‘If you ever want to talk, I‘m here for you, okay?’
‘Hmm. I ought to get back to the chalet.’ I sigh and roll away, wishing he‘d stop asking if I‘m okay.
‘Will you be alright, Beth?’ Dan sits up.
‘I’ll be fine.’ The automatic response slips out. I hesitate, unable to locate a better, more honest, response. I suppose the most accurate answer is ‚I‘ll be‘. I‘ll exist and I‘ll carry on. What other choice is there?
We often think we can‘t cope or that events are unbearable and yet we endure them. We carry on breathing in and out and the days keep rolling on regardless of personal tragedy.
I will be okay, someday. It‘s the only certainty I can be sure of for now.
‘If you’re not and you need someone, you know where to find me. Any time, including the middle of the night.’ Dan pulls his jeans back on. ‘Or you can come over even if you just fancy my company. Okay?’
Okay. That bloody word again. Why is there this insistence that we all have to be okay all the time? I‘m convinced most of us are carrying loss, hiding secrets, nursing heartbreak or chronically anxious a lot of the time. Scratch a little below the surface and you‘ll find a huge tangled jumble of wires, knotted so deep they‘ll always be a part of us. Or maybe it‘s just me who feels this way, but somehow I don‘t think so. Still we skate over the surface with words – I‘m okay, I‘m alright, I‘m fine – even when we‘re so tangled up inside we‘re afraid we‘ll never be free.
‘Okay,’ I nod, wondering if I ever will be.
Chapter 13
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Christmas!
Hello, Sophie. I put up our Christmas tree today and it brought back such happy memories. Do you remember our little ritual? You were always such a perfectionist, insisting the glass angels had to go together otherwise they’d be lonely. I still put the fairy you made at school at the top of the tree, even though it’s looking a little worse for wear nowadays. I must admit, it made me a tad teary. You’ll understand when you have children of your own, darling. I just hope when that day comes you’ll bring them back home to their English grandparents for plenty of visits. I could teach them how to make decorated gingerbread houses and bake mince pies with them. Do you have mince pies in Switzerland?
I suppose I should get off the computer and get on with the last-minute Christmas cards. Would you believe the snobbish Robinsons at number 22 sent us a card? After they accused Dad of bribing a council official to get that last allotment too! I’ll send them one of the boring cards with the robins on. I only bought them because they were charity cards.
Speak soon, darling, and see you on Christmas morning too if your dad gets that Skype thingie to work. I know Luc sent him instructions.
Love, Mum
SOPHIE
I’m not going to let the W word affect Christmas. It’s going to be hard enough with Luc convinced it’ll be his dad’s last Christmas. Never mind the fact we’ve been rushed off our feet coping with both the Bar des Amis and the Café du Place and half our staff being stricken by a flu bug. I‘ve barely had time to wash my hair, never mind think about things. Just how I like it.
Despite all the hard work, I usually love Christmas. The Bar des Amis isn‘t one of the trendiest in Verbier but we attract business owners and locals as well as tourists. It means there‘s a nice, extended-family feel on Christmas Eve, which is a bigger deal here than Christmas Day itself.
It also means we know some of our regulars are happy to stand in and help man the bar in return for free drinks if it gets busy while we‘re in Vex visiting Luc‘s parents.
Last week I spent half a night decorating the bar, with Tash‘s help. It was fun, but putting up decorations made me think of Mum decorating the tree back home without me, even before I got her email. We always used to do it together and I loved it. We‘d have carols playing in the background and gingerbread baking in the oven. Christmas Eve for Mum and Dad means drinks and mince pies with the neighbours and a midnight service at the local church.
They have traditions I always thought I‘d carry on with my own family.
That I‘ll never get to decorate a Christmas tree with my own daughter or son hurts like crazy but I have to push those thoughts down. It‘s that or drown in them.
I used to think you could only grieve for things you’d actually lost. Now I know the pain and loss you feel for things that will never be bad enough to leave you doubled over and gasping with grief.
Growing up I assumed I‘d get married, have children, take them round to see Grandma and Grandad and have big family Christmases. Back then I believed everything was possible. I suppose, in a way, it was.
Maybe living in Switzerland will help me forget that other ghost life – the ghost of Christmases that will never be. Will that ghost haunt me every year in my very own version of ‚A Christmas Carol‘?
At least as long as we have Bar des Amis we‘ll have to work for most of the Christmas break. Also there are new, different traditions here. Father Christmas walks through the mountain villages on Christmas Eve dispensing gifts to children. There‘s also the snow. I always longed for snow on Christmas Eve back in England. Sleet or hail just doesn‘t create the same ambience.
There‘s no danger of that here. I watch the thick snowflakes falling outside the window on Christmas morning. It‘s cosy in the flat. I‘m sitting on the sofa in front of the wood-burning stove with my legs draped over Luc‘s lap. Max is pressed as close to the stove as he can get without burning his nose. Maybe making new traditions, just the two of us, isn‘t so bad.
Once we‘ve drunk our Kir Royales we Skype my parents to wish them a Happy Christmas. Thankfully Dad is more technically competent than Mum when it comes to the computer. I‘ve worn the silk jersey-mix dress Mum and Dad gave me as a present and I‘m wearing the silver dog pendant Luc gave me too. I‘m feeling pretty chilled.
Mum beams out of the laptop screen, Dad hovering slightly behind her wearing his obligatory reindeer Christmas jumper.
‘We both love our presents, darling. Your dad has been glued to his Kindle since he opened it this morning and I love the cookbooks you bought for me.’ Mum hesitates and then adds. ‘Wouldn‘t it be wonderful if next Christmas there was a grandchild to buy presents for?’
Luc stiffens beside me, his jaw tensing.
‘I don‘t think that‘s very likely, Sandra,’ Dad interrupts, putting a hand on Mum‘s arm. ‘You‘re expecting them to move pretty fast. They‘d have to get quite a move on to get married, pregnant and have the baby by next Christmas.’
Luc smiles, but it‘s the kind of smile he reserves for patrons who‘ve outstayed their welcome. It‘s automatic and polite, but it‘s not genuine. He makes conversation about what books Dad has loaded onto his Kindle and which recipes Mum is going to try from her new cookbooks.
I‘m glad he‘s talking because I can‘t think of a word to say. I should‘ve known my earlier peace wouldn‘t last long. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from crying.
At last it seems we‘ve exhausted any conversation about gifts or plans for the day.
‘Anyway, it‘s been great seeing you both,’ Mum beams, seemingly oblivious to the fact I‘ve said very little. ‘We should probably be going now, though. We‘ve got friends coming over for lunch.’
I exhale with relief when the call ends, but the relief is short-lived when Luc turns and looks at me sternly.
‘You have to tell your parents, Sophie. It isn‘t right to keep them in the dark. I had no idea they didn‘t know about us, about us not being able to …’
He can‘t even say the words.
There‘s a lump in my throat and I don‘t feel very Christmassy any more.
‘I know,’ I reply, my voice barely a whisper. ‘It‘s just she‘s going to be so … so … disappointed.’
The sob catches in my throat and Luc presses me to his chest, his expression softening.
> He‘s right. I need to tell her. Just get it over with, like ripping off a plaster. I just have to rehearse in my head what to say.
‘Mum, I can‘t have children, so all your dreams of grandchildren are over. Oh, and, by the way, I‘m infertile because I caught an STD from a jerk called Thomas who slept with me once and then humiliated me.’
So, that‘s not going to happen. I don‘t think Mum would ever speak to me again. Every time I looked at her I‘d see the disappointment and disgust in her eyes. Not to mention Dad. I couldn‘t bear for him to know the details. It‘s so sordid.
Shame shudders through me. I was so easily flattered by the charming, handsome Thomas. He was my first and only one-night stand and I paid dearly for it.
Maybe I‘ll just go with the infertility and leave out any details. That‘ll be quite enough truth for Mum to deal with in one go. If I email instead of telling her on the phone at least I can be sure of it coming out exactly how I want it to. I‘ll also have time to think about how to answer any questions she asks – because she will.
Thank God for email and the ability to keep your relatives one step removed. I sense an email buffer is going to be needed for the train wreck about to hit it.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Re: Bad news
Sophie darling, your Dad and I are both very sorry to hear your news. This is why I was so worried about you leaving things so late. Can you tell me exactly what the doctors said?
Have you considered fertility treatment? They can work wonders these days. I know they have excellent specialists at Manchester. If you came home we’d be happy to take you to any appointments.
In the meantime, we’ll just have to be brave and focus on the wedding. I’ve found a hotel further north with gardens on the banks of Ullswater. Do you remember you used to love going on the Ullswater steamer when you were little? It seems fitting for you to have your reception somewhere you used to be so happy.
Chin up, darling. You can rely on me to plan the wedding of your dreams to help cheer you up.
Lots of love
Mum
‘What’s wrong?’ Holly opens the door to me and immediately wraps me in a big hug.
‘Can‘t … can‘t … do it.’ I sob, struggling to voice what brought me here. I‘m incapacitated by an unbearable sadness. It‘s an unstoppable tide, sweeping me away with it to some unknown destination.
‘Sit down and try to … you know, breathe. In and out, nice and slow. It helps.’ She guides me towards the sofa and then rushes off to fetch tissues.
‘Where‘s Maddie?’ I hiccup, once I‘m more in control.
When the tsunami first hit me I instinctively stumbled my way to Holly, my three a.m. friend. The one I know is always there for me. It‘s a relief to discover Holly becoming a mum hasn‘t changed that dynamic between us.
‘She‘s asleep. Amazingly.’ Holly sits next to me. ‘I was going to take advantage and do the washing and dishwasher but I‘d much rather be talking to you. Although, ideally, you‘d not be leaking quite so much.’
She hands me a wad of tissues.
‘Sorry,’ I half-laugh, half-sniff. ‘I seem to be making a habit of this lately.’
‘It‘s payback for all the times you‘ve done the same for me.’ She puts an arm around my shoulders. ‘I‘m relieved, frankly. I‘ve always been the needy one in our relationship and this helps redress the balance.’
‘Happy to oblige.’ I blow my nose on a tissue and manage a crooked smile.
‘So …’ Holly eyes me speculatively.
‘So,’ I reply and then reluctantly give in to the need to fill the silence. ‘I finally told Mum about me not being able to have children. I edited Thomas and the cause of it out, though.’
‘I don‘t blame you.’ Holly pulls a face. ‘If only it were so easy to edit Thomas out of real life. I‘d write him out with a particularly painful skiing accident.’
‘Don‘t give Luc ideas.’ I snort with laughter, the image of Thomas encased in a plaster cast providing a much-needed mood boost. ‘In his current state of mind he might see that as a constructive suggestion rather than a joke.’
‘Who‘s joking?’ Holly arches her eyebrows.
I bite my lip. ‘Luc still doesn‘t know the name of the man responsible and I need to keep it that way. He‘s … struggling at the moment, with his dad and the adoption issue. He wouldn‘t want me to tell you that. You know what men are like.’
‘I know, Scott‘s the same,’ Holly sighs. ‘Like depression is a weakness. I think it‘s because they don‘t talk about the same things we do. They assume everyone is coping fine and if they‘re not it‘s an epic fail.’
‘I think everyone struggles at one time or another, that‘s just being human. Not being weak.’ My heart contracts at the thought of Luc struggling with long hours at both cafés, trying to be the supportive fiancé to me and deal with his own pain and impending loss.
‘I had no idea your mum didn’t know about you not being able to have children,’ Holly adds, her tone gentle.
‘I’m a coward,’ I admit. ‘She’s been nagging me for grandchildren for years now. Maybe she’s worried she’ll be slung out of the WI for not having any grand-offspring photos to show at coffee mornings. I think it’s a bit like not having cool trainers at school. She’ll be a social outcast.’
‘Did she take it very badly, then?’ Holly pulls a sympathetic face.
‘Oddly she took it better than I thought she would.’ I shrug. ‘Well, apart from wanting to ship me home for medical tests and second opinions, but I expected that. It was the fact she was so nice about it that did for me. She wants to make it up to me by planning the wedding of her dreams.’
‘Don’t you mean the wedding of your dreams?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’ Holly grimaces sympathetically.
‘I’m not sure my involvement or desires are important beyond turning up on the day with a bridegroom.’ I sigh.
‘Have you tried talking to her?’
‘I’ve just crushed her dreams for grandchildren and now I need to tell her to shelve her dreams for her only child’s wedding too? I can’t do it.’
Holly frowns. ‘Am I missing something? I know it’s not ideal, but can’t you just go through with your Mum’s wedding plans if you really want to make her happy? I’m not saying you should, by the way. I think you should press for the wedding you and Luc want.’
I resist the temptation to laugh hysterically and try to explain the tangled mess in my head.
‘Luc’s dad isn’t well enough to travel. Not unreasonably he wants to see his son married before he dies. So his family have assumed we’re getting married in Switzerland. I think they might have started making plans. Again, without actually consulting either of us. Getting married in Switzerland is fine by me but Mum and Dad won’t travel.’
‘Why not?’
‘They won’t leave their diabetic dog. They don’t do kennels or dog-sitters. Mum swears he’d die in anyone else’s care. It’s why they’ve never been out here to visit, even though I’ve told them countless times about the pet passport scheme.’ I throw my hands up in the air. ‘Mum’s just like a steamroller when she gets going. Anything you say she doesn’t want to hear it’s like she’s got her hands over her ears and is singing la la la. Seriously, it’s that bad. Every time I come up with a solution she finds another insurmountable problem.
‘Have you tried talking to Luc about it?’
‘The thing is, Holly, like I said, Luc’s so stressed about his dad at the moment. With running both Bar des Amis and Café du Place, along with all the extra driving between Verbier and Vex, he‘s permanently knackered. When he‘s really low I don‘t want to make things worse, but then, when he‘s actually in a better mood, I don‘t want to spoil it and bring him down again.’
‘You‘re going to have to at some point. You know that, right?’ A sympathetic quirk of her lips acknowledges it
‘s not going to be easy.
I nod and grimace. ‘I suppose. I just don‘t want us starting out our marriage with him thinking my mum‘s a heartless cow for expecting us to marry without his parents present. I‘ll have to find a way of talking her round. If I can work out a solution Luc will never need to know.’
‘That doesn‘t sound like the greatest plan, Soph.’
I shrug. ‘It‘s the only plan I‘ve got. Coming on top of the adoption nightmare it‘s all been a bit much.’
I close my eyes and try to take a deep breath. Looping round and round in my mind are the thoughts – I‘m with the man I love, who loves me and wants to marry me. So why is life so complicated?
If our story were a film it would‘ve ended on Valentine‘s Day with the treasure hunt and romantic proposal at the W hotel. There would‘ve been a montage of kisses beneath cloudless blue skies and playful snowball fights with a soft focus lens applied to all life‘s hard edges.
Why is living happily ever after in the real world so damn difficult?
‘I think you could do with some tea to go with your sympathy.’ Holly pats my knee.
I open my eyes and struggle to bring myself back from the edge of something very dark indeed. ‘Thanks, Holly.’
She scrutinises me. ‘Chocolate too, you look like you need it. I‘ve got some hidden away from Scott.’
‘I thought he got wise to you hiding chocolate behind the vegetables?’ I smile, remembering the chocolate bars Holly used to hide from Scott when we were all living together at Chalet Repos.
‘I‘ve got a new hiding place. It‘s in the hall cupboard behind the vacuum cleaner. Scott claims not to know where that lives so I think I‘m safe.’ She grins as she gets up from the sofa. ‘I think you could do with a boost to your serotonin levels. It‘s scientifically proven, you know, chocolate is good for you.’
‘Thanks, Holly.’ I smile back, more grateful than I can express for our friendship and her willingness to drop everything for me. I stare around at the piles of dishes and dirty laundry loads. ‘Why don‘t I help with the dishwasher while the kettle‘s boiling. It‘ll be quicker with the two of us doing it.’
Chalet Girls Page 15
