by JJ Marsh
Clark said nothing until we had crested the slope and taken another bend. “Yeah, I was crazy in love with my straight flatmate. What a loser, right? The thing is, my feelings had been there all along, I guess. Montreux was the one time, just one, when I thought he might feel the same way. We got drunk, high and screwed each other senseless after that Morissette gig. Next morning, he wanted to forget it ever happened. In a way, so did I. To have a taste of what might have been and for him to reject the idea out of hand completely crushed me. He broke my heart and the shagathon that resulted over the next few months was all his fault.”
We didn’t speak for a few minutes, both thinking back to those days we had believed were halcyon.
“I sort of suspected you had stronger feelings for him,” I ventured. “Why tell me? Why now? I’m guessing no one else knows what happened at the jazz festival?”
“Unless Dhan told anyone, and I think that’s unlikely … what the fuck!”
We rounded a sharp corner and something huge and dark came barrelling out of the forest directly towards us. I couldn’t even make out what it was, but it looked like a giant snowball stuffed with branches, leaves and earth. In the second before we collided, both my feet hit the floor as I slammed on the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel to the right. The tail of the vehicle skidded left and hit something which bounced off the bodywork with a bone-shaking thud. We came to a halt in a snow drift, the headlights smothered by snow.
“Are you OK?” I asked, my voice shaky.
Clark released a long breath. “Just about. Are you?”
“Think so. But whatever that was is definitely not OK.”
I put on the hazard flashers. Clark tried to open his door but it was wedged hard against a wall of snow. With a curse I reversed and, thanks to the winter tyres, got some kind of traction. We were back on the road. I looked in the mirror, peering into the glow offered by my reversing lights but could see no sign of life. Clark dug around in the glove compartment. He found a torch and first-aid kit. We got out and scrambled to help the person or animal we had hit. I ran back to the point of impact where you could see the tyre marks of the skid and detritus of leaves, twigs and snow. On the right-hand side of the road, where we had ended up, there was a tall snowdrift over a metre high. On the left, trees hung over the road and a low bank led into the forest. We paced up and down, shining a torch along the clean white snow that lined both sides of the country road. No injured body, no footprints, no bloodstains and no sign that someone had been there. Clark walked back around the corner to see if the victim had gone the way we came but returned minutes later shaking his head.
“We should call the police,” I said. Leaves above our heads fluttered and several splats of snow landed at our feet.
Clark pulled out his phone. “What do I say?” he asked.
“Just tell them what happened. We hit someone or something but we can’t find them. I have no idea if they are badly hurt or even dead. The point is, where did they go?”
“Damn it all to hell and back, there’s no signal. Does the chalet have a phone?”
“I don’t know. But we can’t just leave the scene! For one thing, how do we find this place again?”
“Gael, standing here is gonna achieve jack shit. Let’s leave a marker so we know where it happened, then get back to the chalet and call the police. The hire car is bound to have one of those emergency triangles. Let’s put it here so we mark the location. Come on, I’m freezing my balls off.”
We did as Clark suggested and placed the emergency triangle on the side of the road. With one last look in the mirror, I drove us away, fear and cold making me shiver.
When we arrived at the chalet, the other three came rushing out to greet us. They hadn’t received our message and were worried sick about where we were. Clark assured everyone he was fine and told them briefly what had happened on the road. Mika donned his coat to check the car for damage, something that hadn’t occurred to me. A rental firm penalty was another turd to add to the pile of crap served up on the last day of this decade.
As the driver, I chose to make the phone call. The police officer I reached listened with some interest as I described events and attempted a rough estimation of where the incident had happened. She told me they would send a car to look at the area and would continue on to take a statement from us.
My shakes had increased to the point where I was almost spasming. Lovisa placed a woollen throw over my shoulders and Simone handed me a glass of brandy. It knocked against my teeth as I tried to drink it. Lovisa stoked the fire while Simone poured Clark another brandy. Then they bookended us, one either end of the sofa, their arms gentle around our backs.
We sat there, going over what happened and coming up with explanation after explanation, none of which was rational. The person or animal wasn’t hurt and ran into the forest. Except there were no footprints. The person or animal wasn’t hurt and ran back down the road to the village. Except we were at least five kilometres from the village, it was freezing and dark. The person or animal was slightly concussed and ran ahead of us to hide in the forest while we were stuck in the snowdrift. Why would anyone or anything do that?
Mika came in, still holding the car keys. “Not a scratch. You know, it might have been a large snow dump, falling from the trees, and it just felt like a collision. Is that possible?”
“No,” Clark barked. “Something was moving at speed out of the forest. It was travelling left to right on a horizontal plane. You don’t see snow dumps coming. We both saw it and Gael did an emergency brake which landed us halfway into a snowdrift. We hit something. This was not a goddamned snowfall.”
I looked up at Clark, whose face was grey. “If you hadn’t been there, I would think I’d imagined the whole thing.” I registered the glass of brandy. “Are you OK? Should you be drinking when taking super-strength painkillers?”
“I wonder if either of us should be drinking, as the police might want to breathalyse the pair of us. Still, too late now. If it’s booze or painkillers, then I’ve made my choice.” He emptied his glass in two swallows. “Right, this is getting us nowhere. We’ve reported the incident and that’s all we can do. You know what? I’m hungry. We’ll have to interrupt our celebrations to talk to the police, but we don’t have to drop our plans altogether. Mika, you want to get the shopping from the car? It’s getting late and if we want to eat before midnight, we should start cooking now.”
Subdued and thoughtful, we made our way to the kitchen. Only then did I notice Lovisa’s hand in a clean white bandage.
“Not you as well?” I said. “What did you do?”
She shot a quick look at Simone. “Oh, it’s just a little cut.”
Simone gave me an apologetic smile. “The champagne you put outside. We found it when we got back from the slopes and brought it indoors. The problem was, the bottle had frozen and exploded. Lovisa cut herself when we were clearing up. I expect you thought you would be back much earlier. Déjà vu, hein?”
I watched Simone chopping onions and Lovisa washing a bunch of coriander with her un-bandaged hand. The front door slammed and Mika joined us with two paper bags of shopping, followed by Clark with the car keys.
“But I didn’t,” I said. “I didn’t put any champagne outside.”
Lovisa shrugged. “Don’t worry, Gael. You had a stressful day and probably forgot all about it. No one blames you.”
I stared at their backs, both busy and efficient and my incompetence already forgiven.
“No, I didn’t forget. Lovisa, Simone, listen to me. I did not put any champagne outside. If there was a bottle outside the chalet when you returned from skiing, someone else put it there. I’m not trying to evade responsibility, but I swear to you, the last thing on my mind this morning was chilling some champagne. I finished breakfast, had a shower, helped Clark out of his ski gear, changed the bloody flat tyre and drove us to town. It never occurred to me to put a bottle of champagne outside in the snow.”
; A silent conversation was taking place between Mika, Simon and Lovisa. Eventually, Mika spoke. “It wasn’t in the snow. It was on the windowsill, just like before.”
Everyone froze.
“Wait!” I said. “Which window?”
“The kitchen window,” said Lovisa.
I turned to look at Clark, making a face of incredulity.
“What? You think I did it? Standing there with a dislocated shoulder, watching you change a tyre to get me to a doctor and the first thought that occurs is to chill some champagne?”
“No! That’s exactly what I mean. When I finished changing the tyre, I looked at the kitchen window to call you to come out to the car.” I closed my eyes, bringing the scene to life behind my eyes. “I was looking right at the kitchen window. I saw your face. I gave you the thumbs up. There was no bottle of champagne on the windowsill; I would stake my life on that.”
Clark nodded slowly. “You’re right.”
When weird shit happened – something freaked us out, upset us or reminded us of something we’d rather forget – it was always Lovisa who found the comforting words. This evening, she said nothing.
Eventually, Simone cleared her voice. “Well, in that case, it’s obvious what happened. The owner or concierge or manager of this place came up here to check everything was all right. He brought us a bottle of champagne as a New Year’s gift. He rang the doorbell but no one answered. We were skiing and you two had gone down to see a doctor. He assumed we’d be back soon and left the champagne on the windowsill so that we would see it on our return. It’s just a nasty coincidence that the same thing happened twenty years ago.”
Her calm voice had the same effect as the brandy, warming, reassuring and shining a bright morning light on my night-time fears. We all agreed with her rational analysis and set to work chopping, frying, grilling, basting and boiling. Working one-handed, Clark was of limited assistance, so he suggested making us all an aperitif, an idea which pleased everyone. We gave him our orders and conversation warmed as the heat of the kitchen created condensation on the windows. I went into the living room to set the dinner table and met Mika coming through the front door with a basket of logs. He gave me a tight smile.
“You do believe me, right?” I asked. “I didn’t even go outside the front door until we left for town. Simone is right. It was just a nasty coincidence.”
“I believe you. And I’m sure Simone is right. It is just a nasty coincidence. Made even nastier by the fact that champagne was exactly the same brand as the one that exploded in 1999.”
Chapter 20: Clark, now
The whole damn thing was getting under my skin. We should have quit this bullshit ten years ago, if not earlier. What did we really have in common? We spent three years together in the late nineties, that’s all. Time to let it all go.
Sure, the chalet was cute. Those ski-in, ski-out places are hard to come by and we had plenty of space to ourselves. But from the minute I arrived, something was wrong. I don’t go in for all that aura, sixth sense, esoteric thinking about my subconscious, because mostly that’s just a place to dump all the crap you can’t deal with. There was something about that chalet, though. From the minute I arrived, my guts told me to get away as soon as I could.
The build-up started before I even got there. Buying all those Indian ingredients brought back memories I’d rather forget. If they were set on spending December 31 every two years in mourning, I’m out. Time to move on and interact with one another as forty-plus adults, not grieving twenty-year-olds. It gets old. Really old, really boring.
When I arrived, Gael began by telling me off and Simone was wearing a French maid pinny. Plus ça change. They made fondue, exactly the light, refreshing kind of meal you want to enjoy the night before New Year’s Eve excesses. Worst of all, the so-called random music player selected Alanis Morissette every third track. I swear I’m not exaggerating. To me, it felt like a sign. It’s over. This would be the last time. We should let it go and get ourselves a life.
The next morning, I was in a better temper, looking forward to some quality skiing and getting out into the Alpine sunshine. The weather was beautiful and the views the kind that physically restored you. Gael stayed behind while the four of us got into our kit, picked what we wanted from the chalet’s selection of snowboards, sleds and skis for the different shoe sizes, then struck out across brilliant white snow. It was cold, maybe minus 5° or so, but sunny and clear. I took great lungfuls of pristine, oxygen rich air and remembered how much I loved this country.
We tried a couple of simple runs to get warmed up and it all came back. I hadn’t been skiing for two years. Jen felt the same way Cass had about winter sports so my wife and I holidayed in the Caribbean and Morocco instead. I loved the sun but even if I hadn’t managed to persuade my first or second wife to join me, I would always love the snow.
Now the muscle memory was kicking in and the pure joy of mastering the elements elated me more than any drug I have ever consumed. Mika and I chose a run with a higher level of challenge. A slalom course. A couple of jumps. A steep descent towards a tree line. My blood was pumping and I could not wait to get started.
We took the ski lift to the top and I went first. There was something about the combination of exhilaration and concentration, body and mind working in partnership, which transcends similar experiences. I knew that when I reached the bottom I would be punching the air and desperate to do it all over again.
That lasted until the first jump. The sun was bright but I had my ski goggles, so vision was not a problem. As I approached the jump, light reflecting from somewhere on the right blinded me for a second. I tilted my head, my attention on the approaching jump, but the light flashed again, flickering across my vision. At that speed, I could do nothing to mitigate its effects and simply trusted my body to judge the leap. The moment my skis left the platform, I was off balance. Sailing through the air for three weightless seconds, my skis hit the ground, skewed right and my left shoulder took the impact.
Mika saw my fall and skied directly down to help me. A steward helped us off the run and made a cursory assessment of my injury. No more skiing that day, she said, and medical attention was urgently required. Mika offered to come back with me but I insisted he continue. All I wanted was a hot shower and some relief for my shoulder. I didn’t mention the blinding light. Every skier who falls has an excuse. In retrospect, I wish I had not been such an alpha male and said something at the time.
When we got back to the chalet, my relief to see Gael was still there nearly provoked uncontrolled sobs. I showered in the vain hope that would improve the pain. It didn’t so I returned to my room to dress. The room was exactly as I left it, clothes scattered over every surface and the faint smell of fondue in the air. Except for the picture. All over the chalet, there were woodcut prints and pencil sketches and local landscapes. The styles varied but the colours did not. Everything was monochrome. When I had arrived, I noted the pictures in my room and admired the subtle pencil work delineating Alpine roofs. Authentic and local. I approved of both.
One-handed, I pulled on clean underpants and managed to wriggle into my jeans. When I looked up, the pencil sketch on the wall above my bed had been replaced. Instead, there was a printout of a newspaper article. The picture showed a cloud of smoke billowing across the lake.
I recognised it immediately. The fire at the casino in Montreux. The event that inspired Deep Purple’s ‘Smoke on the Water’. I grabbed the rest of my clothes and shot out of that room, heart thudding, shoulder throbbing, desperate to get away from that place and never come back.
Chapter 21: Simone, now
Sometimes a revelation comes to you in one big flash. Other times, lots of random little details add up to a sum which is more than its parts. While Mika, Lovisa and I stayed in the kitchen to keep an eye on the food, Gael and Clark spoke to the police. We couldn’t hear anything because we had closed the door. Nevertheless, none of us said a word. Lovisa moved between hob and th
e oven, checking every dish. Mika placed a large wooden tray on the kitchen table and quietly assembled all the cutlery, serving dishes and plates. I am sure somewhere in her luggage, Lovisa had table decorations, personalised name plates and other baubles, but that kind of frippery was long forgotten tonight.
I sat at the table studying my fingernails and thinking. Random little details. I focused my mind and concentrated on the number of things that made me feel uncomfortable. There was no point in voicing my fears to the others, at least not yet. They would label me a drama queen, trying to pull the spotlight onto myself. I had to think this through with a rational mind.
When the taxi dropped me here yesterday afternoon, it was snowing. The driver helped me to the porch with my luggage. I paid him the fare and a decent tip because my bags were heavy, naturally. He asked if he should wait until I was inside, but I told him not to bother. There were fresh footprints around the side of the house, so someone had already arrived. I knocked on the door, watching the tail-lights of the taxi drive away. When no one answered I assumed they must have gone exploring, and used the code Gael had sent us to open the little key safe. Sure enough, the key was there and I let myself in.
I checked the chalet for signs of life and found none. No suitcases, no territorial marks claiming a bedroom, nothing. I chose a room I liked and began unpacking. I sent messages to Lovisa and Gael regarding their ETA, but got no reply. Then I carried two bags of groceries downstairs to the kitchen. Outside, the snow had stopped but the light was fading, so I switched on some music and started to bake Gael’s favourite, mince pies.
I was trying to work out the cooker when my eyes refocused. In the reflection of the glass oven, I saw a figure at the window, wearing a hood. My breath caught involuntarily and I whipped around. The others refer to me as a drama queen, but I live alone and do not spook easily. The view from the window showed nothing but snow-covered slopes. I was certainly not stupid enough to open the front door and check for footprints, but I did switch on the outside lights. If anyone was hanging about, they would be brightly illuminated. Back in the kitchen, I set the oven to 200°C and beat an egg to glaze my pies. When the others eventually arrived half an hour later, I was so relieved to see them I forgot to check the path around the house.