‘Good morning,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Did you sleep well?’
A standard question, one which would be asked countless times every day, in countless buildings, in countless resorts throughout the mountains. Part of the ritual. Nothing more. The expression on Clara’s face must have been the out-of-the-ordinary bit. Tom looked at her, his own expression taking on an edge of discomfort before it folded into a full-on frown.
‘Sorry. Stupid of me. I didn’t think …’ He set the basket on the dining table. ‘Your friends told me about …’ He swallowed the rest of the sentence.
‘Oh, right. I see. Yes, I slept fine, thank you. It’s the waking up that’s the hard bit.’
Nodding, he brushed her arm with his fingers. ‘I can imagine.’ He glanced at her hand, still bandaged. ‘How’s it doing?’
‘I haven’t looked,’ she said. ‘I’ve done my best to keep it dry, but that’s harder than it seems. I remember when Poppy had to have stitches once, it was a nightmare trying to keep her arm dry.’ The words were out before she realised she was saying them, the memory of Poppy strong and bright, with foam piled on top of her blonde curls, splashing around in the water with a plastic figure she called Captain Barnclues instead of Barnacles. Clara desperately trying to keep the arm encased in a plastic bag away from the water. She caught her breath in her throat, then clamped her mouth closed.
Tom’s hand closed around her bandage. ‘Let’s take a look, shall we? It could do with a fresh dressing anyway.’
He led her to a chair, then busied himself with her hand. She heard him saying how it was looking better, but it still wasn’t healed; how he would rebandage it, unless she wanted to go to the resort doctor, to get it checked out by a professional. She shook her head. A new bandage would do fine. He sat across from her as he cut a new piece of dressing and fixed it in place, the crown of his head in her line of vision as he worked. Then he wound a new bandage around her hand, his touch firm and confident as he taped the whole thing into place. His fingers rested for a moment on the soft skin of her inner wrist.
‘If you ever want to talk,’ he said, ‘I’m also a really good listener.’ Tipping his face to look at her, his eyes crinkled into a smile. ‘It’s another of my Boy Scout skills.’
Once he’d tidied up the first-aid equipment, he set about preparing the rest of breakfast while she stayed seated at the table. Clara wondered if she might take him up on the offer, if it might be worth finding out what it would be like to share a little of the burden with someone else, someone outside her circle of friends, someone whom she’d never see again. Someone with whom she could get everything off her chest, without having to spend the rest of her life watching them look at her out of the corner of their eye.
Madeleine was more than relieved when they slid to a stop outside the Cocoon at lunchtime. She appreciated that the other three had skied very carefully all morning to accommodate her fledgling abilities. Or her crappy style, whichever description they felt fitted best. She also appreciated just how skilful the instructor had been. He’d managed to challenge her to make dramatic improvements, without over-facing or completely exhausting her.
The morning had been spent on blue runs, not as ‘easy’ as green runs, but in general a lot less challenging than the red runs or the fabled blacks. Even on the blues there had been a few icy, steep places where Madeleine had worried she might completely lose control of her legs and break something, or at best completely lose control of a different part of her body and change the colour of her ski trousers.
However, she had survived. More than that, she’d enjoyed herself. Well, she’d enjoyed most of it. But she had already decided to head back to Snow Pine Lodge after lunch, to give herself a restful afternoon. After all, this was supposed to be a holiday, not a week of self-flagellation. Plus, it would give the others a chance to cut loose and enjoy their skiing without having to nanny her around.
But first, the Cocoon beckoned.
Slotting her skis against one of the wooden racks, she glanced around the outdoor seating area. Far too much to hope to see Gull sitting at one of the tables, she supposed, but it didn’t stop her from looking.
Rose went with her into the restaurant, and armed with a tray each, they collected lunch and headed back to the table Madeleine had chosen. She’d chosen it partly because it was close to the restaurant door, and therefore was less distance for her to have to negotiate in her ski boots with a tray full of food; partly because it gave an excellent view of everyone who came and went to the restaurant. The chance of Gull actually being here at the same time as them was minimal, logic told her as much. However, it would be crazy to have come this far with the whole thing just to miss seeing him because she was too preoccupied with her hot chocolate.
Tania had insisted on buying the drinks, and the three of them converged back at the table which Clara held for them. She looked so small, with her short blonde hair tucked neatly behind her ears, surrounded by the pile of gloves, helmets and goggles they had abandoned on arrival. Madeleine wondered what Mike had been like. It was pure speculation, on her part, but in her mind’s eye she imagined him to have been the kind of man who was quick to put an arm around Clara, quick to check how she was feeling, quick to smile. She imagined he’d been easy to fall deeply in love with, because he had clearly been difficult to lose.
Clara wore a slightly distracted expression most of the time, and it was pronounced as they walked back to the table. A momentary frown and then Clara was back in the moment, back from wherever she had been in her mind, an overly bright smile pasted onto her face as she shifted gloves to make enough space for the trays.
Madeleine was still scanning arrivals and departures at the Cocoon when their empty plates, stacked onto the trays in school canteen fashion, were whisked away by one of the ever-moving restaurant staff. Straight-faced, dark-haired, quick and efficient, jeans and trekking boots worn with a thick padded gilet emblazoned with the Cocoon logo, he flashed their group a fleeting pressured smile and was away from the table with his ‘Merci, mesdames’ swirling in the cold air.
And still there was no sign of Gull. Madeleine stole a glance at Tania. She supposed it would have been too much of a fairy tale for Gull to have skied in for lunch. A fluffy image formed in her imagination, in which Gull appeared at the Cocoon. In all his tall, broad, unshaven maleness, he swept Tania up from the bench on which she sat and kissed her until the credits rolled and everyone climbed to their feet and left the cinema.
It had been worth a shot. ‘Anyone want coffee?’ she said, in a desperate effort to keep the group at the restaurant for a little bit longer.
‘I think we should probably roll,’ Rose said. ‘Especially if we’re going to head to the glacier this afternoon, Tania?’
Tania nodded. ‘Yes. Let’s head off.’ She sorted through the pile of gloves until she found hers, then looked at Madeleine. ‘Thanks for trying,’ she said, quietly.
‘Will you be OK finding your way back by yourself?’ Clara asked.
‘I think so,’ Madeleine said. ‘Worst-case scenario, I’ll ski down into Près du Ciel centre and get the bus back up the hill. Don’t worry about me, you’ve done that all morning. Go and enjoy yourselves.’
They gathered up belongings, clipping helmets on and slotting hands into gloves. Rose squeezed Madeleine’s shoulder. ‘See you later.’
‘Have fun.’ She watched them go, wondering whether she might rest at the restaurant for a few more minutes, or whether her thighs would use the opportunity to seize up even further. Maybe it would be better to get the pain over and done with and get back to the lodge. Then she could relax properly, soak up the alpine atmosphere in more comfortable footwear.
After a final sweep of the customers, she climbed to her feet, shuffled her way out from the bench, and headed across the decking towards the slope down to the wooden frames against which people lodged their skis.
She didn’t notice the lump of ice until she’d caught it with the edge of a boot, that foot sliding uncontrollably until gravity demanded further action and she ended up in a painful heap, half on the decking, half in the snow.
Unbelievable. She’d made it through the entire morning on a set of long, thin, slippery-arsed pieces of wood and had managed to stay upright. The simple manoeuvre of walking, though, was proving to be beyond her. She shook her head and turned over onto her knees.
