So I’ve come up with a plan. I’m going to get Louisa down the rest of the slope to the resort – it’s an easy green, even she can manage it. By that time I’m pretty sure she’ll say she’s had enough of skiing for the day, so I can leave her to it and sneak in a few cheeky runs on my own before the lifts close. She gets to go back and relax, I get to ski, it’s win-win.
‘Right then,’ I say as I take my card back from the waiter. ‘Ready for the off?’
I feel her good mood instantly evaporate. ‘Oh. Yes, I guess so. What are we doing now?’
‘Well, I thought we’d ski down – it’s a nice, wide, easy run, nothing to be alarmed about, and then we’ll see how you feel.’ You will go back to the chalet and do whatever the fuck you please as long as you are out of my way, and I will whizz off as high up the mountain as I can go before the lifts close without you holding me back, being the subtext.
She smiles. ‘Me, ski all the way down? Yeah right. You’re funny. What are we really doing? Another go on the drag?’
For fuck’s sake! ‘Um, no, I mean it,’ I say gently. ‘It’s not far and it’s a very simple slope. We can have another practice on the nursery slope first if you like, but I know you’ll be fine. I’ll be with you all the way.’
She pulls a face. For a second, I think she’s going to cry. ‘Will, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can. Is there any other way down?’
Fucking hell.
Be a sympathetic boyfriend, I remind myself. I take a deep breath.
‘Well, if you really don’t want to ski down, you can walk back up to the bubble and go down that way.’ I point at the bubble, which is admittedly quite a hike up the hill from here. ‘It’s not so far if you get the drag halfway?’ I suggest.
She looks at me in despair. ‘Seriously? I can’t walk that far in these stupid boots, especially not up the hill in the snow.’ She looks up at the lift, and then down the slope. ‘How long do you think it will take us to ski down? Realistically.’
‘Um … about fifteen minutes? Twenty, tops.’ It would take me about three by myself, I add, silently of course.
She looks at the lift again and sighs. ‘OK. We’ll give it a go. But you have to promise to stay right by me all the time.’
In the end, it takes almost an hour, not including the ten minutes it takes Louisa to get her skis on, as usual. ‘Here you go, like this, yes that’s it, toe in, lean on me, then push down with your heel … just so. No, it’s slipped out, let’s try again,’ I say, calmly and patiently, acting like the ideal boyfriend, while inside I’m screaming. The conditions are so perfect today. I know I should be wanting to spend time with my lovely girlfriend, but right now, I could almost kill her.
Once the skis are finally on, we set off, and almost immediately, she falls over. I can see she’s close to tears.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Don’t cry. You’re doing great.’
She shakes her head. ‘I’m scared, Will. I can’t do it. I’m going to hurt myself. I know I am.’
I touch her arm. ‘You’re not going to hurt yourself. You’re doing fine. By tomorrow you’ll be loving it – I promise.’
She smiles weakly, takes her sunglasses off and wipes away a tear. ‘Sorry. I’m being ridiculous. I’m going to get this.’
I feel a pang of guilt. She’s so beautiful. And she’s genuinely scared – I can see that. I vow to be more sympathetic and stop thinking about all the other pistes I could be skiing. I’m here with Louisa, that is what matters. Most men would kill to be here. They wouldn’t want to be with Adam and Nell, hooning down the red runs on the glacier before stopping off for a nice cold beer which doesn’t have to take an hour because someone takes so long to get their skis on and off.
Really, they wouldn’t.
But my resolve doesn’t last long.
Louisa eventually manages to snowplough down the top of the almost-flat slope, using the widest traverses I’d ever seen. Then, just as she’s performing one of her tortuous turns, a snowboarder clips the end of the ski, and she falls over. Again.
This time, she’s more than just a bit tearful. There are huge, heaving sobs and snotty tears – proper ugly crying. ‘I can’t do it!’ she wails between sobs. ‘Please, Will, don’t make me! I’m too scared!’
We sit at the edge of the slope for about ten minutes, me with one arm around her shoulder and the other stroking her knee, waiting for her to calm down. I encourage her to take deep breaths while I try hard not to think about all the great skiing I am missing out on.
‘Thing is, Louisa, now you’re up here you have to get down the mountain,’ I say. ‘That’s how skiing works, unfortunately.’
‘But what about people like me who really can’t do it? Isn’t there a rescue service? I saw someone being taken down earlier?’
I laugh, thinking she is joking, but then, looking at her face, see she isn’t. ‘No. That’s only for people who are injured.’
This starts a fresh batch of tears. ‘So I have to do it?’
‘Yeah. Sorry. But look, once you’re down, if you don’t want to do any more, that’s fine. I’m not going to force you. Obviously.’ Please don’t want to do any more, or at least, don’t make me come with you, I plead inwardly.
She nods and bites her lip. ‘OK. I guess we’d better get on with it then. Sooner we go, sooner it’s over with. Help me up?’
I haul her up, and we spent another forty-five minutes picking our way down the slope. Fortunately, this time, the snowboarders give us a wide berth.
24
December 1998, La Madière, France
Louisa
‘So, Louisa, how was your first day on the slopes?’ Adam asks. We’re at a table for four in the soulless dining room and have been served a starter of pâté and toast garnished with some limp lettuce leaves.
‘It was tricky,’ I say, absentmindedly spreading pâté onto a slice of toast as if it was butter. I notice Nell has delicately broken off a small piece of toast to spread the pâté on and feel myself go red. However hard I’ve been trying to get things right since I went to Oxford, I’m always slipping up. There are so many things to remember.
It’s not helped by the fact that I’m already more than a bit drunk. I’m not generally a big drinker, but by the time we got to the bottom of the horrible endless slope I felt I needed something to steady my nerves. Will took us into a bar and ordered two vins chauds. It wasn’t really what I wanted – I’d never liked mulled wine on the few occasions I’d tried it, but actually, it was pretty good and went down very nicely.
As I was draining my glass and wondering about having another one, Will glanced at his watch and then reached across the table to take my hand.
‘Darling, would you mind terribly if I dashed off and did a run or two before the lifts close? I don’t feel like I’ve skied much today – I haven’t been in the snow since last year and the weather’s so beautiful, it’s meant to change in the next couple of days so …’