I sit up suddenly in the bath. I massage my impacted calves and thighs that are so weary that they don’t feel attached anymore. What about that idea of listing my seven wonders of the world. Maybe I could design the ultimate father and son road trip.
So where would we start? Fly into Vancouver first I think, a city in the great outdoors. I am at my most comfortable in these places at the edge of the world. We could hop over to Vancouver Island on the ferry and stay in Tofino to go bear watching. Then we could go down to San Francisco. It’s just cool, a city of the world rather than America. I remember a great day on a hired bike cycling Golden Gate Park, from hippy Haight Ashbury through the Japanese Gardens and on to the soaring Pacific Ocean. I was transported to a more loving time in the mythical 1960s, when I imagine people accepted each other more for who they were, but who ever knows the truth? Our third stop would be just a three-hour drive inland in Yosemite. It’s immense, too big for just two eyes. Searing waterfalls and giant Redwood trees reduce you to nothingness. I wished I had stayed there. It was so peaceful at the bottom of the valley; like nature’s cathedral.
Travelling to destination four. Maybe a few days exploring the ruins around Chichen Itza in Mexico. I was obsessed with the Mayans when I came back. I have never been somewhere so sinister; play football or lose your head; be a young woman and lose your head; look funny at someone in a big hat and lose your head. They must have bred like rabbits to keep up with the bloodshed. The Pyramid of Kulkulcan is freaky; it is a giant calendar that turns into a snake at certain times of year, which is all too much for me.
Flying further south to Havana, Cuba, the rawest most authentic place, a complete one-off in a time capsule. The place does everything differently from anywhere else. It’s like one of those films where Charlton Heston walks around a corner to discover the land that time forgot. Its buildings are so elegant and decrepit. You can imagine fables of the botched CIA plot to kill Fidel Castro. You know you have travelled when you go there; you have been exposed to a raw place where a wrong turn can end badly.
Maybe too much time in the Americas. Fly back to Europe for number six then. It must be Rome. I like Venice and most Italian cities but Rome has that jaw-dropping moment when you see the Forum for the first time and think what the hell happened here? You can see the age-old importance of somewhere that is irrelevant today. The Parthenon and the really old buildings just ask why.
Fly where to our last destination? Maybe back to England and just the Lake District, but it doesn’t have the oomph of the others. Maybe even Chamonix. Maybe…
What is the time? I leave number seven for now, a tough decision. The body of water sloops back into place as I pull myself out of the bath. I step onto the cold wet towel I discarded this morning, if only Chris would use one. I had relaxed with my seven wonders road trip, but a wicked tension hangs in the air again. I am naked in the face of their plans. My fingertips have become withered prunes, over emphasising the whorls of my fingerprints. I raise one foot onto the bath edge so that I can easily dry underneath. What is the time? Almost six o’clock. I dress for the stag-night gallows, socks first. What can I wear to look okay but protect myself from any further physical assault? I select the thickest socks I have as Chris enters. An air battle rages near the door, my steamassisted bath fragrances against his skiing sweat and burgers.
“You okay Chris?” Chris harrumphs a non-verbal but sarcastic reply to the negative.
“Are you getting a bath?” I hope.
“I will change me shirt.”
“What’s been going on down there? You have been over an hour.” Socks and underwear are donned.
“Oh just arguments. That Robert is a prick, why did you invite him? Juliet is trying to stop him but no-one else helps.” What are they arguing over? Maybe I am the only one who can sort them out. Every item of clothing donned carries me further into certain uncertainty. Buttoning my shirt feels like an ultimatum; are you ready for marriage?
“Listen, they want to take you off skiing in a big valley somewhere tomorrow. It sounds like some serious skiing. When they ask you later tell them to bog off, I just did.”
“I am not worried about skiing tomorrow, more about humiliation tonight.” I want to ski with them all to show them my progression. Even Robert must concede it; I won’t be an embarrassment any more.
“If you want me to I can sort this Robert lad out. You know, scare him off for you.”
“No Chris, he is hard work but just leave him be.” Chris has revealed his bare chest; his shirt goes on without any cleansing.
“Do what you want, not what that prick wants,” he re-affirms to me.
“What are you going to do tomorrow then?”
“I can amuse myself for one day if you are fool enough to follow him.” I can see he is imagining a burger fest.
I sit on the bed waiting for Chris to change his trousers. Underpants that have just skied Chamonix are ready to carry on into the night! I get a whiff of fresh fruit but don’t associate it with anything. I see a red scar on my pillow. I pull back the covers to see berries placed there this afternoon coagulated under my bed sheets. I must have squashed it all into a smoothie when I lay on the bed before.
“That weren’t my idea bro.” Not his idea but he is an accomplice none the less. I peel off the bed sheets and throw them in the bath. A strawberry drops into the curve at the front of my scooped black shoes.
I notice that my breath is shortening again: altitude, fear or both? I must let everyone know how I feel.
CHAPTER 28
Dan 18.05
My mobile phone radiates a patch of wasted light into the night. Its sleek black plastic lines and silver edging contain communication and entertainment technology beyond comprehension a few years ago. Does anyone even remember how a delayed journey could often not be communicated, leaving one party in semi-indignation or the purgatory of being stood up or genuine concern for the absentee. A crow flying my call home would need days to do it; soaring over Mont Blanc, over Geneva from whence we came, over Paris, skirting London and Birmingham and finally on to Manchester. What simplicity could propel a message so accurately so far? I feel the radio waves buzzing into the side of my head; it must be that physical to produce something this powerful. I step off the top step at the front of the hotel as Sophia answers.
“Hi there, all okay with you?” I picture her reclining on her dad’s sofa. Bepe will be kneeling on the floor absorbed in a CBeebies programme. His blue duck will be tucked under one arm, maybe a warm milk bottle held precariously in the other hand. He will be grasping a dummy with his teeth, sucking it for imagined sustenance, the noise growing louder as he gets sleepier. Improbably he has fallen asleep in this position before.
“Hi Dan.” There is tiredness in her reply. A waft of evening dinner smells blow down the steps from the hotel, as the door opens. Juliet has arrived; she stays under cover sitting next to Chris on the bench outside. I walk away across the car park to maintain some privacy. Pulling my scarf tighter around my neck, I try to position it so that no cold air can hit my chest directly.
“You a bit tired babe?” I am not sure what her flatness indicates yet.
“Yes, but I am not feeling great either. I have sorted so much out today. Briefed the video man and disco as to what I want.”
“Can I have a say in the music playlist?” At last something I could do. Maybe I can save our union from a foreboding start in disco hell.
“If you insist, ring him up next week. But I warn you, make sure that people can dance to it. I’ve also been to the florist to see their table arrangement. The wedding cars we wanted have broken down, so Dad’s made them upgrade us for no charge. I was in town so I even went by the jewellers and picked your ring up. I think I can take the weekend off. I have organised this wedding on my own.”
“Yeah, you have done great. That’s saved me a trip on Monday.” I cannot disagree. “Hey, I am being taken out for my main stag do tonight. We are going to Italy for d
inner would you believe?”
“What nonsense. How are you getting there?”
“By taxi, takes half an hour apparently to go to Courmayeur. I am not meant to know but Chris has told me.”
“Make sure there are no women involved tonight.” A warning that is too vague. Juliet is getting Chris to talk more than one syllable answers.
“Of course. I don’t know what they are planning but I won’t go near any women. I promise. Hey, I can parallel ski now.”
“How could you possibly learn so quickly?”
“Oh, I have just had good instructors. I really enjoyed today.” I stand with one foot raised on a hard packed mound of ice, blackened with mud and gravel, at the furthest point from the hotel. I can stop pacing if I am in this position. I need to make myself heard.
“Only a day and a bit till I am home. I have missed Bepe so much. I have been carrying on with my time capsule thing for him. I am planning a road trip for us. Can I speak to him?” I detect the phone being transferred by a series of scratching noises, probably from his dummy.
“Bepe, Bepe, it’s Daddy.” Nothing.
“Bepe, Daddy misses you loads and is coming home on the big plane to see you very soon.” I hear the confirmatory sound of suckling.
“Bepe, Daddy has made some music for you son. We can listen to it when I get home. You look after Mummy for me.”
“I can’t get that dummy out of his mouth. He is watching Charlie and Lola so you won’t get anything out of him. I miss you too you stupid man. I am still cross with you over Bepe’s accident. What time am I picking you up on Sunday?” She wants to sulk more, but it is too straining to keep up at a distance.
“Six thirty in the evening I think. I can’t do anything about the accident now babe. It wasn’t my entire fault, he just ran.”
“Diddy I got plane. Diddy I got plane. No plane Diddy.” His little voice is briefly insistent and then disappears as quickly as it came.
“Aaah. He went and got his toy plane and brought it back to the phone to show you. How precious is that?” I hear her plant a series of kisses on him. An increased hubbub rises behind me at the hotel steps. My stag group is present and correct. Oh my god, Rubber Juliet is with us; fully pumped up and being tossed around once more.
“Listen I forgot to mention, Juliet was attacked by a bunch of Italian lads this afternoon.”
“What? What do you mean attacked? Is she in hospital?”
“No, it was just some lads coming on to her, she is okay.” Robert is making his way over to me. The taxis are ten minutes late now.
“She has six men with her. For god’s sake who was looking after her?” Her logical question goes begging, lest I incriminate myself.
“Let me speak to the condemned woman.” For the first time Robert arrives at an opportune moment. I pass him the phone.
“Sophia, you sexy beast. Just wanted to ask, you do have travel insurance for this one don’t you? He has been an animal on the piste and off for the last few days; you don’t know what he has been up to. Thank goodness what goes on tour stays on tour. Thankfully I am here to look out for him and Hoover up the women for him.” I am only grateful that he has been so over the top that she knows it isn’t true. Two taxis are at last turning into the car park, with yellow neon banner signs atop them.
“Sorry about that, you know what he is like.”
“Yes and I know what you are like too. Be very careful with him; don’t let him push you around.”
Johnny, Chris and the real Juliet drive off.
“Danny is a tranny, Danny is a tranny, nah nah nah nah nah.” Max, Steve and Robert resurrect the stupid chorus from the airport and get in the second taxi waiting for me to get in the front. Rubber Juliet gets a ride in the boot.
“I must go now, the taxis are here. I do love you, you know.”
“It sounds like that was in doubt at some point Dan.”
“No babe, you know what I mean. I know I am not the man you want me to be, but I try, I do try, honest babe.”
“Well we love you too. Listen I might have some news when you get back.”
The taxi horn is sounded loudly.
“I think I am feeling crap for a reason. I don’t know yet, but maybe number two is on the way.”
“You what?”
“I might be pregnant again you fool,” she whispers, presumably because her parents are in the house not because of Bepe. I open the passenger door and hold it open.
“That’s amazing. I can’t talk. I have to go now.”
“Tell her you love her Dan. Go on.” I sit down, as the three of them chide me to end my call appropriately. It also looks like I have another impatient driver to deal with.
“See you soon babe.” They think I bottled it in front of them. In reality I just defied them for the first time in three days. It feels like I have a chance now.
CHAPTER 29
Dan 18.30
We fizz through the Mont Blanc tunnel, ripping through the wounded mountain. Our increasing speed is marked by the strobe effect of the tunnel ceiling lights through the front window. I try to imagine the immensity of rock and snow overhead, destabilised by this underground cavern. My three fellow travellers mutter of unknown plots in the back seats, while I again sit uncomfortably upfront alongside an uncommunicative local.
“You have enjoyed your skiing Dan haven’t you? You can ski better as well can’t you?” Robert gives me an unexpectedly rosy two-day progress report; I can feel myself being painted into a corner.
“Yeah I can parallel now I think.”
“Well I have something special lined up for you tomorrow, we are skiing the Vallée Blanche. Most of it is piss-easy. You will have something truly memorable to tell the brat. Of course if you are not up to it I can cancel the booking with the guide and the special lift tickets, it’s only more money for me to lose. No pressure but it’s a yes right?” I don’t answer him now, I want to ski but I don’t want to openly succumb to his bullying.
“Just tell me as soon as Dan.” He lets me mull it over.
“Have you developed those ByeFly concepts yet Dan? Steve says he hasn’t got anything to draw up from you,” Max enquires. I can imagine Steve grinning profusely in the back having blown me up to the boss.
“I have some strap lines here that I can to pass on to him.” It shuts them both up.
I ate too little today, I try to hasten the cab to my dinner. I can see light at the end of the tunnel, or should I say night at the end of the tunnel. We exit the toll both at the Italian end, passing under a grand arch. We emerge into the ubiquitous nighttime urban phosphorescent glow; a subtle choice of light to underplay the environmental rape we have just witnessed. That was the easiest border crossing I ever had. The taxi climbs a hill into Courmayeur, as it reaches a bend in the road he stops to let us out. We are near the end of a cobbled street that I assume is the main shopping area. I take an instant liking to the more homely alpine small-town atmosphere contrasted to the chic ski resort that is Chamonix.
Over the road is the Tunnel restaurant, where I presume the others are already stationed. The logo for “du tunnel” is printed on a yellow metal sign outside. It is meant to depict a brick oven with a fire burning beneath the tunnel. However, it is so ill drawn it is grossly insensitive as it looks like the fireball that engulfed the Mont Blanc tunnel seven years ago, killing thirty-nine people. A new logo and strap line could be written and visualised over dinner if they give Centurion the brief. Every seat is taken inside; this place has a reputation or a captive audience.
“Dan, I knew you were used to Italian food so I arranged to come to this place.” Johnny is happy to have pulled his plan off, as he greets me at the door.
“Yeah, it’s great man, really authentic.” In different ways I owe all my stags gratitude.
“Here is to the first of many!” Juliet has got a round in as we squeeze together at a small bar near the door. Italian men sitting either side of her at the bar talk at her. She looks
panicked after her ordeal before.
“Let me help you Jules.” I grab three beers from the bar, but as I hand them out I find myself encircled, and spin around to clink with each stag. The waiters pass by happy that we are sober, offering me congratulations. We are under a watching brief; they have taken a chance on an English stag party, concentrating on the likelihood of an inflated drinks bill. They have taken the precautions; we are isolated up a flight of wooden stairs to a balcony overlooking the whole restaurant. The rustic walls are peppered with dusty arrangements of dried flowers, old enamel ski posters and ancient ski equipment. We are strung out on one long bench seat, all over looking the balcony. Another round of seven beers hits the table before we sit down. To my immediate left is Robert, with Max and Steve beyond him. To my immediate right is Juliet, with Chris and Johnny beyond her. An order of garlic bread all round thankfully arrives, while we decide what to order.
I get to my feet. “Can I just say I am so grateful that you are all here for me. I have had a smashing time so far. I am buying the wine with the meal tonight to say thanks.” I break up some garlic bread and pass it down the table. I should have eaten before drinking anything.
Steve has sat rubber Juliet at the end of the table; garlic bread hangs comically from her extra wide mouth. For the first time I think of her fondly, she was intended to embarrass maybe but she is comical all the same. He made an effort with that and the T-shirts that we all wear again tonight. The seven pictures along the table of me being sick don’t deter me from wolfing more garlic bread. I order two carafes of red wine to try to slow the drinking pace.
“Let’s talk about the women we would shag.” Max starts the evening’s bravado.
Snow Blind Page 14