blast. I knew it, he’s left the flipping door open. I can see the snow falling outside, the door wide open, the key still in the lock. What a total twonk. She padded over in her slippers, cupping her boobs to prevent her nipples from shrivelling up and blowing away like tiny frozen peas. Getting to the door, she looked outside, but saw nothing except staggered footprints and tracks heading towards the scene of crime. Hans’s handiwork no doubt. If he wasn’t a first-time expectant father, he would be in a whole heap of rolling pin related revenge right now. ‘What did you drink, besides everything?’
‘I’ll get him, you know. He won’t get the better of Luke Sommersby. Lukey boy will win!’ He raised his hand in the air, managing to half punch himself in the face and not even noticing. ‘For Frank!’
Rebecca looked down at the body that was currently sprawled out on the stairs up to the lodge. He was singing to himself now, a garbled version of ‘Eye of the Tiger’, with punching movements. At least, I think they’re pretend punches. He could be having some sort of dance party by himself. He turned his head and looked up at her, eyes bloodshot, a lazy, slow grin spreading across his face languidly.
‘Hey! Re-bakie! There you are. Got any of them croissants?’ He slurred out croissants like quix-sants, and then started talking about all the flavours of the food he’d scoffed that afternoon. ‘You should do cakes! Big cakes, with—’ he raised one hand and made a sprinkling motion with it ‘—stuff on it, you know?’
Rebecca was already thoroughly fed up, knackered and freezing. Planting her feet closer to him to get a good grip of his arm, she got ready to pull the stupid dolt up. He looked down at her feet, which was when she belatedly realised they were clad in her unicorn slippers. He laughed, bopping one of them on the horn with his finger. Or trying to anyway. He more jabbed her leg.
‘Ha ha! Cute. Can you help me stand up?
