Polly (23 page)

‘God,' Polly wailed at the site of herself, ‘I look absolutely hideous.' Her cheeks burned in humiliation, clashing loudly with the jacket. ‘And my hair! But there's no way I'm even trying on the matching hat. Anyway, it's not just the colour scheme,' she whined, ‘look how big it all is. I look like the Michelin Man slowly deflating.'

Polly performed a forlorn twirl and gasped at the exaggerated proportions of her usually trim bottom.

‘Couldn't I just wear my jeans?'

She fiddled with the straps and zips in search of a better fit.

‘Better – but still awful.'

She slumped down on to the sofa and regarded her baggy pink knees.

‘Maybe I just won't go.'

When she awoke, the clarity and dazzle of the morning made light of the gloom with which she had met sleep.

After all, I'll be with Chip – and I haven't seen him for days, almost a week, what with the rewrites for the revue, Zoe's continuing problems in love and Forrest's inability to comprehend
The Importance of Being Earnest.

Because she still dreaded her appearance in Lorna's ski suit, Polly decided to dress impeccably until school finished and the mountain beckoned. She put on a delicate floral skirt, which floated just above the knee and was totally unsuitable for the time of year, teaming it with a soft chenille polo neck and a pair of thick black woollen tights. And the padded snow boots it had been recently necessary to purchase. However, she also took a pair of suede pumps under her arm and changed into these as soon as she was safely inside the main hall. The unexpected sight of Chip coming out of Powers Mateland's office met her.

There's fate for you.

‘Yo!'

‘Good morning, Mr Jonson.'

‘All set for the slopes?'

‘As ready as ever I'll be, I suppose, but you have to promise not to laugh at me. Or at my costume. Especially at my costume.'

‘How about I promise I'll
try
.'

‘Nope. Not good enough.'

‘All right. I promise.'

Chip held his hand to his heart to seal his oath and Polly touched his fingers lightly. He encircled hers quickly, fleetingly, tightly.

‘Thank you,' she said and left for her class.

Chip didn't laugh. He was well used to the vagaries of ski fashion and found his full attention commanded by Polly's expression of stern concentration and burgeoning terror. The just-detectable jelly quiver of the ski suit told him she must be positively quaking underneath it all.

‘You OK?' he asked gently. ‘Feel good about this?'

‘No,' Polly muttered, convinced that two hours' tuition had not been anywhere near enough, ‘and no.'

‘You'll be fine,' Chip nudged her amiably as the two Bens whizzed by at breakneck speed.

‘Just remember what we've been learning, about keeping your tips together,' Chip said.

‘My
what
?' Polly exclaimed.

‘Your tips,' said Chip, ‘with a “p”. All set?'

Polly gave a non-committal nod, her eyes focused on the end of the nursery slope just a few yards away. A small group of students had gathered there in support (and curiosity) and Polly took heart from their muffled encouragement and mittened waves.

‘All set,' she said, unconvincingly, to Chip. ‘Are you absolutely sure I'm ready?'

‘Gotta start somewhere,' Chip said kindly. ‘Away you go – race you to the bottom. Hey, joke, man – it was a joke.'

‘Count of three, please,' Polly quaked, trying to estimate the gradient of the lower reaches of the nursery slope.

‘One.'

God I feel sick.

‘Two.'

Would I make much more of a fool of myself if I just bottled out?

‘Three.'

Oh my God! Oh wow! I'm skiing! Do you know, I'm actually doing it. Wheeee! Fantastic! I love it. Oh no, I'm down already.

Chip told Polly that her first snowplough was ‘commendable'; Polly herself thought it perfectly executed. Her audience, who had formed themselves hastily into a corps of well-padded cheerleaders, were chanting her name and dancing about in delight.

‘I did it!' was all she could say, tears streaming down her face and a smile so wide it threatened to leap right off her face. Chip was right behind her.

‘Lightning!' he praised.

‘I did it!' she hugged him liberally, totally in keeping with the triumph of the situation and no one batted an eye. Apart from Forrest, who thought he'd have a hug too.

‘You want to try a little way up?'

‘I did it!'

‘Go on, Miss Fenton, go up to that marker.'

‘Can I do it?'

‘Sure you can.'

‘Yee hah! Let's go!'

What she gained in speed for her second snowplough, she lost in style; arriving at the bottom of the slope without brakes but with an exultant grin and slap bang into AJ's arms.

‘Whoah, there, Miss F.'

‘Again!' Polly cried, looking beseechingly from drag-lift to Chip while overlooking apology or thanks to AJ. Chip, however, was strict and responsible, which delighted Polly who only pretended that she really minded repeating the baby snowplough over and over. Finally, Chip allowed her to take a break. In fact, he had to force her as she'd have been utterly content keeping her tips together all day. The students were given a free half-hour before the last training spurt and disappeared in a cloud of excitable yelps and bright colours.

‘You star!' Chip proclaimed, leading her towards the club hut. Her cheeks were crisply flushed, her eyes were darting a watery dance, her nose was endearingly red. She was breathing quickly, giving little dragon-like puffs in the cold, thin air of midwinter. Wisps of her hair peeped out from her fleece hat; one was caught at the corner of her mouth, on the lip balm she'd been applying liberally.
Must look after my lips
.

‘A star,' Polly sparkled. ‘Aren't I just?' He propped their skis and poles against the hut and held out his hand, having first scrutinized the slope for spies and eagle eyes. The sun was now hazed over but its warmth filtered through and fixed the bloom on Polly's cheeks.

‘Come,' said Chip, ‘you have a Bravery Award awaiting you.'

‘Goody,' Polly sang, clumping and trudging alongside him. Chip took her some yards away to a thatch of maples, their boughs laden with swathes of white velvet.

‘I know we're a little early,' Chip said theatrically to a tree, ‘but it's one special day and if you could oblige we'd be real happy.' He placed his ear against the tree and his facial gesticulations suggested he was listening hard to the tree's reply. ‘I think we're in luck,' he said to Polly, who giggled and brought her gloved hands together in muffled applause though she had no idea what a talking tree had to do with a Bravery Award. Chip caressed the bark and slipped his hand down the trunk a little until it rested on a small, metal protuberance. He gave a little tap, a little twist, and Polly saw a thin, delicate liquid seep out and trickle to the snow. She ventured closer and looked down. Chip crouched, took his glove off and picked a small, pale amber-coloured nugget from the snow.

‘Here.'

Polly took off her glove and placed the little jewel in the palm of her hand, holding it up to the light to admire it closely.

‘Thank you,' she marvelled, ‘it's gorgeous.'

‘You eat it, you clutz,' Chip explained affectionately, ‘Sugar On Snow.'

Polly did as she was told and closed her eyes as the mellow nuttiness filled her mouth. Chip's lips pressed lightly against hers and though her highly cherished, very important Bravery Award was still in her mouth, she was more than happy to share. She opened her lips and drew Chip in. They passed the fast disappearing lozenge between them until it was all gone. Their tongues lapped away at the pervasive taste of it in each other's mouths until their own unique flavours were discovered again and they feasted upon them.

Polly has taken to skiing on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.

Because I rather think I have a natural aptitude for the sport.

You mean you fancy Chip and find all the attention, and legal physical contact, addictive.

No, shut up, don't be so ridiculous. I like the skiing – it's a fantastic way to keep fit. And it's exciting and new.

Yes, Polly, it's all exciting and new, but it doesn't mean that you're not deluding yourself. Look at all your marking you've had to relocate.

I'm gladly giving over free time for it so I can take to the slopes.

Yes? And the notion of Chip's Bravery Awards awaiting your progress has nothing to do with anything? They don't spur you on in some small way? Didn't you tell Chip yesterday that you were happy to forgo Sugar On Snow and go straight to the kiss?

You have to have an incentive.

Polly!

‘I do hope you don't think me inconsiderate,' she had said beseechingly when they were once again in and amongst the maples in secret.

‘Bravery Awards come in many guises,' Chip had assured her, wedging his knee up between her legs and sucking on her cold, crisp earlobe.

Inevitably, Polly became too big for her boots. At the end of her third week as self-titled Snow Queen, she turned up in a beautifully proportioned ski suit in dark red and navy, as flattering as it is possible for such an outfit to be, which she had bought with Loma on a whim and a rare free Sunday. She was met by a chorus of approving whistling from the students, and a furtive pat on the rump from Chip.

‘Listen, you mind practising your stem turns for a while? We have a race at the weekend and I need to spend time with the downhill team.'

‘Mr Jonson,' Miss Fenton replied, as Laurel and Lauren appeared within earshot, ‘I'll be fine. But promise me if I perfect them today, we can go on to parallel turns on Thursday?'

‘We'll see,' was all Chip said.

‘Jolly good,' Polly replied.

‘We'll help,' said Laurel while Lauren nodded.

Polly did all the things her rational conscience was yelling at her not to do. She ran before she could walk and did not bother to look before she leapt. After an hour on the upper reaches of the nursery slope, she assured the two ‘L's that she no longer needed baby-sitting, that she was in the nursery after all. The girls disappeared with snow boards, gratefully. Polly took the drag-lift higher than she'd hitherto ventured.

How difficult could a parallel turn be? She'd watched hundreds and decided that they must be as effortless as they looked. It was all about confidence, right? And keeping the skis, well, parallel. And doing something with your bottom and something with your knees, a sort of twisting thrust. Lean into the mountain, remember. Bend the knees. Easy. Just watch.

Chip was some way up the slopes when he spied a hurtle of blue and red heading for the trees. All he could do was observe the inevitable while amusement churned with horror. The more she lost control, the less control she could recapture. She was leaning and lurching backwards precariously, picking up speed, and had obviously lost all sight of the path she should have been making. As she became dangerously close to the trees, self-preservation kicked in and she made what she thought would be a parallel turn. Only it wasn't exactly parallel. Mercifully, she missed the trees; unfortunately, she managed only 90 degrees and hurtled straight down the uneven reaches of the slope. A lone mogul, camouflaged to the uninitiated, halted her descent but sent her flying at a peculiar angle. Ultimately, Polly landed face down, her legs splayed but suspended with the skis wedged down into the snow; one pole digging into her solar plexus, the other lost, along with her left glove, her hat and her nerve.

Polly queued for the athletic trainer with four others. While they waited, they discussed their war wounds.

‘I think I've done something gross to my knee,' said Tanya, the sophomore trampolinist.

‘I've, like, totally screwed my shoulder?' said Zoe, who was in the gymnastics team.

‘My ankle's gone again,' rued a squash-playing junior called Paul who Polly had never seen.

‘My lower back,' grumbled Sam, a senior swimmer. ‘How ‘bout you, Ma'am?'

Polly sighed. ‘I think I've cricked my neck and wrenched my inner thigh.' The students awarded her injuries the greatest ‘wow'.

‘OK,' said Chip when he arrived, his cheeks glowing gloriously. He walked along the line and made rapid assessments about severity and priority. ‘I reckon we start at the bottom and work our way up, hey? Ankle, knee, back, shoulder, neck – Paul, Tanya, Sam, Zoe, Miss Fenton.'

‘Shouldn't Miss Fenton go first?' Paul asked gallantly, ‘I mean, she kinda has two injuries, you know?'

‘Exactly,' Chip explained, looking only at Paul, ‘I'll probably need to spend more time with her.'

When the four students had been sufficiently manipulated, bandaged and banished, it was nearing dinner-time.

‘You hungry?' Chip asked Polly. She tried to shake her head but winced. ‘You mind skipping dinner?' Chip continued, ‘I reckon you need fixing before feeding.' Polly agreed with an impassioned humming sound. ‘You done something to your jaw?' Chip asked. Again, Polly tried to shake her head. ‘You can't speak?'

‘I can speak,' she whispered, ‘I just don't know what to say.'

Chip grinned at her and brought his lips to her forehead.

‘It was pretty spectacular,' he chuckled into the top of her head.

‘Please,' Polly pleaded, ‘I'm so embarrassed.'

‘Don't be.'

‘I'm such a bloody idiot.'

‘True. But it was kinda funny to watch.'

‘Well,' Polly said, ‘it's not remotely amusing to
feel,
I assure you.'

Chip took the back of her head gently in his hands before slipping them down until they encircled her neck. He then took one hand to her shoulder blade and his other round to the front, half covering her breast, murmuring encouraging
'uh-huh's
all the while. ‘OK,' he said, wiping his hands on his trousers for some reason, ‘come lie here.' He helped Polly on to the examination table, unbuckled the bib of her dungarees and helped ease off her thermal polo neck.