‘Can’t you make it down on one ski?’ I ask impatiently. ‘Given that you’re such a shit-hot skier?’
‘Not on this type of terrain, you utter and complete arse,’ he replies. ‘Come on, help me out, it’s got to be here somewhere.’
But the cold is getting to me now. ‘Fuck’s sake, Adam, this is ridiculous. We could both die out here if we’re not careful. I’m going to head off and find the guides. They’re probably shitting their pants about where we are anyway. They must have a procedure for this. Maybe they can send a snowcat up to get you or something.’
‘Too steep,’ Adam barks. ‘Just help me look.’
I’m genuinely starting to feel scared now. I think Adam is too, not that he’d ever admit it. But one of us needs to do something.
‘No. I’m going down. We could be here forever doing this.’
‘Fuck you, Will – help me, won’t you? There’s no point in having spent this much time looking for it, only for you to—’
‘I’m going,’ I insist. ‘I’m going to get help. It’s the sensible thing to do, whether you can see it or not. If you can’t make it down on one ski, you’ll have to wait here. One way or another, I’ll get someone to come for you. They’re not just going to leave you here. It’ll be fine.’
I carefully place my skis down and try to get them back on but the slope is so steep and there’s so much snow in my boots and bindings that it’s almost impossible.
‘Fuck’s sake, Adam!’ I explode. ‘Why the fuck did I listen to you! I can’t get my bloody skis on now!’
‘And that’s my fault how?’ he shouts back. ‘Help me look for the other ski and we can both get down off this mountain.’
One ski finally clicks into place. I take a deep breath. ‘Adam, I think it’s best for both of us if I go and get help. I’m not doing this to prove a point or even because I don’t want to help you – which, I have to admit, right at this moment I really fucking don’t. But we’ve no doubt strayed from where we were originally, so even the guides probably wouldn’t know how to find us. We’re not on a piste – there’ll be no patrol. This is properly dangerous, Adam – life-and-death stuff. I need to go, let the guides know that you are here and that you’re stuck. OK? Then they can get help. It’s the only sensible thing to do.’
Adam doesn’t reply but keeps stabbing uselessly at the snow with his pole. Fuck him. I’m getting off this mountain. My second ski finally clicks into place and I push myself away. Adam grabs me.
‘You’re not going.’
‘I am. Let go of me.’
I try to force him off me, but I can’t turn because my skis are pointing the wrong way and I’m holding my poles. He pushes me over and we both fall.
My head hits something hard.
29
January 2020, La Madière, France
Hugo
‘A body?’ I ask. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t think they know much more than that,’ Matt says. ‘A body was discovered early this morning. Until they’ve ascertained what happened, no one can ski in the sector where it was found. They can’t open the lifts in the higher sectors anyway this morning because of the wind, so … There are a few runs open at the bottom, but not much of any interest to anyone except beginners I don’t think.’
‘Oh, how awful!’ Ria says. I look at her for the first time since she came downstairs. She looks pale and startled, but she’s still beautiful. I feel a stirring of lust and am annoyed with myself. I’m still cross with her, I tell myself. I’m not letting her off the hook that easily.
Matt nods solemnly. ‘Yes, awful. All I’ve been told is that a body has been found, the police and mountain rescue are investigating, but it’s taking longer than usual because of the terrible weather. The road into the resort is blocked and they can’t even fly a helicopter in these high winds so …’
‘Poor bugger,’ I say.
Ria looks at me and then across at Matt and – oh God – she holds his gaze too long for my liking. My face grows hot. I bury my face in my paper and pretend to read the news.
‘A terrible thing,’ Matt continues. ‘The police have sealed off a huge area. As you can imagine in a small resort like this, there’s a lot of gossip and speculation going around, but we don’t know who it is yet – not even if it’s someone local or a visitor – and I doubt we will know for a while.’
‘Do they know what happened?’ Ria asks. ‘Who found him? It. Them. Is it a man?’
Matt pulls a face. ‘Like I say, at the moment it’s mainly rumour and speculation. As I understand it, one of the piste-basher drivers almost ran over the body on his way back down to the resort in the early hours of this morning. I’m not sure exactly where it was found, but it sounds unlikely it was a skier – the mountain guys would have scooped up any stray people still on the slopes when they did their final rounds at the end of the day. My best guess is someone had a few too many in one of the bars last night, got lost on the way home and tripped over, or simply fell asleep in the snow.’ He pauses. ‘Not that we should be speculating, of course.’
‘Does that kind of thing happen often?’ I ask.
‘Not too often, thankfully – it’s not something I’ve ever had personal experience of – but you do hear about it now and again, in the press or from other reps. Terrible thing. But people come on holiday, drink too much, and feel invincible. The mountains can be dangerous, and you have to respect them.’
The room falls silent. Matt gives himself a shake and says, ‘Anyway. Enough lecturing from me. I assume everyone is present and correct here?’
I look up from my paper, which I can’t understand anyway as it’s in French; I should have brought my iPad downstairs. ‘I haven’t seen the others yet. But I imagine they fancied a lie-in – it turned into rather a late night. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have gone out.’
‘Does anyone know if Cameron stayed in the end?’ Matt asks.
‘No idea,’ I say, turning back to the paper. I’m ashamed to find for a fleeting moment that I hope it’s Cameron who’s been found in the snow. I push the thought away. He’s a knob, but no one deserves to freeze to death like that.
‘Me neither,’ Ria adds.
Matt pauses. ‘OK. I guess I’ll give him a call later. No need to disturb him unnecessarily.’
We all continue eating breakfast in silence.
PART THREE
30
BEFORE
Mama was crying. I didn’t want to eat my dinner – it was Weetabix, like it often was when Mama was too tired to cook. I’d thrown it on the floor. I thought Mama would shout at me because I’d made a mess – but she didn’t. She sat down on one of our two rickety kitchen chairs and started crying – not just a bit, but really, really sobbing. Huge hiccupping sobs so big that she could barely catch her breath.
‘Mama?’ I said, reaching out and touching her hand, which she pulled away to swipe angrily at her eyes. ‘Mama? Don’t cry …’ But she carried on, not even saying anything, and soon I started crying too.