He moved over to his desk, which was strewn with ski gear. He gathered up his pants, jacket, helmet, goggles and gloves, then carried them over to me.
‘If you win that race I expect half the credit,’ he said as he dumped the gear into my arms.
‘You’re the best,’ I replied, and hurried back to my room.
21
Charlie was a bit taller than me, but his gear fitted surprisingly well. Once the helmet was on, along with the goggles and a conveniently high neck-warmer, there was really no way to tell it was me. My face was totally concealed and I was just about tall enough to pass as an adult.
The disguise, of course, would mean nothing the moment my name was announced, but it would save me from being confronted by either Adele or Juliet before the race. As for after? With no chance of winning, I’d be hitting the lift and escaping to the Gallagher so fast that I wouldn’t have to worry about that until at least tonight.
Despite my precautions, I couldn’t help feeling nervous as I made my way down the hall towards the stairs. Customers and staff members I knew passed me but didn’t so much as nod in my direction. My confidence grew. I was unrecognisable. In Charlie’s gear, I might as well have been a different person. The kind of person who could be in control. And maybe not humiliate himself in a race.
I almost froze as I walked down the stairs and Robbie glanced up, but her eyes were back on her computer so quickly that it was obvious she had no idea it was me. I almost stopped to ask her why she wasn’t coming to the race, but then it wasn’t like I’d given her any reason to. I marched right out the front door.
At the sunlit slopes, I kicked on my skis then slid down to the lift. The race was taking place on a run called Basic, which jutted off the side of the main central run. Contrary to the name, it was fairly long and twisty, which made it a good fit for a race. I’d also practised a fair amount on it, working to get below an already impressive three minutes.
I tried to remind myself of that as I skied over to the top of the run and saw the large multicoloured marquee and the crowds that fringed either side of the slope all the way to the bottom. At least a hundred skiers and boarders milled around the marquee.
I checked my watch: 12:30. Right on time, with a good hour of waiting.
I skied into the marquee and glanced towards a large whiteboard that held the times of each race. As I did, someone caught my eye. Standing at the back of a line of female snowboarders, looking around, was Adele. Her helmet was under her arm so there was no mistaking her. Or how intent her expression was as she scanned the crowd.
Despite there being no chance of her recognising my gear, I looked away and started to shuffle towards the far end of the tent.
An announcement rang across the slope. ‘And first in the under-sixteen female snowboarders, we have …’
Who was next, after Adele’s group? I chanced a look back at the board just as someone grabbed my arm.
‘Are you Josh Troy?’ snapped the woman I recognised from the qualifiers. ‘The under-thirty male skiers is on in half an hour and Josh Troy hasn’t bloody turned up. Yes or no, are you him?’
I looked back towards Adele. Her eyes were still moving over the crowd. I looked at the whiteboard.
12:30 – Under-Sixteen Female Snowboarders
1:00 – Under-Thirty Male Skiers
1:30 – Under-Sixteen Male Skiers
I looked back at the woman. ‘Yes.’
Before I could ask myself what the hell had come over me, she had guided me towards a clump of towering male skiers.
What had I done? Why had I said yes? I looked around. These were adult skiers. I was barely okay by adolescent standards. And if I competed with these guys I would lose my own slot and …
… and Adele and Juliet would have no idea where to look for me.
Announcements were ringing out every few seconds as one boarder after another went down the run. I tried not to look. I didn’t want to give myself away by being too interested in Adele’s result. But, a voice in my head snarled, that was as far from my real problem as it was possible to get.
I didn’t care about winning or doing well. I never had. And if I screwed it up … well, wasn’t it better if I didn’t do it as me? If nobody knew it was stupid Nelson they were laughing at?
What would Hannibal do?
He would pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. He would carry off an amazing con that left everyone asking what had just happened and marvelling at his twisted brilliance.
I looked down at Charlie’s gear. In that moment, I wasn’t Nelson. I was Josh Troy, whoever the hell he was. It didn’t matter any more whether I succeeded or failed. There was no pressure from my family or the staff or Adele or Juliet. I could do this race without anybody caring whether I won or lost, then I could ski away at the end with nobody the wiser.
The under-sixteen female snowboarders race was done. Winners were being announced. Screens either side of the slope showed them mounting the podium, but I didn’t look.
My hands tightened around my poles.
I could do this.
The winners had left the podium. The screen showed only snow and three free platforms, ready to be claimed.
The next race was called. We got into a line.
The first name was read out and he skied ahead.
A loud beep and he was off.
At the back of my head a tiny voice of reason demanded that I stop before it was too late. But I ignored it. I was sick of worrying about consequences. I was sick of worrying about being judged just for having a go at something. I felt weirdly free under this borrowed gear, as this stolen identity. For just a few minutes I existed outside of the tangled mess I’d gotten myself into.
There were two skiers ahead of me in the line. Then one. Then I was standing alone at the front of the marquee, between two flags. The lines of spectators fringing the run veered off in either direction, among them Juliet, my parents, and more.
For the first time, as I stared down the barrel of the race, I didn’t feel scared.
The beep sounded.
I kicked off.
Hayley had been right: after so many contenders, the snow wasn’t predictable. Some parts were so compacted they might as well have been ice. Other times it was fluffy and slowed me down. I ignored all that. The snow was incidental; I just had to work around it.
I kept my eyes on the markers, getting as close to them as I could, then turning sharply. Every time fear crept in I kicked it away.
I’m not Nelson. I’m Josh. It doesn’t matter.
Turn. Turn. Turn. Swerve.
And then the second marquee was looming up and a second, louder beep sounded and that was it. Cheering and applause and the race was done.
Breathing heavily, I turned to look up the slope. The next skier was on his way. Josh Troy had already vanished into the busy list of contenders. Something tight and tangled in my chest let go.
I’d done the Whittaker. Nobody had laughed at me. Adele and Juliet hadn’t caught me. It was over.
The last skier in the under-thirty male division hit the bottom. A hush fell over the slope. An official person in a high-vis vest gestured to us to move under the marquee.
An announcer climbed onto a small, raised stage near the podium, backed by trees and the blue sky beyond. He cleared his throat as he looked over a sheet of paper in front of him, then raised a microphone.
‘Third in the male under-thirty division – Josh Troy!’
It took me several seconds to realise the announcement was real. And several more to realise the cheering was for me.
Hands beckoned me towards the podium. Uncertain, I moved out from under the marquee. I looked up at the spectators on either side of the run. They were all clapping and whooping and gesturing for me to get up onto the lowest of the three podiums.
The lowest, sure. But one of the three.
I stepped up, and looked back at my gathered rivals.
First and second places were announced
, and they got up onto the podium too. Their helmets were under their arms, their grins huge as they waved to the crowd.
I stared at the medal being offered to me for a few moments before I took it. I didn’t remove my helmet. I just waved.
Then: ‘Take off your helmet.’
The voice was familiar.
I looked towards it and saw Adele, a gold medal around her neck, move out from the marquee, her eyes on me.
‘Go on, Josh,’ she said, voice quivering. ‘Take it off.’
I didn’t.
A low murmur started in the crowd.
‘Nothing to be ashamed of, mate,’ the gold medallist muttered next to me. ‘It’s what they want.’
I shook my head.
‘What are you scared of?’ Adele asked. ‘Come on.’
I looked towards the crowd. Somewhere in there, Juliet was watching.
I reached up and pulled off my helmet, and tugged down my neck-warmer. I could see the screen projecting my face.
The clapping and cheering stopped. For a terrible moment, there was silence as they all took me in. And realised I was very far from being an adult.
Then, like the buzzing of a million angry bees, the muttering started.
22
It can be very easy – too easy – to justify something to yourself. You tweak all your reasoning until it seems rock solid. You have an answer to anything anyone can ask and you’re as sure of yourself as you can ever be.
But all of that can fall apart pretty quickly with the right questions.
‘What the hell were you thinking?’
‘Where’s the real Josh?’
‘You understand you’re too young to enter the under-thirty division?’
‘You can’t have that medal.’
‘Disqualified.’
The words piled on but I didn’t really take any of them in. I was trying to find Adele in the mass of people around me. The unmasking had brought a mob down on me within seconds as the person who had called me out quickly disappeared into it, nowhere to be seen.
For my part, I didn’t say much. There wasn’t really any defence or good reason for how I’d acted – unless someone wanted to listen to a very long story involving trying to be like a fictional cannibal and a unique interpretation of the word ‘thinking’.
There seemed to be a bunch of uncertainty over whether what I had done was considered cheating. After all, I had entered a division higher than my own and done alright. Most race officials seemed to think I was just a show-off, which couldn’t be further from the truth. But I didn’t see much point in justifying myself, so I hadn’t. I just nodded and apologised, and finally, as the day got late and the last races took place, I was allowed to make my lonely way to the lift without a medal or a place in the ranks.
Was I proud of what I had pulled off? Maybe I would have been if I wasn’t partly sure it had been a fluke brought about by very particular circumstances. Beyond that, it didn’t feel like it counted for much. Whenever I eventually went back to the Gallagher, Adele and Juliet wouldn’t be greeting me with any pride or excitement.
So I stayed out on the slopes. I ignored the occasional buzz of my phone in my pocket and skied each run several times, until the deep blue sky turned pale and the runs started to empty, and even then I kept going until I was directed by a ski instructor to head back towards the village.
I took as much time as I could. The setting sun brought the snow here and on the surrounding mountains to brilliant life, splashing fire all around me. The sky was alight with pinks and oranges, but I didn’t find it especially beautiful. It was just like everything was burning down around me.
It was well past sunset by the time I stopped on the slope across from the Gal. I kicked my skis off and looked at the old building. I had no idea what was waiting for me.
But now the snow was turning silver beneath the pitch-black sky, so I made my way inside. One of the new girls was in reception, so I just gave her a smile and a nod as I dropped off my skis and returned to the main staircase. I paused there. I wasn’t looking forward to facing my parents. Or anyone for that matter. But short of spending a night out in the snow, I didn’t have much choice.
The moment I hit the landing outside the restaurant, hands grabbed me and I was pulled into a bustling mass of chattering people.
‘He’s here!’ Charlie yelled, near enough shaking me. ‘Wearing my bloody gear!’
A cheer went up and suddenly I was mobbed by people. Most of them smelled of beer and sweat, and all of them either wanted to get a photo or ask how I’d done it. I was so dazed that I could barely think of a decent answer.
‘Came third in the goddamn adult division!’
‘Snuck in like a spy or something.’
‘Our own Nel from the Gallagher. Wait until we tell the pricks at Schulz about this.’
I smiled and nodded and tried to look happy. I even managed to turn down a couple of swaying old Germans offering me wine.
I had just locked my focus onto the exit door when Dad stepped in front of me.
‘Nelson,’ he said.
I froze.
‘Nelson.’
I looked at him.
The thin line of his mouth twitched into a smile. ‘The adult division,’ he said. ‘Third in the adult division.’
‘It was an accident.’
‘Coming that close to winning isn’t an accident.’ He squeezed my shoulder, hard enough to make me wince. ‘I knew you had it in you. I knew it.’
I smiled, muttered something, and hurried for the door.
Outside the restaurant, I stopped and closed my eyes. I felt flushed and confused. I was getting a lot of praise for doing something at best stupid, at worst, wrong.
I needed air. I went back down the stairs. There was no-one in the foyer. I walked out to the front of the Gal. Snow was falling, gently drifting down around me. I could see the distant lights of the village, the gleaming expanse of the main run and …
… and the single bench that sat at the edge of it. The bench that was currently occupied by two people.
I took a deep breath, hoped my death would be a quick one, and walked over to them.
Juliet didn’t look at me.
Adele did, and she seemed on the verge of tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘What for?’ Juliet asked.
‘You … you know what for …’
Juliet leaned back and looked up at me with a horrible half smile. ‘I don’t, Nelson. You’d better explain it. And don’t conveniently leave anything out this time, yeah?’
Adele said nothing but still didn’t take her eyes from me. Her gaze wasn’t accusing, just sad. That was the worst part.
‘You can’t blame Adele,’ I said to Juliet.
Her laugh was loud. ‘In what world would I blame Adele? She made the exact same mistake I did. She thought the guy she’d met up here was halfway decent. Thought he wasn’t like all the other jerks back home. Wondered if maybe …’
She stopped and looked away, breathing heavily. Now she seemed just as much on the verge of tears as Adele was.
That acid guilt that had prickled at the edge of my thoughts and feelings for weeks now washed over me as I looked at those two girls and knew with terrible clarity just how badly I’d hurt them.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said again.
‘Yeah, well, that’s not worth a lot right now,’ Juliet said. ‘I guess it’s true what they say about guys. They’re always trying to get what they want and don’t care who it’s from or who they hurt.’ She shook her head. The tears were coming now. ‘Why, Nelson? Did you get bored waiting around? Or did you think you’d try to get with both of us so you could brag to all your creep buddies back in town?’
I laughed.
‘I’m glad you think it’s funny,’ Adele said.
‘I don’t have any buddies,’ I said. ‘I mean, I have one, but he moved away and I never hear from him. I spend my time at school hiding in the libr
ary, trying to pretend I’m okay with being alone. I watch horror movies instead of hanging out with mates, because, again, I don’t have any. And I’ve never had a girl so much as look at me. Never, before you.’
My hands tightened into fists. No more running.
‘Juliet, I like you,’ I said. ‘Like, really. In a way I’ve never liked anyone. And Adele, you’re so nice and cool and you’re into all the same stuff as me, but it’s … it’s Juliet. It always was. I didn’t know how to tell you the truth because I didn’t want to hurt you. I never meant to lie to either of you, I promise.’ I looked away. ‘I’m really, really sorry.’
Neither of them spoke.
Juliet stood. She seemed to be considering me, thinking of what to say.
‘The problem with you promising anything is that we have no reason to believe you,’ she said.
‘Please. I meant it. Every word. I never lied to you.’
‘Technically, no. But you know what? If you really feel that way about me, then what you left out is worse than any lie.’
With that she was gone, walking past me back towards the Gal.
I looked at Adele, who had also stood.
I went to speak, but she shook her head and walked after Juliet.
I didn’t follow them, or even watch them go. I just stood there, feeling the wind pick up and the snow swirling around me, and wished I could be transported back to a moment before any of this had happened.
I don’t know how long I stood there. I don’t know why I didn’t move, or what was going through my head.
Actually, that was a lie. What was going through my head was a succession of angry swearwords directed at myself. And beyond that, a sense of deep, crushing hopelessness.
There was no angle from which this wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t blame Adele or Juliet. I couldn’t blame Matt for his bad advice, or Robbie for not doing more to push me onto the right path, or the trilogy of horror novels I’d somehow thought it would be a good idea to use as a guidebook.
The screw-up was mine, and knowing that felt like I had a massive weight around my neck that I couldn’t let pull me down because I didn’t deserve a quick, painful fall. I just had to stand there and let it pull at me, and wonder how different things might have been if I wasn’t stupid Nelson who could get nothing right.
The True Colour of a Little White Lie Page 14