There’s no shame in recognizing you may not be cut out for the challenge. Lee’s words echoed in her mind.
Erica gritted her teeth. After everything that had happened in the past few months there was no way she was going to let this dog beat her. Erica pulled Kriger between her legs and squeezed her knees against his firm, panting body. ‘I’m the boss, OK?’
Henry was right. She didn’t like dogs, or cold, but she was here now and there was no way she was going to let one fur ball on legs get the better of her.
‘All right, group B,’ Lee hollered over the sudden onslaught of renewed barking. ‘Group A will go first today, and we’ll follow on. Remember to keep your gang lines taut. There are some downhill stints today. When you see the line slacken, tap your foot on the brake until it pulls tight again. On uphill runs you’ll need to run or walk in between the runners and push the sled, helping the dogs carry the weight of it up the hill, but there won’t be much of that today. This is just a practice run. Any problems or if you want to stop, raise one hand in the air. And remember – don’t let go of your sled.’
Erica’s eyes dropped to the black pedal-like brake sitting in between the two runners – strips of narrow wood stretching the length of the sled. A raised wooden platform connected the runners at the front where their tent, sleeping bag, food, and other equipment were secured by a red canvas. In order to use the brake, Erica would have to lift a foot from the runner and press it against the black pedal, something that seemed impossible without toppling the sled or falling off, and she wasn’t even moving yet.
‘Are you all right with all this?’ Erica called to Molly.
If Erica had been hoping for some sisterly support – a don’t worry I’m nervous too look, she didn’t get it. Instead Molly rolled her eyes and said nothing. A moment later Erica watched as Molly lifted the snow hook – a metal anchor holding the dogs and the sled in place – from the ground and pulled away behind Rachel and the rest of the group already moving ahead.
‘Hike,’ Molly shouted, using one of the three musher commands Valek had given them in the briefing. ‘Hike’ for go (not ‘mush’, as Erica had previously thought); ‘easy’ for slow down, and ‘whoa’ to stop.
Erica glanced at Lee, waiting on his sled to her left. He gave her a nod of encouragement. Erica swallowed hard and wriggled the hook free from the snow. The sled jerked forward from the power of the six dogs, almost sending her toppling backwards.
‘Hike,’ she called out, the word lost under Kriger’s flurry of barks. Kriger’s command seemed to have a better effect on the dogs as a moment later the pack fell into a rhythmic run behind Molly, leaving Erica to cling to the handles tight enough to make her fingers ache.
Don’t let go, Lee had said a hundred times. As if she would ever do that.
The snow beneath the runners felt as smooth as silk and in no time at all Huskyleir was a distant speck behind them. Grey cloud hung low in the sky, covering the landscape in a damp mist. Snow, the purest white, blanketed the ground, stretching across a flat white land of bushy green fir trees that looked to Erica like naked Christmas trees, waiting to be draped with fairy lights and gold and red baubles.
Erica focused her eyes on the back of Molly’s jacket, hoping Kriger and the other dogs would do the rest.
‘It’s not like we know each other.’ Molly’s biting words drifted through Erica’s thoughts again.
The last year had gone – poof – in a heartbeat – and they had barely spoken. She’d tried to keep in touch with Molly – firing off a quick text or email as she’d grabbed lunch at her desk; balancing the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she’d changed Isla’s nappy or stacked the sterilizer, leaving rambling voicemails about everything and nothing, asking Molly to come down for a visit and meet her niece followed by cocktails in Covent Garden like they’d done on Molly’s twenty-first.
Molly had never ignored her calls before, even when she’d been in the midst of training for the next race Molly had always found the time to chat to Erica.
At least she’d had an excuse back then, Erica thought. Now what was Molly doing with her time? Nothing as far as Erica could tell. Molly didn’t compete any more and didn’t spend hours every day training.
Frustration tightened its hold on Erica. What gave Molly the right to cut her out without so much as an explanation? She couldn’t even be bothered to send them a new baby card, let alone visit her newborn niece. Molly thought she had the monopoly on grief, but she didn’t. Not by a long shot.
Erica got it, she really did. Molly was grieving – they all were – but Erica had had Henry’s rock-like support, pulling her through the overwhelming sadness, and then Isla had been born a month later and the flood of love Erica felt for Isla eased the pain of Billy’s death. Erica had still cried: big fat tears dripping onto Isla’s newborn head, but with Isla in her arms something inside of Erica had healed, and Molly hadn’t had that.
Another pounding of guilt hit Erica’s stomach. Running had been everything to Molly, and she’d given it up just like that. Why?
The answer was obvious – Billy.
Molly was wrong. They did know each other. Erica knew Molly needed her, the same way she knew by the pitch of Isla’s cries if her daughter was hungry or tired. Erica knew Molly needed her because Erica needed Molly. They’d already lost a brother; they couldn’t lose each other too.
Molly
Blood surged through Molly’s veins. She could hear the thrum of her heart in her ears and feel each cold breath of air being pulled into her lungs. Her mind was focused on everything around her and nothing at all as they glided over the snow. Even with the dark goggles covering her eyes, Molly could still feel the sting of brightness from the white snow that stretched out in every direction.
Her gaze was fixed on the six huskies running flat out on the line in front of her. Their legs moving in perfect harmony, kicking up the occasional spray of snow with their back legs as they strained in their harnesses, tugging the gang line. Every so often Molly lifted her right foot from the sled and touched the brake pedal, tightening the line and keeping a careful distance from Rachel’s sled in front.
Adrenaline pinged like a pinball, knocking against her insides and unleashing bursts of exhilaration that pulled her lips into a smile. She twisted around and glanced back at Erica. Even with the hat pulled low, the black goggles, and neck warmer covering every part of her face, Molly could tell by Erica’s hunched shoulders and rigid arms that she wasn’t enjoying herself.
Molly lifted her hand in a wave, her smile widening inside her neck warmer as Erica shook her head a fraction. Even without seeing her face, Molly knew what she was thinking: Are you crazy? Turn around and hold on. Molly kept her hand in the air for a moment longer, enough to feel a lightness descend over her body. She laughed, inside at first, but then the feeling travelled up and outwards too; her breath hot against the insulated fleece material covering her mouth.
The first twenty minutes after leaving Huskyleir had been daunting – downright scary in fact. From the first ‘hike’, the huskies pulling Molly’s sled had one speed – flat out. It felt as though they’d been going a hundred miles an hour at least, although Molly guessed now that it was closer to ten.
It was only after they were shooting through woodland in one long snaking line, with large fir tree trunks looming out at them that Molly had realized that she didn’t know how to steer. Had she been so busy fuming at Erica for convincing her to come, or sending hateful glares to Rachel, that she had missed the part of the briefing where Lee or Valek had covered steering? Molly didn’t think so, but surely it was something