Chalet Girls

by Lorraine Wilson

  Luc guides me by the elbow across Vex‘s main square to the Café du Place. It‘s a gesture he means to be comforting but it makes me jittery. His awareness I‘m struggling only highlights my awkwardness and makes the painful emotions harder to suppress.

  Today was going to be difficult enough already, but now I have more than one minefield to navigate.

  ‘Sophie, ma chère.’ Thérèse, my future mother in law, greets me with an enthusiastic double kiss as soon as we‘ve pushed our way through the café‘s heavy swing doors.

  ‘Bonjour.’ I attempt my ‚everything‘s just fabulous‘ smile, but my face feels tight and strange.

  It‘s only as I lean in to kiss Luc‘s dad that I see Thérèse is wearing a similar strained smile.

  Oh crap.

  We‘re all pretending, but we need the pretence, the familiar greeting rituals and fetching of drinks. Without this social framework we couldn‘t contain our feelings and today we need to.

  The worried glance Luc shoots his mother and the brief swimming sadness in her eyes put all our less tangible problems into context.

  Her eyes clear and she replaces her fake, bright smile for her husband, Olivier‘s, benefit but the slip tells me we‘re about to get more bad news.

  I slip my hand into Luc‘s and squeeze. I don‘t want to ask the question but not to ask would be horribly rude.

  ‘How did it go at the hospital?’ I revert to English. This is too important to trust to my imperfect French.

  Working at the bar hasn‘t exactly expanded my medical vocabulary. For the millionth time since I moved to Verbier I wish they‘d taught us useful French vocabulary at school. I remember being made to debate environmental issues for my oral exam. Nothing prepared me for when my car broke down in the middle of nowhere at three am and the mechanic I finally spoke to had no English. Beyond saying ‚ma voiture est en panné‘ I was totally lost. And I’ve never once debated environmental issues since I came here. More importantly I’m not sure I know the French phrases for triple bypass or likely prognosis either. I must get Luc to teach me some useful phrases when we get time.

  ‘It wasn’t good news.’ Thérèse answers slowly and doesn‘t meet my eye.

  ‘What did they say?’ A muscle twitches in Luc‘s jaw.

  ‘The doctors have said your father needs to take things much easier if we don‘t want another, more serious heart attack.’ Thérèse sits back down next to her husband, eyes glistening. Her pose has an unnatural stiffness to it.

  The dark shadows beneath her eyes make me wonder if she‘s shielding us from worse news. I have the feeling she‘s protecting us from the details. So she‘s protecting us and we‘re protecting her.

  ‘I can help out more,’ Luc offers straight away. I glance at him. We both know that won‘t be easy to manage.

  ‘That would help, thank you, son. You know how your mother worries.’ Olivier pats Thérèse on the arm, decades of affectionate ease and banter in the gesture.

  Now I know it‘s serious. All previous offers of help over the years have had to hurdle almost endless barriers of resistance and pride. Immediate capitulation is unheard of. This is very bad. The knowledge sends a chill down my spine.

  ‘We should talk about happier things,’ Thérèse declares, blinking hard and getting to her feet again. ‘I need to check if the duck is ready, but when Paul and Marie get here we should talk about your wedding. I know you haven‘t set a date yet. I was thinking perhaps we ought to set a date for early Spring?

  The glimmer of entreaty in her expression twists something in my chest. It‘s a conspiracy. If I didn‘t know for certain they‘ve never met I‘d swear Thérèse is in cahoots with Mum.

  ‘Let‘s talk about it later.’ I force a smile and ignore the growing tightness in my chest.

  When she‘s out of the room I turn to face Luc and see my alarm about Olivier is mirrored in his eyes. I lace my fingers through his again and squeeze, holding on tight. I love Luc more than I ever knew it was possible to love someone. I want to marry him more than anything, but how on earth am I going to plan a wedding that will keep everyone happy? My chest feels tight, like I can‘t take a deep breath.

  ‘How are your parents, Sophie? Are they well?’ Olivier asks, his French accent far thicker than his wife‘s and the words more halting. I know he‘d be insulted if I turned the conversation back to French. He says he likes practising his English with me.

  ‘They‘re both okay, thank you.’ I shove Mum‘s emails to the back of my mind, but it‘s like trying to stuff an armful of ping-pong balls into an already-full cupboard. They bounce back, refusing to stay put. ‘Have you ever been to England?’

  Luc and Olivier both laugh, as though I‘ve asked if he‘s travelled to the moon.

  ‘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.

  Chapter 6

  From: debbie.johnson@gmail.com

  To: beth.chapman@yahoo.com

  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: beth.chapman@yahoo.com

  To: debbie.johnson@gmail.com

  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 warm and totally waterproof. I think I‘ll just stay here until I‘ve recovered from the bruising to my pride and my bottom.

  ‘Don‘t worry about it, it‘s only your first lesson after all.’ Lucy parks her skis in the snow and sits down next to me. ‘I learnt when I was a little girl in the Highlands. Trust me, it‘s much easier to learn as a kid because you‘re not so afraid of falling. Plus a child‘s centre of gravity is much lower anyway, so they‘re less likely to fall in the first place.’

  As if to prove her point, a crocodile line of tiny tots makes their way down the nursery slope, zigzagging with perfect control. The two female instructors with them wave at Lucy and she waves back.

  ‘Oh God, that‘s embarrassing.’ I sink my head into my hands.

  ‘It‘s because they‘re not afraid,’ Lucy explains. ‘They have no problem with shifting their weight to the front. You keep leaning back because you‘re afraid of falling forward. Which is why …’

  ‘I keep ending up on my bottom,’ I interrupt, groaning. ‘I‘m going to be sore tomorrow.’

  ‘That‘s a given.’ She shrugs. ‘It‘ll be better when you get over your fear.’

  Easier said than done. That might be difficult, given fear is my default setting.

  ‘Shall we call it a day?’ I unclip my skis. I‘ve had quite enough of falling over for one day. ‘I‘m sure you‘d rather be off skiing some black run or doing death-defying leaps at the snow park. I‘ve taken up more than enough of your time.’

  ‘Not at all, but it might be an idea to stop there for today.’ She checks her phone. ‘I think I’ll head to the snow park, if you‘re sure you don‘t mind.’

  ‘Of course not,’ I reply hurriedly before she can change her mind. ‘Thanks, Lucy, I appreciate you giving up your spare time to teach me.’

  ‘No problem.’ She smiles as she snaps her skis back on. ‘I expect to see you here the same time tomorrow. No excuses.’

  I groan.

  ‘You‘ll thank me one day.’ Lucy laughs and heads off at a speed that terrifies me.

  It looks as if she plans to get me skiing if it kills her. Or me, which is much more likely. I make my way to the nearest cantine for a restorative hot chocolate and realise I haven‘t thought about anything unpleasant for the past hour other than staying upright and remembering Lucy‘s instructions. Maybe I will keep up the lessons after all.

  The cantine isn‘t too crowded and I find a small table tucked away from the main terrace where I can sip my hot chocolate in peace. I‘m already a bit in love with the snowy mountain peaks, fresh alpine air and warm winter sun. This certainly beats a London winter. I‘d thought the others were having me on when they‘d talked about sunbathing on the slopes but I‘m far too hot in my ski jacket so I slip it off and drape it over the back of the chair.

  I open up the kindle app on my phone and am about to start reading my book when a familiar voice carries across the terrace and interrupts my concentration.

  ‘There are plenty of chalet-girl slags around here to choose from. In all the time I‘ve been here I‘ve never had to sleep with the same girl twice.’

  I peek around the corner and then duck back, heart pounding. It‘s Thomas. How did I miss that arrogant tone to his voice when I first met him? I suppose he hid it along with his other less-appealing characteristics, beneath a charming veneer. The confidence I once admired now seems brash and tarnished.

  What was I thinking?

  I shudder and hunch down into my seat, my previous good mood evaporating on the chill air.

  ‘What about that redhead you picked up at the party on Saturday?’ Another guy I don‘t know asks.

  I stiffen, the air sucked out of my chest.

  ‘Her? She was a frigid cow.’ Thomas dismisses me in six words.

  Six words.

  I could think of six hundred to describe what an utter tosspot he is. I start practising in my head. I should walk out there now. Make a scathing comment about his dire foreplay skills. I should say he never sleeps with any woman twice because I can‘t imagine anyone who‘s done it with him would ever want to repeat the experience. But, much as I want to my body is frozen to the chair, utter
ly incapable of movement. The rage that gave me strength to defend myself is absent now. It‘s best not to engage with him in any way. My teeth are clenched tightly together and the scathing retorts stay trapped in my head.

  I‘m frozen rigid.

  It‘s just like that time when …

  Why does my body do this? It shuts down. I check out. Like I‘m no longer present in the situation. Eva did try to explain that freezing is a perfectly natural response to trauma. They even call it ‘freeze’. Freeze and dissociation. I suppose it makes a change from the usual hyper-vigilance.

  Despite the sun, I‘m cold and shivering.

  ‚He‘ said I was frigid too.

  I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, as Eva taught me. In and out. In and out. At this precise moment all I need is oxygen. All I have to do is breathe, and anyone can breathe.

  Next I concentrate on the warmth of the mug in my hands, trying to bring myself back to here, to now. Dissociation might be a coping mechanism. But knowing why I act the way I do doesn‘t always help.

  I still can‘t manage raising the mug to my lips to drink. There‘s no way I could swallow. For twenty-four hours after I was raped I sat on the kitchen floor, immobile and wanting my mum. But even if she had still been alive, I don‘t know if she could‘ve given me what I wanted.

  When Eva came round and rescued me, persuading me to go to the police, staying with me and then taking me into her home, I couldn‘t eat, just drinking was hard enough. At first it was because my throat was sore, but after that my body simply refused. Instead of forcing me, she made smoothies and protein shakes and lots of creamy hot chocolate … I felt no need, no hunger. Eva wouldn‘t let Debbie or Mark comment on the untouched food on my plate. We all pretended it was perfectly normal. Mark never stopped trying to tempt me with chocolate, though. I think that‘s when my crush started. My belief I could survive alone had been dealt a shattering death blow and I was ready to cling to the first potential knight in shining armour to come my way.