‘My parents rarely leave Valais. Isn‘t that right, Dad?’
‘Why leave the most beautiful country in the world?’ Olivier shrugs. ‘I don‘t like cities either. I went to Geneva once but my heart is here in Valais.’
‘You didn‘t like Geneva?’ I ask.
‘No. Too many cars and too many people. The mountains are in my blood, in my heart.’ He puts a liver-spotted hand to his chest.
I bite my lip, trying not to think about how long that heart has left to beat. It‘s casting a second shadow over us, I can see it in Luc‘s eyes too. Only Olivier seems defiant in its presence.
The need to fill the silence presses in on me. ‘You know the part of England I come from is called the Lake District? I think you‘d like it. We have mountains too, just not as big as the Alps.’
Olivier shrugs. ‘I am sure I would, cherie. Maybe if I were twenty years younger perhaps I could go and see … But I won‘t be travelling anywhere now. And I don‘t need to. I have everything and everyone I love right here.’
I blink hard and Olivier reaches over to take my free hand, squeezing it and smiling kindly at me. ‘Don‘t look so sad, Sophie. I‘ve had a good life and I‘m glad I‘ve lived to see Luc find a girl as lovely as you.’
There‘s a lump in my throat that won‘t go away. I wish I‘d had longer to get to know Olivier. I wish I had a tenth of his courage. I wish a lot of things.
I stare down at the table. I feel as though I‘ve been slapped in the face by death. I‘ve been brought up short for daring to live as though it didn‘t exist.
‘Papa,’ Luc protests. ‘You still have plenty more life to come and doctors can work wonders these days.’
‘Luc, you need to face it, my travelling days are over.’ The answer is gentle and resigned. Olivier‘s eyes shine with love tinged by pain and I have to look away again, my emotions are struggling to break through, but I can‘t be the one to crack when everyone else is being so stoical.
Luc tenses beside me and his lips compress into a hard line. I know he‘s not ready to accept this. He wants to fight it. I understand the feeling but instead of anger I feel a terrifying powerlessness. We‘ve been dealt one piece of bad news after another recently and this feels like one hard thing too much to bear.
‘Travelling? Who‘s travelling?’ Thérèse comes back into the room, forehead creased.
‘No one‘s going anywhere, Maman,’ Luc reassures her. ‘We were just talking about England, saying you‘d like the Lake District, the region Sophie comes from in England.’
‘It‘s a shame we‘ll never get to see it,’ she tuts. ‘But the doctors would never allow your father to travel now. Also we wouldn‘t get travel insurance with his heart condition and our age.’
Thérèse drops into her seat only to rise a second later when the café‘s swing doors open.
‘Paul, Marie! Bienvenue.’
I join Thérèse at the door and go to kiss Luc’s cousin and his wife. Then I force myself to drop down to greet their two-year-old daughter Hélène.
‘Bonjour, ma petite.’ I stroke the toddler’s cheek and smile up at Marie. ‘Hélène is walking so well now.’
Hopefully I manage the exchange without too much emotional leakage. It‘s so hard to be around babies and small children at the minute. It doesn‘t help that Hélène is one of the cutest – all curls, dimples and giggles.
How do I keep a lid on the pain when a musical giggle or cheeky smile can wrench it wide open at any time and with no warning?
‘Bonjour, Sophie. Ça va?’ Marie crouches down next to me to unzip Hélène‘s coat and pull off her pink snow boots.
‘Oui.’ I nod and try to up the wattage of my smile. ‘She‘s grown so much since I last saw her.’
Marie smiles that proud, contented-mother smile that has the same effect on me as salt on a red-raw wound. It excludes me and makes me feel less, somehow. Faulty and unwomanly.
Unfulfilled.
I glance at Marie. Has Luc’s mum has told her I’m infertile? I wish Luc and I hadn’t agreed not to tell his parents about our adoption application problems. He doesn’t want to worry them, which I get but … not talking about the thing tearing me apart isolates me even more. Like I’m trapped in a glass dome but forced to smile and pretend nothing’s wrong.
I could think about the other elephant in the room, the one trumpeting loudly for my attention. How do I tell Mum she has to ditch all her plans, that the wedding has to be in Switzerland? She’ll understand with Luc’s dad not being well, won’t she?
Maybe if I open with that news, she’ll suggest looking for Swiss venues herself? It’s the wimpy way to do it, I know, but I can’t face a big row. Not after the week Luc and I have had. I can’t take the backlash of another emotional onslaught, not now.
I sit back down next to Luc and slip my hand into his as we wait for his mum to bring out her renowned confit of duck. She’s a superb cook and it’s one of my favourite dishes, but right now I’m not sure I’ll be able to swallow anything. My chest feels too tight and my body too full of emotion to leave any room for food.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Blind Date
I don‘t care what you say, you‘ve got to be having more fun than me at the moment. So, as you replied to me I‘ll tell you how my date went. As soon as I got there he started showing me photos on his phone. Not willy shots like that other creep but photos of before, after and DURING his recent plastic surgery.
Can you imagine?
I think I should avoid internet dates and focus on work for a while. The men I find on the internet all seem to be either married or weird. Or both.
I‘ve decided to actively not date in the hope the right man will come and find me. I figure I‘ve tried everything else, so why not try not trying?
Did you hook up with someone at that party you went to? I can‘t believe you‘re partying in Verbier, you lucky cow :-)
Now I‘m not dating I expect to live vicariously through you, so you have to stay in touch and give me all the goss.
Love,
Debbie
From: [email protected]
Subject: Blind Date
Your date sounds awful. I think you‘ve got the right idea staying clear of Internet dating for a while.
I won‘t lie, the party at the chalet I went to was very glam, but I‘ve not got much to report. Most of the men I‘m meeting are ski instructors who aren‘t into anything long term or married men looking for a quick fumble behind their wives‘ backs!
So, it looks like it might be harder than I thought to meet someone.
I‘ve got a skiing lesson tomorrow btw, wish me luck :-)
Love from
Beth
xx
BETH
So it turns out I‘m a rubbish skier.
‘I‘m sorry, Lucy, I‘m wasting your time.’ I decide not to get up out of the snowdrift I just landed in. My salopettes are surprisingly