Fraser Mountain - Living the snow life

Chapter Fourteen

‘I spent hours on getting it just right.’ He moans, giving her an evil stare.

She ignores him. ‘First game of the season. It’s going to be a corker!’

‘How’ve you been?’ I ask. ‘Haven’t seen you for a while?’

‘Christ, it’s been mental. Loads to do at work with all the new guests. Rick had to go out and chop down a load more Christmas trees because Evil Traci wants a tree in every room, if you can believe that. I tried to tell her about global warming, but she looked at me like I was crazy. What a SkiTours guest wants, they get.’ She gives me a mock salute.

‘I guess with Christmas and the mountain about to open, it’s a busy time?’

‘And then some. But I probably shouldn’t start slagging off the boss too loudly, seeing as she’s sitting just behind us.’ She jerks her thumb backwards as I peer over my shoulder and spot an older woman with a very frizzy perm wearing a SkiTours fleece. I’m guessing that’s the infamous Evil Traci.

‘I hope there are lots of fights.’ Dan grins wickedly, rubbing his palms together.

‘Fights?’ I ask.

‘You’ll see…’ he smirks, taking a sip of his beer.

Emily excuses herself to go to the bar so I look around the rink, watching the Zamboni as it meticulously smooths down the ice. The sound of the commentator on the loudspeaker makes me jump, before two doors at the far end of the ice open to reveal the players, hurriedly skating out onto the rink.

‘Shit, some of those guys are massive!’ Dan exclaims. ‘I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near a puck with them on the loose.’

I nod mutely, mesmerised while I watch the players zoom past. They line up and remove their helmets before everyone in the arena gets up from their seats as they start playing the Canadian national anthem. I don’t know all the words so I find myself mumbling along to the music along with everyone else on our row. Emily comes back and squeezes along, trying not to spill beer everywhere while a few of the locals tut loudly. They’re very patriotic around here, judging by the straight backs and removal of hats, caps and helmets. She hands me a large plastic pint glass full of lager as the music comes to an end, completely unfazed by the chilly atmosphere around us that has nothing to do with the ice.

‘Thanks. You didn’t need to get me a beer.’ I whisper, sitting down. ‘Maybe you should’ve waited for the national anthem to finish. Some of the locals don’t look too happy.’

‘Sorry, Mom.’ She shrugs, rolling her eyes.

‘Well, thanks for the beer anyway.’

She smiles sweetly. ‘No biggie.’

I can’t figure her out at all.

I take a sip of my beer and my eyes find Rick, No. 89.He looks sombre and moody, fidgeting on the ice in the bulky body armour and padding, which make him look bigger than I remember. My attention is drawn to one of the players on the opposing team with his back to us. Standing straight and proud, his tall frame makes him seem gigantic in comparison to his shorter team-mates. His jersey has ‘Irving .73’ written in white letters on the back. I can’t place why the name seems familiar to me, but the whistle blows and the crowd start yelling and clapping so I concentrate on the ice instead. The atmosphere is great and before registering that the puck is even in play, I yelp as two bodies smash against the glass in front of us with a large thud.

‘Any closer and you’ll be sitting on my lap.’ Dan smiles, putting an arm around me and giving me a reassuring squeeze before he goes back to his beer.