I forced a smile. I didn’t want to harass Angie any more than necessary, but I was also beginning to experience nauseous waves and my head was all over the place. Like my life. The thought invaded my head. No. Stop it! I speedily corrected my brain. Only positive thoughts allowed. That was the promise, the condition, and exactly why the girls had made such an effort; why they had abandoned their husbands and families for the remainder of Christmas and the New Year. They wanted to ensure I escaped my grief, my job redundancy – that had been a big shock so soon after Mike’s death too – and that I would be facing my future alone.
I lifted the corners of my mouth. ‘We’re going to have a blast,’ I said. ‘We’ll soon lose our fear, especially once we have some alcohol inside us.’
Angie turned her head round to look at us. ‘That’s probably my worst fear. Please don’t overdo it. It won’t be so bad on the nursery slopes, but you’ll have to limit your alcohol when we go on the runs. I don’t want any of you stuffed in a bag and lifted off the mountain, nor ski-doodled off.’
I had no idea what ski-doodled was but … ‘We won’t,’ I squealed, leaning forward in panic and silently urging her to watch the road. The car swung ninety degrees again and somehow my abdomen clambered to catch up. I made the mistake of looking down outside the window. There was barely twenty inches between me and sudden death. We must have been at, I guessed, about two thousand feet up with a sheer drop. I quickly looked up, focusing ahead, attempting to blot out the possible grave scenarios filling my imagination. The car turned again, and instead I was met with steep rock faces reinforced with humungous bolts and draped with relatively skimpy netting. My mind got to work again, fearing gigantic boulders crashing into the car roof.
‘Shall we play I-Spy?’ I asked, desperate for distraction.
‘You can try.’ Angie sniggered as we were suddenly submerged into darkness. We all vanished, and I felt relief wash through me. I could do dark. At least we were safe in a tunnel.
‘Oh, we won’t then,’ I added stupidly.
‘We must be nearly there by now.’ Cathy stated what we were all thinking.
Angie swiped her brow. ‘I think we’ll see the village at the other end. I don’t pay too much attention when I’m in the passenger seat.’
I felt a stab of guilt thinking of poor Angie having to drive us all and listening to our constant gasps and gripes. This was probably a first for her – driving up without Rob and the boys. Ever since their eldest was twelve and had skied with the school, Angie and Rob had taken all three boys on their annual trip to the Alps or Dolomites. They went with a large group stemming from that first school trip. I’d been quite envious but in a different way than Mike had. I’d never had the teeniest inclination to ski, but there was a lovely camaraderie among them, as a family. They all loved it. I figured this trip must be quite daunting for Angie, leading us up instead of Rob leading her.
As we neared the arc of light ahead and felt the anticipation of arrival, my muscles untied themselves and I let my head roll back. I hadn’t felt as tense or as wretched since that day almost two years ago when the consultant oncologist sat in front of Mike and I had confirmed Mike was already in stage four of his cancer. Although the tests and waiting were physically draining, mentally, that day, a switch came on, powering my brain with a huge surge of strength. Instantly, I became wired to fight, to stay upbeat. I was going to shore up every bone, every muscle, every cell in his body to keep Mike alive. That was my coping mechanism. To stay strong for him, to research everything about his condition, nourish him with the right foods and attitude, seek out that miracle cure – mend him. Even Will, our medical expert, couldn’t do that, however much he tried.
I don’t think I’m bitter anymore. I was. Not towards Mike, but the situation. My life for thirty months involved never tiring or wavering but taking time off work to be around during and after the op, nursing, battling the brunt of his anger and bitterness, sitting beside him throughout long hours of chemo, the sickness, the loss of appetite, the hair loss and exhaustion of his once strong body as his immune system weakened. Then the radiotherapy and change of chemo drugs because the first weren’t ever going to cure him, just prolong his life, his suffering.
‘No more,’ he’d said, when the next round of chemo was offered. I remember it well. It was the middle of August, a warm, muggy day that was more overcast than sunny. ‘Sorry, love. I really am, but I can’t do this anymore.’ He could have hit me with a cricket bat and I wouldn’t have felt it as much. There was one thing Mike wasn’t and that was a pessimist. It was why I was with him in the first place.
Feeling hot with all the twisting and turning of the car. I picked up my water bottle and took a large swig. We’d be there soon.
I switched my mind back to Mike, to the fonder days of our youth. I could picture him now, caramel hair on a side parting, blond hairs on his warm cheeks, eyes that would eat you up. Apparently, he’d seen me before we first met at the school end-of-term disco. He told me he’d watched me play netball at a rally in our nearest town and fell in love with my peachy-skinned face and long blonde pigtails and made up his mind I was one day going to be his wife.
So confident I would be at that disco, he had it all planned. Soon after I arrived with my friends at he approached the DJ, gave him a list of slow songs to play: ‘The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face’, Roberta Flack; ‘Got to Be There’, Michael Jackson; ‘Have You Seen Her’, The Chi-lites; ‘Without You’, Neilson; ‘Let’s Stay Together’, Al Green – that was how optimistic he was. And how could a girl resist? Michael Watts was striking. This tall, athletic, blond boy leading me, plain little Virginia Matthews, to the dance floor, never to let go, until that day.
I so missed that crypto-energy he supplied. Sadly, I believed we both switched off that muggy August day. Forced to finally face reality. All that was left was to slowly watch the light in his eyes fade along with the breath from his lungs. That was a year ago this week, and the day I found out he had a secret.
‘Hurrah,’ Angie yelped as she steered the last of the less threatening bends and a cluster of chalets appeared. Beside the road, I read the sign. ‘Bienvenue La Tzoumaz.’
Kim
Seeing Ginny’s name light up on my phone had momentarily jarred me as it had often done of late, since I’d been party to the unwelcome information. There’s nothing worse than having to swallow something unsavoury and not being able to handle it. I read the text. Mission control. I liked that. Ginny was right. This would be our headquarters for the next seven days. Aw, and sweet – a subtle reminder to get in the wine. At least Ginny was in good humour. She’d had a tough few years and deserved some serious fun. After some hectic months nursing at the Midland General in Perth, and trying to deal with the issue concerning Ginny, I was seriously in need of fun too and looking forward to seeing and sharing the experience as well as spending time with my old buddies.
The restaurant terrace was filled with skiers. The welcoming smell of Savoyard cheeses filled my nostrils, making my tummy rumble as the memory of the mini cheese fondue I ate last night enthused my taste buds. I’d skipped breakfast after gorging on so many delicious dishes in the hotel restaurant. ‘You taste,’ the Italian had urged, and had sent out relentless small plates containing cooked meats, pasta, fried aubergines, curried cabbage, shellfish and finally the one course I’d requested, a flavoursome Savoyard fondue. The perfect mountain food as far as I was concerned. My guilty pleasure. Warm, rich and indulgent.
I ignored a whiff of diesel fumes and even the view for a while. I took a sip of my wine and leant back on the chair to let the midday sun wash over my skin. I closed my eyes. Sleep was tempting but I was too excited. Nervous too. I mean, whilst I couldn’t wait to see my friends again, meeting Ginny face-to-face,