Page 77 of Head Over Skis

He shakes his head. ‘But it is. If I hadn’t suggested that run, she wouldn’t be in the hospital right now. If I hadn’t been so distracted I would’ve thought through my suggestions better, but I just listed them off and—’

‘Rory, stop.’ A hazy film has fallen over his eyes, and I hate to see the guilt that’s eating away at him.

‘Penny didn’t even need to be in your lessons, she told me so herself. She’s been skiing her whole life, so she knew exactly what she was doing. These things happen, and you can’t put all the blame on yourself.’

I’m not sure he believes me, but I hope he acknowledges the truth in what I’ve said.

‘Lottie, you’re here!’

Tilly rushes down the corridor towards me, with Meghan, Lucas and David all trailing behind her. At her voice, Rory moves away, his hands finally leaving my shoulders and I immediately wish for them back. Tilly pulls me into a hug and starts to recount the full story, and I try to listen but my focus is split between her and the man I still have so many things I want to say to. But that’ll have to wait, because when Tilly starts to lead me towards Penny’s room, I search around for him, and he’s already gone.

When we push open the double doors Penny is sitting up in her bed with Bill stretched out in the chair beside her, lightly snoring. Tilly stays in the corridor as I continue inside and Penny manages a grin as I make my way over to her. She’s heavily bandaged, and is linked up to multiple tubes, one of which I’m sure is feeding her a hefty amount of pain medication. A monitor steadily beeps at her bedside, and I try not to show how worrying it all looks to me. She nods towards where her husband sleeps. ‘I think he’s had a bit too much excitement for one day.’

I laugh, taking a seat on her other side. ‘Only you would end up in the hospital and describe the day as exciting.’

‘Ah, well you didn’t see the hunks from mountain rescue who brought me here,’ she says, fanning herself, and I know if Bill was awake, he’d be sporting his signature frown.

I don’t know what to say, knowing there’s nothing that can be of comfort right now with injuries this severe, but apparently she has something she’d like to say to me instead.

‘I’m glad you’re here, because I wanted a minute to speak with you alone.’ She clasps her hands together and rests them on her lap, and I sense the start of a more serious conversation.

‘You know, you didn’t need to fall on the slopes just to get me alone. An invitation for a hot chocolate would’ve sufficed.’

She sighs and turns her head to where Bill is sitting. ‘He’s going to be saying “I told you so” for years after we get home. At least I won’t have to get my salopettes repaired after they tore on the way down.’

She jokes, but I can sense the sadness there at the fact she knows she likely won’t be skiing again for a while, and my heart breaks. She seems like the type of person who does whatever she likes, consequences be damned, which is something I admire and should probably take notes on. But now life has stepped in and taken one of those choices away from her.

‘That boy of yours was pacing so much outside my door I thought he’d work himself through the floor.’ She pulls me back to the conversation as she tuts and shakes her head. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out who she’s referring to. ‘When he finally did come in, he looked awful. I know it was partly because he felt responsible for what happened to me, though I of course told him to stop being a numpty. But it was more than that.’

She stops, waiting for me to fill the gap, but I bet that whatever I might say, she’s already figured it out.

‘You had the same look this morning in class. So tell me, sweetheart, what’s going on?’

It’s ridiculous that she wants to talk about me right now, when she’s the one lying in a hospital bed. But maybe she wants the distraction. I think back to what Adam said to me in the bar earlier, about how I should try and let myself take more risks. Not always worry what the right or safe choice might be, or think of other people instead of myself. I look at Penny in front of me, a woman who’s gone on a ski holiday at an age many would’ve told her she shouldn’t and ended up here, yet still has a smile on her face.

Looking at her, I decide to tell her everything. Because if there’s anyone I can learn how to be a bit wilder from, it’s her.

I start at the beginning, telling her about life growing up in the lively chaos that was my childhood, with all its highs and lows, celebrations and trials.

No one is a bigger fan of my mum and dad than me. But I’ll also always remember how stressed they would get when we neared the end of the month. How the heating would be turned down, driving to school would be replaced with walking, and re-opened holes in years-old school shirts would be sewn up for the fifth time. Mum smiling as she’d say, ‘It’s as good as new.’

And I didn’t mind it. If I was cold, Mum and I would create a blanket fort and cuddle up close on the sofa, and I liked the slowness of walking to school with my dad, where he could point out all the birds we passed and we could pretend we were explorers. I didn’t need new things, or expensive after-school classes, and yet when I realised it might be possible to have those things, I wanted to experience them. And more than that, I wanted to help Mum and Dad experience that too.

‘So I decided I would only draw and paint for fun. I knew if I wanted that kind of life for myself, my parents, and any other family of my own I might one day have, the easiest thing to do to achieve it would be to get a solid, stable job. And giving up on art as a possible career was the easiest way to achieve it.’

If Penny’s confused as to why I’m telling her my life story when I know she was only asking about Rory, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she listens intently, her expression thoughtful as she considers everything I’ve said so far. ‘And have those decisions made you happy?’

‘I think so,’ I say, which from Penny’s frown makes me think lacks the conviction she’d like. ‘I definitely have less worries than my parents did, and they’re better off now too, so that’s surely a good thing.’

Penny tilts her head, mulling over my answer as I wait for what she’ll say next. Whatever knowledge she might impart when she speaks. When she does open her mouth, it’s to tell me a story of her own.

‘I haven’t told you before, but I have an older brother, Charles. We were like two peas in a pod growing up,’ she chuckles. ‘Every weekend we would sneak off to the park together and run around the grass kicking an old, half-deflated football. One day on the way there, we stopped off at a shop and Charlie counted out all his pocket money. His trouser pockets were full of 20p coins he’d collected, and I wondered what he’d spend it on. Sweets? Chocolate? But when he came out of the shop, he wasn’t carrying either of those things. He was carrying a brand-new ball.

‘I asked him, “Why do you need a new ball, Charlie?” and he said, “Because if I’m going to be a footballer, I need to practise with a real ball.”’

I take in each bit of information she shares, adding them to the picture I already have of her. I still have no idea where she’s going with this, but I resist the urge to rush her.

‘But Dad wasn’t pleased about that. “What about the family company?” he said when we arrived back home and Charlie announced his plans. Who would take over when Dad retired if not Charles? Back then, I didn’t have a dream yet, and I didn’t want Charlie to have to give up his, so I said I’d do it, and it was sorted.’