by Isla Gordon
The sun was fully up over the mountains now, making the snow glitter and the sky a bright glacial blue. Clean, cool air kissed the tip of her nose as she made her way carefully down the hill. She’d never seen so much snow. It seemed even bigger, even thicker and even whiter than she’d appreciated last night, with huge piles of it forming walls around the pathways, and weighing down the branches of the trees.
The chalets they passed revealed their pretty details in the morning light – exteriors made of chocolate- or amber-coloured wood, window shutters painted in greens and reds, balconies with delicate carvings and long, sturdy icicles that draped themselves from corners or dangled from awnings.
Some properties had lazy smoke circling out through chimneys, and soft lighting behind curtains, suggesting she and her puppy weren’t the only souls in the village after all. The quiet hotels and closed restaurants had well-maintained foot walks leading to the front doors, with densely packed snow on their paths; they looked close to opening for the season.
Bear was bouncing and sniffing and pronking next to her, taking bites out of the snowdrifts and holding his tongue under dripping icicles, so Alice tentatively let him off the lead. He scampered in zigzags in front of her, never straying far, but desperate to smell and taste everything in this new place.
‘Don’t run off, okay? I’m trusting you to stay nearby. And don’t run into anyone’s house. And don’t eat yellow snow.’
They walked on, retracing her steps from last night, only this time she became aware of all these details she hadn’t noticed about the village – a big ice rink to her right, a cute café to her left, a funicular railway, the tracks posture-perfect up against the mountain. Chairlifts and cables stood still and quiet, enjoying their rest before the tourists arrived.
‘Oh look, Bear!’ As they rounded the corner, Alice spotted the open doors and bright lights of a Coop supermarket beckoning.
This time, Bear was happy to be tied outside, so long as he could sit right in the doorway of the store facing outwards, sniffing the air, toes wiggling in the snow and beaming up at the sunshine and blue sky.
Full, narrow aisles with overflowing baskets of produce and racks of unfamiliar food tempted Alice with every step. She followed the sweet smell of baked goods until she found what she was looking for and stocked up on mini loaves and sugary pastries. She then backtracked and loaded her basket with fruits and vegetables, finally found the milk and then stood staring at the entire wall of sausages and cold meat, wondering where the bacon was.
‘Bacon . . . bacon . . . bacon . . . ’ Alice mumbled, searching past packets of cured hams and ginormous bratwurst. She picked up a small packet of pancetta and was about to put that in her basket when a woman in ski boots, with a pink nose and ski poles under her arm, tapped her on the shoulder.
‘Bacon?’ she asked with a grin and an accent.
‘Yes,’ replied Alice, unsure what the question was that was being asked.
The lady shifted the poles to her other arm and rummaged between the packets of meat until she produced what looked like a larger pack of what Alice was already holding, and thrust it towards her. She tapped the chilled rashers and smiled. ‘Bacon.’
‘Thank you,’ said Alice, warmed by this kindness. ‘Thank you so much.’
The woman grinned and walked off, her ski boots clump-clump-clumping and a loaf of brioche swinging from her gloved hand. Alice weaved her way to the cash register, grabbing en route a bag of Ovomaltine powder and a big orange-packaged bag of Ovomaltine biscuits to try. As she paid she watched the bacon woman exit the store, give Bear a passing pat on the head, and then click her skis back on her feet and take off down the hill, bread bag flying on the breeze behind her. What a way to commute.
Alice took a satisfied breath. She could see herself living here. Right now she felt very happy-comfy.
Later that morning, the two of them were ensconced back in the chalet, with Alice pottering around unpacking her belongings. She’d made a record-time zip back to the car after dumping her shopping, praying the whole way down the mountain and back up again that Bear wouldn’t be destroying Vanessa’s beautiful Alpine home. ‘My’ home? She tested out the thought.
When she’d returned, pink-cheeked from the cold air combined with sweat from walking hastily up the hill with lots of bags and a big snow jacket on, she laughed out loud to see Bear hadn’t budged an inch, and remained in a peaceful slumber beside the large window in the living room.
He had raised his head when she came in, got up, shook himself out and pottered over to stick his head in one of the bags, just in case food was hiding in there.
Now she was in the guest room – her room – surveying her ‘warm clothes’ spread out on the floor. She said to Bear, ‘I’m going to have to go shopping soon. A few jumpers and leggings from H&M really aren’t going to hold out for a full winter wonderland.’
Bear wandered over to her, grabbed a sock in his mouth again and bounced out of the room before she could stop him.
Shopping was low on the priority list. Vanessa had insisted she make this place feel like home, and Alice’s heart longed for a place to at least imagine as her own. She would start with the guest bedroom.
It was already a travel-brochure dream, decorated in amber woodwork, pastel linens and cosy homeware. But Alice took a particular shine to the window seat. It was small and you had to sit in it with your knees bent, but because of the slope of the hill below the chalet, if felt like you were looking out atop the world. She ran her fingers over the wood and pictured the addition of some fairy lights, some warm socks, a book, a mug of tea and her dog beside her, and this little nook would feel like a cave – a place where she could keep an eye on the world but feel enclosed, and safe.
So that was the plan for that little space. Now to spread herself around the chalet a bit more.
Alice carried her laptop, books and art materials downstairs, and put them carefully onto a spare shelf in the living room. She was hardly likely to feel inspired to draw an amusing feminist cartoon while she was in Switzerland, but maybe she’d have a go at a snowy scene or something, for a change.
‘Look how Instagramable this place is,’ she said to Bear as he chewed her sock and watched her make a coffee. ‘I mean the view, of course, but all the wood panelling on the walls, the blankets, the snow piling on the balcony. It would be a very hygge post.’
Alice hadn’t touched social media since the concert, almost three months earlier. Maybe she should just check in. But as she opened her phone and navigated to the various sites, a sense of foreboding trickled over her. She was about to jump back down a rabbit hole that felt at odds with her serene surroundings, and a warning bell went off. Nope, this was a new beginning – she wanted to forget all about the real world while she was out here.
So instead, Alice took a quick photo of her mug of coffee resting on the ledge of the balcony, the mountains in the background and, ignoring all other notifications, posted the photo to Instagram and asked the app to sync it to her Facebook and Twitter accounts too. ‘Taking time out,’ her caption read. ‘See you on the other side.’
No hashtags. She didn’t want to be ‘found’.
The sun was lowering in the sky when Alice got back from taking Bear on his afternoon walk through the deep snow. He was becoming quite the pro now, still lifting his legs as high as he could with each step, but moving with a happy, confident lack of gracefulness that was causing Alice’s phone to overheat from taking too many photos.
Back at the chalet, peeling off her wet gloves and woollen hat, she noticed the temperature inside wasn’t about to help her dry out. ‘Brr, it’s cold in here, isn’t it?’ she said to Bear, who had realised his nose was all wet from the snow and was rubbing it on the rug in front of the unlit wood burner.
Without taking off any more layers, Alice flicked the kettle on and leafed through Vanessa’s house instructions for details on the heating. They were minimal, to say the least: ‘If you get cold, p
ut on the wood burner. Logs outside. Matches in kitchen drawer.’
She’d never felt so London.
‘Okay, well, I’m in charge so I need to keep us from getting pneumonia. Wait here,’ she told Bear. ‘I’m going outside to get firewood.’
The gloves went back on, and back out into the snow she went. She trudged almost the entire circumference of the house, falling twice into the sloping snowdrift, before coming back around to a tiny shed that was almost like a small outside loo. Maybe it had been once, the door was old and creaking enough on its hinges. Inside was an axe and some thick chunks of tree trunk.
With a sigh, and an image of a nice brandy by a warm fire concentrated in her mind, she picked up the axe and rolled one of the sections of wood outside, hoping a few minutes in the snow wouldn’t be enough to dampen it.
Alice bent at the knees to pick up the axe and twinged at the heaviness, the movement sending a small shockwave of pain down the length of her scar. Through gritted teeth she swung it hard.
Boof. The axe nestled into the wood like a knife on an avocado stone. She was going to need to try a little harder.
Thud. Her second try took all her strength and yet still the axe head was only half submerged.
Alice struggled until it became free again and felt her frustration building. Ignoring the pain in her leg she put her whole back into it, and . . .
Crack. Ish. A section the size of a rib-eye steak broke off and Alice grabbed it out of the snow. It was a start.
She chipped away at the wood, feeling it in her leg the whole time, but whereas the scar usually made her feel weak, out here in nature, chopping wood to keep her and her boy warm, she felt like it was a battle wound, a reminder that she was a warrior and was living for both herself and her best friend. She had some of the power back.
With about half of the lump of wood in jagged kindling, Alice knew she needed a couple of big logs if she wanted the wood burner to last more than half an hour. So with her biggest swing yet, she brought the axe down with a strength she didn’t know she had, a roar emitting from her throat, and she fell forwards as the blade plunged into the wood. Her scar landed hard in the snow, her hands stinging inside her gloves from the hot weight meeting the cold impact. She fought to catch her breath, but when she looked up to see a split through the centre of the wood, needing only a wiggled release of the blade to break it in half, she grinned.
Alice walked back into the cabin with a well-needed dose of confident swagger, and when she’d lit that damned wood burner – which really wasn’t difficult, she’d done the hard part – she poured herself that much-anticipated brandy.
Chapter 22
It was Monday when Alice and Bear had arrived in Switzerland, and by Friday she was feeling as self-sufficient as Leonardo DiCaprio in The Revenant. Chopping wood, building fires, taking heavy-booted walks in the snow to get food . . . well, that was probably where the similarity ended, but even so, she was feeling very at one with nature. Very few people talked to her, because very few people were really around, and those who did were kind and polite and then rushed on with their own business of readying their village for the winter season. She wasn’t having to answer to anybody or field difficult questions. She didn’t need to keep the curtains closed because there were no longer tall, windowed buildings opposite looking into hers. She had space.
Bear was happy. He liked the wide rooms and cool flooring that Vanessa’s home offered, and he liked exploring the snowdrifts and wood piles for new, outdoorsy smells and tastes.
Alice’s nook in her room was complete. She’d found a small box of clear fairy lights at the Coop and strung them around the window pane. She’d also bought a soft fleece blanket for herself, and a stack of second-hand books that had sat on a wire trolley in the corner of the store asking for charity donations. They were a lovely mix of escapist fiction, with battered covers and yellowed pages. They were perfect.
By early evening her stomach growled and she couldn’t stop thinking about sausages. On her way back from the Coop earlier she’d passed an inn, not far from her chalet, with all the lights on and someone hanging Christmas decorations in the window. The Eiger Guesthouse, nestled under the wing of the Hotel Eiger, was calling her.
Alice gathered herself up, popped on Bear’s collar and picked a book from her new bookshelf. ‘I bet you think I can’t read, because I’ve never picked up a book in front of you,’ she said to Bear, who stood by the door, ready to go anywhere she was willing to take him. ‘But before you came along I was quite a bookworm.’ Well, not before him but before . . . it. She hadn’t picked up a novel for ages. She held up the book and studied the cover, which displayed a man and woman with big eighties hair, embracing in a way that looked like her neck and back might snap in half. ‘Okay, we’ll start with this one. Come on.’
Down from her chalet, and round the corner, the Eiger Guesthouse seemed to be welcoming them in from the cold with a soft glow, a cleared pathway and candles alight on every table behind the window. Alice pulled open the heavy door and peered inside, hoping that they had at least one table in a dog-friendly zone.
A woman rushed by, the same woman who had been putting the Christmas decorations in the window earlier, and came to a skidding halt at the sight of Alice and Bear. ‘Come in, come in!’ she cried. Bear took no encouraging and pulled Alice into the warmth of the pub. Wooden panelling lined the interior, with red-cushioned benches facing little individual tables. The walls were brimming with old black and white photos of people skiing and sledding, and James Bond movie posters. On the bar was a basket with packets of crisps and mini Toblerones to purchase. As well as candles, each table boasted a bottle of the ‘wine of the week’, just there to tempt you, and on the windowsills behind were big glass jars filled with corks.
While the woman, clearly the Eiger Guesthouse’s manager, snuggled with Bear, who was up on his hind legs with his paws on her shoulders, she simultaneously called instructions in Swiss German to the various waiters and bar staff about the two tables being occupied. ‘Okay. My name is Ema. Are you ready for some food?’ she asked Alice all of a sudden, like an old friend.
‘I really am, yes please,’ Alice replied.
She was led to a table by the window, and the next-door table was pushed aside to make room for Bear’s bulk. She was given a menu and a biscuit for her dog, and then Ema had zoomed away again.
Alice took a moment to turn and look out of the window behind her. Snow had gathered around the edge of the glass and the snowflake lights she’d seen on her first night were sparkling above. She was very cosy indeed.
‘What would you like to drink?’ asked Ema, reappearing.
‘Oh um,’ Alice opened the menu and flicked the pages quickly. ‘I think . . . a beer. Yes, just a light beer of some kind.’
Ema flicked the page for her to the appropriate place. ‘A blonde beer?’
‘Okay.’
‘You want small or large?’
‘Large,’ Alice found herself saying, suddenly craving some gulps of cold bubbles.
‘Good girl!’ Ema cried and disappeared again, calling her order to the barman, who moments later walked over with a large glass beer tankard with a handle, and the brand ‘Cardinal Blonde’ emblazoned on the side.
Alice felt like a regular, even on her first night here. There was something so safe and so immediately welcoming about the Guesthouse, but also about Mürren that . . . now it may have been the sweet, bubbly beer she was gulping talking . . . but she had an overwhelming feeling of homeliness. Being here was like a hug for her soul.
Alice ordered a second beer, much to the manager’s delight, and the ‘Oberland Rosti’, a local speciality. What came was an iron skillet filled with a huge boomerang of sausage smothered in thick onion gravy, and a buttery pile of rosti potato with a hint of rosemary.
Bear rested his chin on the table until she cut him a piece of the bratwurst. Then, once he’d sunk to the floor and stretched his big legs out for a cosy sn
ooze, she picked up her book.
Alice had barely read two lines when she looked up again at the dog.
‘Are we happy here, Bear?’
He opened his eyes and beamed at her, his tail starting to wag against the table leg because she was looking at him.
She smiled and went back to page one. It was nice to have a friend.
The following afternoon, Alice was reading her book, Bear slept on her feet, and the only sound in the world was the soft crackle from the fireplace. The book was actually rather good, lots of sexy bits and also a very intriguing story about a doctor who was secretly a duchess but her devious colleague found out and was trying to steal her priceless ruby. Sex kept getting in the way, like it does.
But outside this fantasy land, even before she could hear a thing, Bear became alert to a distant sound. He raised his head, eyes trained on the door. Then he raised himself further, propped up on one elbow like he was Lionel Richie shooting an album cover.
‘You okay, hun?’ Alice asked, putting down the book.
Bear glanced at her and whined, unsure why his peace was being disturbed.
Finally Alice heard some voices, laughing, moving closer towards the chalet. She stroked Bear’s head. ‘Hey, it’s okay, it just means we might be getting some neighbours. We’re not living in a zombie apocalypse after all. Maybe the ski season is starting – Bear!’
He’d jumped up and was facing the door, growling a low rumble, a sound akin to distant thunder.
The voices got closer and Alice’s heart quickened as they came right up to the door. Bear let out a deep woof, on red alert. He stood between Alice and the entrance and woofed again, and again, shoulders hunched and ears forward, and even though she still thought of him as a puppy – at six months old with slightly-too-long back legs that he hadn’t grown into yet – looking at him now she realised he was probably the size of a fully grown ‘normal’ dog. He looked quite tough.