Page 43 of Head Over Skis

I’m going back over part of the mountain, cross-hatching to get the depth right, when I hear something. Then a rock flies through the air and lands on the balcony floor at my feet.

‘Lottie! Are you up there?’

I know that voice, but I also know that who I think it is can’t possibly be here. I jump out of the chair, which is a bad decision and I only remember my injured ankle after I’ve already put all my weight on it. I yelp, and try not to move it much as I hobble towards the edge, peering down at the man standing on the ground outside.

‘I tried the doorbell but you didn’t answer, so I thought I’d come around here.’

I was right. It is him.

‘Rory?’

I start panicking and attempt to subtly rearrange my Lilo and Stitch pyjamas to be a little more flattering. This morning I rolled out of bed, then onto the sofa, then straight out here and I haven’t looked in the mirror in any of that time, so I dread to think what my hair is doing. But at least he hasn’t run away so I’m hoping it’s on the human side of mountain troll.

‘I mean this in the nicest way, but what are you doing here? Don’t you have, you know, a class to teach?’

‘I got Kevin to cover for me,’ he says, giving no more explanation.

‘And you’re here because…’

He looks around as if he’s only now realised he is indeed outside my chalet. ‘I heard you got hurt.’

‘And?’ I say after he stops there, trying to force a little more out of him whilst also wondering how he found out. Also, how on earth did he even find the chalet?

But it doesn’t take me long to put those pieces together when I remember Tilly’s suspicious parting words.

‘And I wanted to check you were okay.’

I try not to let myself get carried away with the fact that he’s skipped class just to check on me, but maybe Tilly exaggerated my injury. I feel a little bad if she did, because now I’ve pulled him away from the group, even though I’m sure Kevin’s a great teacher too. Neither of us say anything for a while, and my brain starts drawing a parallel between us and that scene where Juliet looks down from her balcony at Romeo.

But that’s ridiculous and I’m not going to force him to climb up here, so instead I point to the front of the chalet.

‘Do you want to come in?’

He hesitates, almost like he hadn’t thought beyond checking my foot was still attached to my body, but then he picks his way through the snow back to the front door.

As I watch him climbing up the front steps, I get this feeling like I’m a teenager again, sneaking a boy into the house while my parents are away. Not that I ever did that, little un-rebellious me. I was more likely to get caught drawing late at night than sneaking a person in or out of my room. When he gets to the doorway he reaches down to start unlacing his boots.

‘Oh, you can leave them on. It’s a mess in here anyway. Unless you, I don’t know if you wanted to, uh…’ I fumble, not sure how long he’s going to be staying, or what his plan really is.

If he’s sticking to the living room, then shoes on makes the most sense. If he’s planning on taking this to the bedroom, then…

But I’m getting carried away. This is probably standard procedure – an instructor checking his student isn’t seriously injured. A medical visit, nothing more, so he knows whether to expect me at class tomorrow or not.

‘They don’t take long to put back on,’ he says, continuing to unlace them.

‘Tea?’ I offer, slowly making my way towards the kitchen. ‘I would offer biscuits, but I ate them all yesterday. Self-pity and all that. I actually need to go out and get some more.’

I start reaching for mugs, balancing on the tiptoes of my good leg, but before I can grab one a hand gets there first from behind me.

‘Let me do that, you should go and rest.’

Rory’s chest briefly presses against my back as he stretches forward to grab the mugs, and I grip the countertop to keep myself steady. He moves away to pick up the kettle and fills it, but my head isn’t quite processing things at a normal speed. Did I whack it when I fell and it turns out I have a concussion as well as a dodgy ankle? Am I hallucinating this or is Rory really here, riffling through a box of herbal tea bags in my kitchen?

‘Yeah, okay,’ I say, making it back to the sofa and managing to get my leg propped back on its pile of pillows by the time the kettle pings.

‘What did you pick?’ I ask as Rory carries the mugs over.

‘Green tea – it’s a natural anti-inflammatory.’