Five Ladies Go Skiing: A feel-good novel of friendship and love

Lou laid a relaxed hand on my wrist. ‘I’m sure it’ll be great. We’ll make sure it is. Maybe our grans are watching over us, making sure we damn well enjoy ourselves. I can’t wait to get on that snow.’

Lou was fearless to the point of recklessness and I loved that about her. She was the person you’d want around if a bullet or missile was heading your way. She would try to catch it. Throw herself on top of you, at worst. Unlike me, ever cautious and full of self-doubt. Lou would take to skiing like a bird took to the sky.

I heard the indicator clicking. My heart rate soared as Angie, whose wonderful idea this was, the only skier among us, took the slip road and crossed the motorway towards towering rocks. The road narrowed and inclined steeply. Angie struggled for a low gear to make a sharp turn. Already, we must have been a hundred feet up. My breathing became short as the car climbed, and Angie’s expression was one of deep concentration. I closed my eyes. One mistake and we could drop off the edge. Cathy, in the front passenger seat, squealed as we rounded another hairpin and as I opened my eyes, her anxiety glared into mine.

‘I feel sick,’ she said, shielding her eyes.

‘It’s always daunting, the last bit, but it’s not far now,’ Angie tried to assure us while brushing a thicket of black curls from her face with her right hand.

Lou slapped and squeezed my knee, making me lurch forward. ‘Yep, this time tomorrow we’ll be up there at the top of one of those peaks and ploughing downhill.’

I forced a smile. I didn’t want to harass Angie any more than necessary, but I was also beginning to experience nauseous waves and my head was all over the place. Like my life. The thought invaded my head. No. Stop it! I speedily corrected my brain. Only positive thoughts allowed. That was the promise, the condition, and exactly why the girls had made such an effort; why they had abandoned their husbands and families for the remainder of Christmas and the New Year. They wanted to ensure I escaped my grief, my job redundancy – that had been a big shock so soon after Mike’s death too – and that I would be facing my future alone.

I lifted the corners of my mouth. ‘We’re going to have a blast,’ I said. ‘We’ll soon lose our fear, especially once we have some alcohol inside us.’

Angie turned her head round to look at us. ‘That’s probably my worst fear. Please don’t overdo it. It won’t be so bad on the nursery slopes, but you’ll have to limit your alcohol when we go on the runs. I don’t want any of you stuffed in a bag and lifted off the mountain, nor ski-doodled off.’

I had no idea what ski-doodled was but … ‘We won’t,’ I squealed, leaning forward in panic and silently urging her to watch the road. The car swung ninety degrees again and somehow my abdomen clambered to catch up. I made the mistake of looking down outside the window. There was barely twenty inches between me and sudden death. We must have been at, I guessed, about two thousand feet up with a sheer drop. I quickly looked up, focusing ahead, attempting to blot out the possible grave scenarios filling my imagination. The car turned again, and instead I was met with steep rock faces reinforced with humungous bolts and draped with relatively skimpy netting. My mind got to work again, fearing gigantic boulders crashing into the car roof.

‘Shall we play I-Spy?’ I asked, desperate for distraction.

‘You can try.’ Angie sniggered as we were suddenly submerged into darkness. We all vanished, and I felt relief wash through me. I could do dark. At least we were safe in a tunnel.

‘Oh, we won’t then,’ I added stupidly.

‘We must be nearly there by now.’ Cathy stated what we were all thinking.

Angie swiped her brow. ‘I think we’ll see the village at the other end. I don’t pay too much attention when I’m in the passenger seat.’

I felt a stab of guilt thinking of poor Angie having to drive us all and listening to our constant gasps and gripes. This was probably a first for her – driving up without Rob and the boys. Ever since their eldest was twelve and had skied with the school, Angie and Rob had taken all three boys on their annual trip to the Alps or Dolomites. They went with a large group stemming from that first school trip. I’d been quite envious but in a different way than Mike had. I’d never had the teeniest inclination to ski, but there was a lovely camaraderie among them, as a family. They all loved it. I figured this trip must be quite daunting for Angie, leading us up instead of Rob leading her.

As we neared the arc of light ahead and felt the anticipation of arrival, my muscles untied themselves and I let my head roll back. I hadn’t felt as tense or as wretched since that day almost two years ago when the consultant oncologist sat in front of Mike and I had confirmed Mike was already in stage four of his cancer. Although the tests and waiting were physically draining, mentally, that day, a switch came on, powering my brain with a huge surge of strength. Instantly, I became wired to fight, to stay upbeat. I was going to shore up every bone, every muscle, every cell in his body to keep Mike alive. That was my coping mechanism. To stay strong for him, to research everything about his condition, nourish him with the right foods and attitude, seek out that miracle cure – mend him. Even Will, our medical expert, couldn’t do that, however much he tried.

I don’t think I’m bitter anymore. I was. Not towards Mike, but the situation. My life for thirty months involved never tiring or wavering but taking time off work to be around during and after the op, nursing, battling the brunt of his anger and bitterness, sitting beside him throughout long hours of chemo, the sickness, the loss of appetite, the hair loss and exhaustion of his once strong body as his immune system weakened. Then the radiotherapy and change of chemo drugs because the first weren’t ever going to cure him, just prolong his life, his suffering.

‘No more,’ he’d said, when the next round of chemo was offered. I remember it well. It was the middle of August, a warm, muggy day that was more overcast than sunny. ‘Sorry, love. I really am, but I can’t do this anymore.’ He could have hit me with a cricket bat and I wouldn’t have felt it as much. There was one thing Mike wasn’t and that was a pessimist. It was why I was with him in the first place.

Feeling hot with all the twisting and turning of the car. I picked up my water bottle and took a large swig. We’d be there soon.

I switched my mind back to Mike, to the fonder days of our youth. I could picture him now, caramel hair on a side parting, blond hairs on his warm cheeks, eyes that would eat you up. Apparently, he’d seen me before we first met at the school end-of-term disco. He told me he’d watched me play netball at a rally in our nearest town and fell in love with my peachy-skinned face and long blonde pigtails and made up his mind I was one day going to be his wife.

So confident I would be at that disco, he had it all planned. Soon after I arrived with my friends at he approached the DJ, gave him a list of slow songs to play: ‘The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face’, Roberta Flack; ‘Got to Be There’, Michael Jackson; ‘Have You Seen Her’, The Chi-lites; ‘Without You’, Neilson; ‘Let’s Stay Together’, Al Green – that was how optimistic he was. And how could a girl resist? Michael Watts was striking. This tall, athletic, blond boy leading me, plain little Virginia Matthews, to the dance floor, never to let go, until that day.

I so missed that crypto-energy he supplied. Sadly, I believed we both switched off that muggy August day. Forced to finally face reality. All that was left was to slowly watch the light in his eyes fade along with the breath from his lungs. That was a year ago this week, and the day I found out he had a secret.

‘Hurrah,’ Angie yelped as she steered the last of the less threatening bends and a cluster of chalets appeared. Beside the road, I read the sign. ‘Bienvenue La Tzoumaz.’

Chapter 2 (#ulink_b5f9321b-7bbb-5eab-af4e-2f894e195a4b)

Kim

Seeing Ginny’s name light up on my phone had momentarily jarred me as it had often done of late, since I’d been party to the unwelcome information. There’s nothing worse than having to swallow something unsavoury and not being able to handle it. I read the text. Mission control. I liked that. Ginny was right. This would be our headquarters for the next seven days. Aw, and sweet – a subtle reminder to get in the wine. At least Ginny was in good humour. She’d had a tough few years and deserved some serious fun. After some hectic months nursing at the Midland General in Perth, and trying to deal with the issue concerning Ginny, I was seriously in need of fun too and looking forward to seeing and sharing the experience as well as spending time with my old buddies.

The restaurant terrace was filled with skiers. The welcoming smell of Savoyard cheeses filled my nostrils, making my tummy rumble as the memory of the mini cheese fondue I ate last night enthused my taste buds. I’d skipped breakfast after gorging on so many delicious dishes in the hotel restaurant. ‘You taste,’ the Italian had urged, and had sent out relentless small plates containing cooked meats, pasta, fried aubergines, curried cabbage, shellfish and finally the one course I’d requested, a flavoursome Savoyard fondue. The perfect mountain food as far as I was concerned. My guilty pleasure. Warm, rich and indulgent.

I ignored a whiff of diesel fumes and even the view for a while. I took a sip of my wine and leant back on the chair to let the midday sun wash over my skin. I closed my eyes. Sleep was tempting but I was too excited. Nervous too. I mean, whilst I couldn’t wait to see my friends again, meeting Ginny face-to-face, knowing this was the opportunity to tell her what I knew, was terrifying, far worse than confronting Will about moving back to England. Worse even than confronting my drunk and violent father. Confrontation scared me, I’ve always feared conflict – but losing Ginny scared me more.

At first, I held back from relaying what I’d learned because I didn’t think Ginny would cope. She had not long returned from having such a lovely time with me at my home in Perth earlier this year and was still highly emotional after losing Mike; then when I did drum up the courage to tell her, I found out her company had made her redundant and she was desperately seeking work. When I rang, she was so low.

So, as the months went on, hearing from the girls how she had withdrawn, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. And I had to be with her. Her self-esteem had sunk so low. In fact, I then feared that if I told her after all that time, I would lose her friendship. She would hate me. The thought was unbearable. Ginny was special. It was surreal to think that I was going to hurt the one person who had virtually carried me throughout my younger days. A knot tied in my stomach every time I thought about it, and when this trip was organised, and I knew I would see her, I made up my mind that it was my opportunity to sit her down, face-to-face.

Startled by that fact, I opened my eyes, catching sight of my T-shirt. The Flowers, such a great acronym; they would be here soon. I checked the time on my phone and like a meerkat jumped up, with wine in hand, taking a few steps over to where I could see, and peered up the road.

Ginny

Emerging before us were cute wood and stone chalets blanketed in snow, scattering the landscape among modern concrete and newer, wooden high-end chalets, with glass gable walls. Despite the hostility of the roaring grey rocks, I was surprised to see a glowing sunny village populated with traffic and people bustling around with bags, cases or skis. The pretty scene began melting my fears and as we slowed and inched closer, I saw a young family, rosy-cheeked and bursting with vigour and laughter, strolling alongside our car.

‘It’s so vibrant,’ I said, feeling the glare of all the surrounding snow hit my eyes. I pulled down my sunglasses. ‘And busy. I can’t believe the number of cars that are here.’

Lou looked over with a reassuring glint in her eye before pulling down a pair of Ted Bakers off her head and setting them on her nose. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

I smiled back.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll barely see any cars tomorrow,’ Angie said. ‘It’s change-over day so they’ll all be parked up by tonight. You may get some locals drive up in the morning.’

‘It’s not what I imagined,’ Cathy added, opening her window and blasting the neat line of her bobbed hair. ‘I thought we would be in a lonely little hamlet with only chamois for company.’

I raised my arms and stretched out, whacking Lou on the arm. ‘Sorry, Lou! Me too. Isn’t it strange how you build a picture in your mind – but there’s plenty of life here by the look of it.’

‘And wine.’ Lou’s pearly-white teeth beamed at me. ‘I can’t wait. You look considerably more awake now. You OK?’

‘Yes. Thank you, again.’ I smiled. Lou had asked so many times, and so many times I’d nearly caved in. That was why I found it easier to be on my own at home. I didn’t have to answer their questions, deal with the fussing. I didn’t want my thoughts and privacy invaded. I was safe and not forced to talk about Mike because I really didn’t know who Mike was anymore. Maybe I was afraid that one of them would tell me the truth about him. I don’t know that I wanted to hear it. I was safer on my own. I could think and torment myself without being questioned or judged. And no one could judge Mike because his behaviour wasn’t up for discussion.

Although, I feared, this week with friends, my emotions could tumble out so easily. And while my friends would understand, what would be the point? We were on holiday. I would only dampen their enthusiasm and they were so fired up, however anxious they were about skiing for the first time – apart from Angie, of course.

And what difference would it make to them if they did know about Mike? It was my problem – why would I put myself through the humiliation? He was gone, and nothing was going to change what he did. I sighed, feeling in desperate need of that wine.

‘What is that huge building there?’ I asked spotting a monstrous concrete structure with lots of steps.

Angie didn’t even look up. ‘That’s got to be the lift station. That’s where we get the gondola, the lift to the top. And just along here on our left we should see Kim. Ah, is that her?’

Kim

A spectacle of hands waving from a car window immediately gave them away. I hurriedly placed my wine on the table beside the other glasses and the two waiting bottles and rushed to the side of the road, waving like a moron. People sitting at the tables must have thought: stupid old woman. Nothing new. I giggled to myself. Will and my girls think that about me too.

I got to the car as it stopped beside the Belleview, and gigantic bees with white teeth gazed back at me from the open windows; my friends in their designer sunglasses, no doubt prescription, like mine. I chortled to myself. Opening Angie’s door, then Ginny’s behind her, I laughed out loud at our matching Flowers T-shirts.

‘Welcome, Flowers!’ I steadied Ginny as she clambered out, wriggling her newly worked-out body into operation.