‘I don’t think I even know how to play,’ Madeleine said, still unsure as to whether she’d inadvertently strayed into the territory of an unforeseen social faux pas. Perhaps people really did still play board games on Christmas Eve. Perhaps stuffing yourself with a takeaway and watchingDie Hardon the telly, maybe followed by a favourite Harry Potter– or even one of the First Galaxy franchise– didn’t cut it for everyone.
She had heard that in Iceland people swapped books on Christmas Eve and then spent all night reading them. That had always been an idea she’d hankered after trying one year, when she had someone to swap a book with, someone to spend all night reading with. She’d hoped this might be the year, before Rose had suggested this trip. Having spent the last couple of nights together, though, she’d begun to wish she’d brought the books anyway.
She glanced at Rose. Wished she felt able to suggest it to her, right this moment. Madeleine wasn’t usually stumped for conversation, but since they’d come up into the living area, it seemed as if Rose hadn’t even looked in her direction. It made their usual, casual, carefree inhabitation of one another’s space difficult, to say the least.
It was as if things had become heavier, somehow. Weighted differently. Weighed down by an expectation about what should happen next. What needed to happen next.
Madeleine felt one of her eyebrows jack up. She’d never been conscious of her eyebrows’ movements before Rose mentioned it, but she could feel it now.
‘Or Monopoly, I suppose,’ Clara said. ‘I think there’s a Monopoly set in the cupboard.’
‘Clara, darling, I don’t mean to be funny, but after the effort it took me to get here this evening, I’m going to need something more stimulating than Monopoly to keep me interested.’ Lysander crested the stairs as he spoke, claiming their attention as if it were his unwritten right to have it. ‘Mind you, if there’s a pack of playing cards in there, I’m more than willing to take you girls on in a game of strip poker. Come to think of it, that’s a far better idea, don’t you think?’ Gods-of-Olympus-made-mortal Lysander, complete with freshly showered and styled hair and clothes picked with a precise casualness which Madeleine now recognised, took up residence by the wood burner, hands outstretched towards the warmth emanating from the inferno of logs within.
‘When did you get back?’ Clara asked. ‘Or, more to the point, how did you get back? It looks terrible out there.’
‘Strangely cathartic, battling your way through snow,’ he said. He taped his lazy grin to his face, but Madeleine thought he looked tired. More than tired, he looked exhausted. It showed in his eyes– even his precisely shaped ‘get naked and swim in me’ blue eyes couldn’t totally disguise his weariness.
‘The driver they organised to get me back here was totally useless,’ he said. ‘Wheels spinning in all directions, even with the chains on. Crappy Citroën van thing– a Land Rover HSE would have had much better traction, but the French will insist on buying in-house. We barely made it to the base of Près du Ciel. He stopped by the Les Amnetts apartments and flatly refused to drive any further up the hill. Said he was going to find a hotel room and that the agency would have to pay. Told me I should do the same. I told him he was a wanker, and he’d have more chance of freezing to death in his car than finding a vacant room. Then he rattled off a series of insults and we parted company.’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s taken me hours to walk the rest of the way. Thank God I upgraded my climbing boots this winter. I’ve never seen the mountains like this– the whole resort is locked down.’ He shivered, then hid it by spinning towards the kitchen counter and helping himself to one of the samosas Tom was arranging on a serving platter, before sinking onto the sofa nearest the log burner.
‘Where’s Tits, anyway?’ he said.
‘Tania’s here, somewhere,’ Madeleine said, a touch too brightly.
Nobody elaborated, and Lysander cocked his head a little as he looked at them in turn. His eyes narrowed a touch. ‘I take it she’s not alone, then?’
Nobody confirmed or denied. The corners of Lysander’s mouth dipped down for the fraction of a second, before the half-smile reasserted itself. ‘No surprise there,’ he said. ‘Can’t help herself. Who’s the “fresh kill” this time?’
Madeleine frowned. ‘He’s lovely, actually.’
Lysander laughed. ‘Whatever,’ he said. His attentions moved back to Clara. ‘Poker later, then, my gorgeous Clara?’
Tom set the platter of Indian-inspired snacks on the low table in the centre of the living area, his attention flashing between Lysander and Clara. He reminded Madeleine, in that instant, of a guard dog, waiting to be given the ‘attack’ command. But Clara smiled. ‘Don’t be silly, Lysander,’ she said. ‘I want to play Scrabble.’
‘You are a hard woman to please, Clara,’ Lysander said, one side of his mouth teasing up into a smile for her. ‘Scrabble it is, my darling.’ He let out an enormous, unfettered, cat-like yawn, then looked around. ‘Any chance of a drink? I’m dry as desert sand.’
Tania took a deep breath, then led Gull up the stairs to the living area. She scanned the room, noting Tom in the kitchen and Rose at the dining room table, fiddling with a green baize bag from the Scrabble box– the bag’s contents chinking as she toyed with it. Madeleine and Clara stood between Rose and the person seated on the sofa which backed onto the stairs and faced the wood burner. It was Donkey, asking for a drink.
Tania had hoped he might have changed his flaky mind, forgotten about his decision to return to the lodge. Their late-night ‘chat’ had disintegrated into insult-hurling, as per every conversation they’d had over the last decade, and although Lysander’s habits had worried her for just as long, she’d also known she wasn’t on his list of people he took a blind bit of notice of. Even though Tania had seen a chink in his armour that evening, it had only been fleeting. Never before had it occurred to her that Lysander might turn to her for help. He’d always made it quite clear he had no need to sinkthatlow. She’d wondered if the foul weather would persuade him to stay away, maybe even physically prevent him from returning. And yet, here he was, large as life and ready like a wrecking ball to demolish their carefully crafted evening.
She squeezed Gull’s fingers a little more tightly, fighting the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, trying to ignore the buzzing in her ears at the thought that these might be the last few seconds of ‘normal’ in their relationship.
She wanted to remain the person who had attracted Gull in the first place. Some girl in a bar, nothing more, nothing less. She huffed at herself. Most people spent their whole lives trying to be something other than who they really were. It was human nature, to want what you didn’t have; to view the city you’d never visited across the water with wistful longing while seeing nothing but litter and grime and broken windows in your own streets.
‘You took your time, Tits,’ Lysander said, head cocked in their direction. ‘We’re all dying of dehydration waiting for you.’ Studying Gull, he eventually slid from the sofa, and squared up to him. ‘Hello. I’m Lysander. Tania’s brother. And you are?’ He held out a hand, offered with just enough effort to look as if he meant it as a proper greeting.
‘I’m Gull. It’s good to meet you.’
Tania noted the twist in her brother’s mouth as Gull extracted his hand from hers, to shake his.
‘So, how long have you known my sister?’
An innocent enough question in the right hands, but Lysander’s weren’t the right hands. Gull must have sensed the undertones, colouring a little before he rallied. ‘We met earlier this week, sort of bumped into one another.’
‘It’s a long story, Donkey. You’ll get bored,’ said Tania, knitting her fingers back into Gull’s hand. ‘Why don’t we have that drink you’re so desperate for, instead? Tom, will you open the champagne?’
With flutes of champagne handed round, Tania was grateful for a mouthful of bubbles. Lysander drained his glass in a couple of gulps, holding it out for an immediate refill. His attention remained on Gull.
‘So, what do you do?’ he asked.
