Chalet Girls

by Lorraine Wilson

Also there’s no way I can leave Luc at our busiest time of the year, it wouldn’t be fair on him, sorry Mum.

  Maybe you could come out to us instead? You still haven’t seen where we live. I’d love to show you around and help you to understand why I love Switzerland so much.

  Love Sophie

  From: sandratrent@gmail.com

  To: sophietrent@hotmail.com

  Re: Wedding plans

  Sophie, darling, you know we never go abroad nowadays. We couldn’t possibly leave Toby. Having a diabetic dog is a big responsibility. I couldn’t trust a dog-sitter to do the injections properly and you know we never put him in kennels.

  Are you really sure about The Lodge? I’d be happy to take care of all of the details for you. We really would love to see you. It feels like so long since you were back in the summer.

  Love, Mum

  From: sophietrent@hotmail.com

  To: sandratrent@gmail.com

  Cc: derektrent@gmail.com

  Re: Wedding plans

  Yes, Mum, I’m sure about The Lodge. I’m sorry if you had your heart set on it.

  Re: Toby you know you can get pet passports now? That would mean you could drive over and bring Toby with you, maybe have a few stops in France on the way to break the driving up. Your route would take you through the Champagne region and you could add a day or two and detour to Burgundy for wine-tasting. Remember, you and Dad were always saying you’d love to do that one day?

  Love, Sophie

  Aargh.

  Wedding bossiness aside, it really irks that I‘m being made to feel guilty about not going home to England. Why does it never occur to Mum that it‘s exactly the same distance for us to go there as it is for them to come to us? Plus, since Dad took early retirement it‘s much easier for them to take time out. Yet they haven‘t been out here once. When I took Luc home to meet them last June we had to close up the bar for a week. I don‘t think they appreciated that. Not that Luc complained, but still.

  I don‘t get a reply back. Either Mum has switched their computer off or she‘s in a huff because I didn‘t capitulate as usual.

  I idly open the Facebook app on my phone to kill time while I wait for Luc to finish up downstairs. An update from Katie, a Lake District friend, makes me pause. It‘s a photo of a smiling Katie clutching a sonogram of an unborn baby.

  Her unborn baby.

  Breath catches in my chest.

  It hurts she didn‘t tell me first, privately, though I know why. She‘s the only person back home who knows about what happened with Thomas – the STD, the pelvic inflammatory disease and my scarred ovaries. I went home that summer and she helped me pick up the pieces. It was Katie who packed me off to the doctor to get a counselling referral.

  If only I‘d known what that would cost me.

  ‚CONGRATS :-) xxxx‘ I type into the comments box and then scroll down through the other comments.

  A comment from Vanessa catches my eye. ‚Totes fantastic news! Now our babies can be playmates :-)‘

  Before I can stop myself I‘ve clicked on her profile. There‘s no way stalking the wife of my first boyfriend Steven can help, but, just like reaching for a second doughnut it‘s irresistible.

  I scroll through photos of Steven and Vanessa‘s beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed toddler twins. Then, to further punish myself I go on to read the news that they‘re expecting another baby.

  My chest constricts again.

  It feels as if a black hole has opened up inside me and is sucking at my soul. As though I‘m in danger of losing myself. I can still see the cute twins when I close my eyes. Dimples, blonde curls and cute grins.

  If … If …

  I ignore the klaxon sounding in my head, telling me not to go there but I‘m mired too deep in boggy territory. I‘m already there, in the land of ‚If‘.

  If I‘d said ‚yes‘ when Steven asked me to marry him, before I came to Switzerland then I never would have met Thomas. If my self esteem hadn‘t been so low that I‘d been flattered by that charming bastard I wouldn‘t have gone home with him. I wouldn‘t have caught the STD Thomas so generously shared with me, refusing to use protection when I asked him.

  If I‘d stopped him. If I hadn‘t been weak.

  I wouldn‘t be infertile.

  Max shifts on my lap, turning soulful brown eyes on me. It feels like a reproach.

  Luc.

  I can‘t imagine a world without Luc. Not one I‘d want to live in. I cuddle Max tightly, his warm fur comforting beneath my fingers. He snuggles into me contentedly, with an audible sigh.

  I really should stay away from Facebook when I‘m feeling fragile.

  Luc finds me curled up on the sofa with Max stretched out happily on top of me while I stare at the ceiling.

  When he hears Luc, Max leaps off me to greet him and I miss the comforting warmth of his furry body, his unquestioning loyalty and love.

  ‘Can I take Max‘s place?’ Luc quirks an eyebrow at me, lips twisting into a smile that transforms his tired face.

  ‘Sure.’ I make myself smile back.

  Luc sits on the sofa and pulls me onto his lap. Peace ripples through me. I might dream of building a chalet one day, but I‘m perfectly happy here in our little flat above the Bar des Amis. It‘s small but cosy. I love retreating to it at the end of the day and finally getting Luc all to myself.

  I sigh, letting my body fit into his and welcoming the feel of his hands on my body. It might be familiar, but his touch still triggers darts of arousal beneath my skin and makes desire stir and curl deep in the pit of my stomach.

  When he kisses me my body sings, aching to be one with him again. I‘ll forget about Mum, the wedding and adoption stuff, just for tonight.

  Live in the moment. Isn‘t that what‘s popular nowadays, with the trend for mindfulness?

  I ignore the voice in my head that says I‘m storing up trouble. Luc has been so stressed about his dad I can‘t add to that, not tonight.

  ‘I love you Luc,’ I say, once my lips are free.

  ‘I love you too, Sophie. Toujours.’ He cups one of my breasts through my top and my nipple hardens to his touch. I help him undress me, lifting my arms so he can pull my top over my head.

  Once my bra’s discarded, he lowers his mouth to my breasts, kissing and teasing them, sucking hard on my nipples.

  I shiver in delight and grind against the growing bulge of Luc’s erection, seized by a growing impatience to have him inside me. Wanting. Needing the reassurance of his desire for me.

  I unbutton his shirt, needing to feel him skin on skin. His breath quickens when I lean forward, purposely grazing my nipples against his bare chest. In the way I know turns him on. He groans and rises from the sofa, taking me with him to the rug in front of the wood-burning stove.

  His lips are on my skin as he tugs down my jeans and knickers with practised ease. I lie bare and exposed to him as he strips off. I’m his and my body delights in the knowledge.

  When he lowers his head between my thighs my stomach flips with anticipation. He’s such a generous lover, taking pleasure in making me come. His tongue teases my clit and I buck beneath his mouth, squirming with growing need.

  Oh boy, Luc really is very good at this. He says he loves watching me come, which is fine by me, I’m happy to oblige. I have no inhibitions in front of him and love how comfortable I am in his company.

  I lose myself in the swelling tide of arousal building in my sex and tightening nipples. I give myself over to sensations that wipe my brain of thought and sweep the emotional pain to one side. When I feel the wave of arousal washing over me, taking me with it, I cry out, welcoming the much-needed release.

  While I’m still tingling and super-sensitive, Luc parts my thighs and enters me, his thrusts prolonging the pleasure and making me moan. I clutch at his back, needing to hold onto him, to keep him closer, deeper …

  Making us one.

  ‘Sophie,’ he cries out my name as he jerks and comes inside me. I’ll never t
ire of the musical inflection Luc’s accent gives my name. Making love with him could never get old. Familiarity has only brought us greater intimacy and deeper unity. We know each other’s bodies and exactly how to turn each other on.

  Once recovered, he rolls off me and lies by my side. I know not talking to him about my concerns potentially threatens that closeness, but when I see the weariness etched onto his brow and the dark shadows beneath his eyes I can’t bear to add to his problems. Surely love means to protect?

  I’ll just have to deal with it on my own.

  ‘Come to bed, you look like you’re ready to drop.’ I slip my hand into his.

  He blinks sleepily and nods.

  I should be grateful for what I have. I love Luc more than I ever believed it possible to love someone. My world lights up when he smiles at me. His love has done a hell of a lot more for me than counselling ever did.

  So why is the other stuff so hard? I can cope with a childless future, I think. Even though I always wanted to be a mother. When I was a little girl I used to beg neighbours with babies to let me have a cuddle with them.

  Once I was old enough to babysit I was in great demand. Children seemed to like me as much as I liked them. I loved reading children’s books and watching Disney and Pixar DVDs.

  Well, okay, I still do. Luc watches them with me and pretends not to enjoy them, but secretly he does. I always catch him watching instead of reading his book.

  Something in me lights up with joy when I connect with a small child or a baby clamps a tiny fist around one of my fingers. I love that special baby smell, the peachy soft skin, the big eyes and the tiny toes …

  I even have wide, child-bearing hips and large, full breasts.

  All of which makes infertility horribly cruel, but I could learn to deal with it, I think, if it was just me.

  But it’s not just me and the guilt that I’m imposing this agony on Luc too is killing me. As we climb into bed I try to ignore the voice that says he doesn’t have to cope with it. There’s nothing wrong with him. It’s all my fault.

  I close my eyes against the surging emotion and try to lock down the bleak thoughts.

  They’re too scary, too much. A deep, gaping chasm I could lose myself in.

  Instead I’ll live in the moment. This moment is lying with my fiancé and a hot-water bottle of a terrier who‘s jumped onto the bed to settle on my feet.

  ‘I really need this.’ Holly is smiling as we walk to Chalet Repos the next day, through powdery snow freshly fallen overnight. Verbier is basking in glorious sunshine today.

  ‘Need what? Some time with the girls?’ I ask, determined to make the most of the afternoon. I need this too, if I‘m honest. With the extra shifts to cover Luc‘s absences and all the stressing, I could really use some downtime.

  ‘More like some child-free time,’ Holly says, seemingly oblivious that her words feel like a slap to me. ‘I love Maddie to bits, but if I don‘t get some baby-free time I might go stark-raving mad, forget who I am and turn into a zombie milking machine.’

  ‘Lovely image.’ I crack a smile. ‘Should we set a password so I can tell if you‘re the real Holly?’

  ‘Who is that again?’

  ‘Hmm, let me think.’ I link arms with her. ‘You‘re Holly, a super-cool mum, and a smoking-hot wife. Not to mention a really lovely friend.’

  ‘You always make me feel good about myself, Sophie.’ Holly grins. ‘I need to keep you on call for whenever I need an ego boost.’

  ‘I thought I already was on call for that.’ I raise an eyebrow.

  ‘True.’ She smiles. ‘Well, hopefully we‘ll both have a nice afternoon. You can chat weddings with Amelia.’

  The W word. My heart plummets. I was doing okay not thinking about it. Why does life insist on interfering with my living-in-the-moment policy?

  ‘Hmm, maybe.’ I don‘t look at her.

  ‘How‘s your Mary Berry impression?’

  ‘Er, what?’

  ‘Or Paul Hollywood, either would do.’

  ‘Are you suffering from baby brain, Holly?’ I pause before we enter Chalet Repos.

  ‘No, you dope. We‘re judging a Great Chalet Repos Verbier Bake-Off, ‘ Holly says, as though she‘s making perfect sense and I‘m being particularly slow on the uptake.

  ‘Okaaay … Mind backing up a few steps?’

  ‘Well, we‘ve got a few days before the Christmas and New Year guests arrive, so the girls are doing a Bake-Off-themed contest to try out some new recipes,’ Holly explains. ‘And we get to taste and judge them.’

  ‘That does sound like fun.’ My spirits lighten. ‘I‘d prefer if we were Mel and Sue, though.’

  ‘I think Tash and Amelia are taking it pretty seriously,’ Holly adds.

  ‘Rolling pins at dawn?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Once we‘re through the door we‘re greeted by delicious cakey aromas and a chorus of welcomes. My stomach rumbles, reminding me I forgot to eat breakfast.

  ‘Where‘s Matt?’ Holly asks, flopping down onto a sofa.

  ‘He and Jake have made themselves scarce, but they want us to save them plenty of cake,’ Amelia says, taking off her apron and draping it over the back of a chair.

  On the dining table there‘s an array of cakes – chocolate cake, carrot cake and sponges. There are even a couple of giant cup cakes and two three-dimensional chalets. I look more closely, impressed. One of them even has a hot tub with whipped- cream bubbles.

  Behind each plate is a lolly stick with a card circle glued to it, presumably with names or photos facing away from us.

  So Holly was right, someone is taking this very seriously. Not so much so that we can‘t have fun, I hope.

  ‘It all looks amazing,’ I nod over at the table. ‘I can‘t wait to taste them.’

  ‘Who would like some tea or coffee? Or we have a couple of bottles of Prosecco if you‘d rather.’ Amelia plays the part of hostess very well. I wonder if Holly feels odd, ceding her role to Amelia.

  ‘I‘d better stick to tea, given I‘m breastfeeding,’ Holly says.

  ‘Prosecco please,’ I add quickly, not sure I can bear it if the talk turns to babies. Guilt floods me. I‘m a terrible friend and a bad godmother, not to mention a faulty fiancée and a disappointing daughter.

  Bloody hell. I really need that drink. And to lighten up.

  The thing is, I‘ve always been a people-pleaser. I often hear the aphorism that you ‚can‘t please all the people all the time‘, but what‘s so wrong about trying to do just that? The better you are at it, the happier you can make the people around you.

  All I want is to help make the people I love happy. When did that suddenly get so difficult?

  I blink hard and take a large sip from the glass of Prosecco Amelia hands to me.

  ‘Thanks. Those cakes look amazing,’ I say.

  Amelia smiles smugly. She thinks she‘s going to win.

  I gaze over at the cakes again. I bet hers is the chalet with gingerbread walls, butter-cream icing snow and hot tub with whipped-cream bubbles.

  With the looks Tash is shooting at the creation, I guess hers is the other chalet. Awkward. I wish I wasn‘t judging.

  At least I‘m no longer living in a dorm room and coping with all the tensions and petty jealousies that enforced proximity creates.

  Twenty minutes later I‘m full of cake and Amelia is looking even more pleased with herself than before, if that were possible. Unfortunately her creation had the edge both in taste and presentation, so Holly and I had no choice but to place her first. Hopefully Tash will forgive us.

  I bet the competition was Amelia‘s idea in the first place.

  ‘Well, that was kind of intense.’ Rebecca sits down next to me. I‘ve always had a soft spot for her. She can‘t help coming from a privileged background. Her father is a high-court judge and she grew up with the big house, a private school and a pony. But I get the impression money is the only thing she ever got from her parents, and I know she�
�s not happy. I think she‘s lonely, never feeling like she fits in here and certainly not accepted at home.

  I used to be bullied at school, so I know that kind of loneliness. I smile at her and budge up to make more room for her.

  ‘How‘s the wedding planning going, Sophie?’ she asks and I resist the urge to grind my teeth.

  Why does everyone assume I‘m just dying to talk about my wedding plans? It‘s as though now I‘m engaged, nothing else matters.

  I restrain my sigh. Rebecca‘s only being polite.

  ‘Um, well it‘s still early days. I‘m not sure …’ I break off as the rest of the room falls silent to listen to me. ‘Luc‘s dad isn‘t well at the moment, so things are a bit up in the air.’

  I catch Amelia shooting a knowing look at Emily. So, they‘re assuming something‘s wrong between me and Luc and I‘ve got cold feet. Or that he has. Great.

  ‘What about your parents, are they the get-involved kind?’ Lucy asks from where she‘s perched on the edge of the sofa.

  ‘I told my mum she had to stay well out of it. After all, it‘s my wedding, not hers,’ Amelia says.

  Why doesn‘t that surprise me? I briefly consider what would happen if I did the same. The universe would implode. Not to mention that I‘d seriously hurt Mum‘s feelings. I can‘t flick a switch and suddenly stop caring.

  ‘Mum does seem to want to take over. She‘s been planning things behind my back,’ I say. I can‘t mention about her nagging me for grandchildren because Holly and Tash would realise that means I haven‘t told Mum about being infertile. It‘s all so complicated.

  ‘It‘s really nice she wants to be involved,’ Holly says quietly. She doesn‘t add any more, but the look in her eyes tells me she‘d give anything for a mother who loves her so much she wants to plan her wedding.

  I glance along the sofa to Tash, a refugee from the care system, and feel even worse. I should be grateful and I am thankful to have a mother who loves me but …

  ‘How about you, Beth? Do you have the kind of mum who wants to organise every detail of your life?’ Holly turns her gaze on Beth.

  ‘My mum‘s dead,’ Beth replies, staring down at the floor, meeting no one‘s eye.

  A silence follows in which I now know for definite that I‘m the most ungrateful person in the universe.