Page 22 of Head Over Skis

Tilly’s face is totally blank, and when she does reply, it’s bland. Non-committal. ‘About what?’

Weird, I think. The way she’s fishing for a hint makes me wonder if that aftershave isn’t the only thing she’s keeping to herself. It’s not like Tilly to keep something bottled up, even things I sometimes wish she would.

‘The men’s aftershave.’ I cut to the chase. ‘I meant to ask you about it earlier, but last night I accidentally knocked over your bag and it fell out. Spill, girl! Who’s the mystery guy?’

Her eyebrows knit together, lips pinched and drawn to one side like she has no idea what I’m talking about. But then something clicks, and her mouth drops open into a small circle.

‘Oh, the aftershave! That’s…’ She trails off, looking around us like the answer is plastered on a shop sign. Meghan walks a few paces in front, oblivious to our conversation. ‘You know, it’s that guy. It belongs to… Jason,’ she finishes.

I blink. ‘Jason.’

She has most definitely never mentioned a Jason to me before.

‘Mhm.’ Her head bobs frantically. ‘I met him in the club and then went back to his. I guess it must have fallen in when I was gathering my stuff to leave. Funny, that.’

There’s a slight pause between each of her sentences.

‘And you didn’t mention this before because…’ I wait, letting her fill the gap.

The last time she slept with someone I was sent no less than six voice notes totalling nearly twenty minutes. And now all I’m getting is a name that sounds like she can’t remember, and a summary of her night reduced to a couple of sentences.

‘There!’ Meghan’s voice shouts out from ahead of us, her finger pointing at a shop window that’s full of all kinds of trinkets.

Tilly’s attention darts towards where she’s pointing, and before I can question her more, she’s following Meghan across the road. I can’t shake that sixth sense that her story is off. Why would she lie about something like aftershave, or having a one-night stand? It wouldn’t have been a first for her, and certainly not something she’s ever been private about before. I brush it off for now, deciding to bring it up again when her brain isn’t scrambled from a full day of skiing, and catch up with them both.

Hanging next to the door of the shop is a slab of oakwood with La Maison des Cadeaux painted in white cursive letters, confirming we’re in the right place.

As we head closer, the door swings open, setting off a small bell that hangs over the top, and we’re greeted by two familiar faces.

‘Hello, girls! Are you doing some shopping too? Oh, you’ll love what I bought in there!’

Penny’s wearing the same patchwork jacket she sported on the slopes, but even without it I would’ve recognised her. Bill’s there too, standing stoically at her side as she pries a little brown paper bag from his hand, which he seems reluctant to part with.

‘They really don’t need to see—’

He stops when it’s too late and Penny’s already secured the bag and revealed her souvenir to us. In her hand rests a little fridge magnet with the name of the resort at the top, and a woman skiing in the foreground.

Totally topless.

Penny chuckles and she puts the magnet away and catches Bill’s disapproving expression. ‘Lighten up, dear. Ridiculous fridge magnets are our tradition, and it was between this one or the one of the man skiing with no trousers on, so count yourself lucky. Anyway, enjoy your afternoon, girls. We’ll see you tomorrow!’

She loops her arm through Bill’s and he places his hand over hers, giving a long-suffering sigh that can’t hide how clearly he loves her silly ways. Together they amble off in the direction we came from while we head into the shop.

‘Ooh, fur headbands,’ Meghan exclaims the moment we step inside, and the three of us naturally spread out to explore different corners of the shop.

Unsurprisingly, I’m drawn straight to a section with a selection of paintings and art prints. There are little postcards and graphic prints but what catches my attention most is a painting of a chairlift cutting through the trees. The paint is thickly layered, and I admire the impasto technique which makes the falling snow come alive on the canvas. It’s messy and real, and it’s like I’m right there being carried through the snow. I love it.

It brings to mind the one that was above Rory’s bed, which had none of the authenticity of this piece.

Rory.

I’d planned on spending this week figuring out my feelings for Adam, yet since seeing Rory today I find myself thinking more frequently about him instead. Silly things, like with this painting and how I’m considering taking a photo of it to show him. I drop the thought though, deeming it too inappropriate.

Instead, I weave my way towards a wall covered in fabric sew-on patches. There’s a section of ski school related ones, and I find several that match the logo of our beginner’s class. I reach out to peel one off the wall when I’m stopped by a voice.

‘Typically, you wait until after you’ve finished ski school to buy the patch. Otherwise, it’s bad luck.’

I jolt, nearly knocking some of the display down with my shoulder as I turn towards the voice that came from the back of the shop.