Chalet Girls

by Lorraine Wilson

  Dan pauses, holding me closely to him. ‘So, what happened the day I met you at the cantine?’

  ‘He was there. I saw him with his friends. He talked about me and said some things that triggered memories, you know.’

  I don‘t want to say it, to have to spell it out. I‘m not going there, not today.

  Dan holds me tight until the discordant cries of the memories recede and I‘m fully present again.

  Dissociative disorder. That‘s the neat scientific term for the survival strategy I adopted to cope. I can‘t help wondering if I never had anything worth staying present for.

  Until now.

  ‘Of course I‘ll help, Beth. I‘ll do anything you want.’ Dan‘s breath is warm on my neck, on the chain of the pendant he placed there. ‘Don‘t you know by now that I‘d do anything for you?’

  Chapter 25

  From: sophietrent@hotmail.com

  To: sandratrent@gmail.com

  Cc: derektrent@gmail.com

  Re: Vets

  Yes, Mum, we‘ve booked you an appointment with our vet here in Switzerland and, yes, I‘m positive the appointment is more than 24 hours and less than five days before your Eurotunnel crossing. Toby won‘t be put into quarantine. I did send Dad all the details. Then all you need to do at Calais is just report to the pet control booth before you board the train at the Eurotunnel terminal, hand over Toby‘s passport and get him scanned. It‘s really easy, I promise.

  Luc and I both look forward to seeing you. I‘m so glad you‘re finally getting to see Switzerland and my home.

  Lots of love,

  Sophie

  xx

  SOPHIE

  ‘Look, it’s had a thousand Facebook shares already and almost as many YouTube views.’ Tash holds up her phone, a triumphant catlike smile on her lips.

  ‘Dan won’t get into trouble, will he?’ I try to ignore the knots in my stomach. I’d rather not be worrying about this on my wedding day, but we need to talk now before Mum and the others are finished in the steam room and join us. Chalet Amélie‘s treatment room, where Tash and I are now, has been transformed into a temporary wedding make-up and hair station. Our outfits are hanging in the bar area, where champagne is cooling and flutes are waiting to be filled.

  Emily and Jake have been fantastic getting everything ready for us. Dad is upstairs with Jake; both are staying well out of the way. Both Dad and Mum raved about the chalet when they got here and Toby has been running around outside woofing excitedly and eating snow with Pipsqueak and Max, so it seems, miraculously, that everyone is happy. Mum‘s friend, Rita, came with them and the fourth seat was taken by Gran, who miraculously got better when she realised a free holiday was up for grabs. She‘s resting in her room until the reception, convinced she‘d catch pneumonia in the mountain chapel, in spite of the space heaters we‘ve hired.

  Tash is delighted she got to spend the night here with a room to herself while Amelia is at Chalet Repos with her family. Beth, Lucy and Rebecca came over this morning to get ready with us, but Tash is my only bridesmaid. I would‘ve asked Holly, but she wants to be free to take Maddie out if she cries.

  A few months ago her decision might‘ve upset me, but I‘m in a better place now. Nothing stays the same forever. Life changes and good friendships change with it.

  Amelia hasn‘t asked any of the Chalet Repos girls to be her bridesmaids, but instead has chosen Matt‘s sister.

  ‘Beth says Dan doesn‘t care if he does get into trouble. It‘s unlikely, though. I expect Thomas might be able to persuade Facebook and YouTube to take it down eventually, but as there‘s no swearing, nudity or defamation in it, it‘s unlikely he‘d be successful,’ Tash grins maliciously. ‘He gave enough material without us having to say a word. Dan did a good job getting him to talk. He‘s a sound guy.’

  I connect the dots.

  ‘Are Dan and Beth a proper item, then?’

  ‘I think so,’ she nods. ‘And if not they should be.’

  ‘Talking about people who should be together, things seem to be going well with you and Nate,’ I smile. ‘I heard he was over here looking for a chalet for himself this time, not just for investment.’

  ‘Did you now? He was looking. I went with him for the viewings, but I don‘t think he‘s made an offer yet.’ Tash beams, her whole face lights up, making her look much younger. ‘I think I‘ll pop off for my shower now, if you‘ll be okay on your own, Soph?’

  ‘Sure,’ I nod and close my eyes to enjoy a few minutes peace and quiet before everything gets hectic.

  With no distractions it‘s hard not to think about the video doing the social media rounds. I didn‘t watch it and I‘ve no desire to. I know Dan got Thomas talking about Minger Wednesday – competing to take home the ugliest girl in the bar. He also expanded on his theory about fat girls trying harder in bed and boasted about never sleeping with the same girl twice.

  Dan also told Thomas he‘d heard some girl claim he‘d given her an STD and left her unable to have children after complications.

  That‘s the reason I can‘t watch it. Thomas‘s response was to shrug. What did he care, he‘d said, he didn‘t want to have children after all. Just hearing that made me so livid I had to spend a whole evening reassuring Max he wasn‘t in trouble. I channeled the anger into furious housework, taking out my feelings on the dust and grease smudges. I even cleaned the oven and attacked the growing block of ice in the freezer, hacking away at it with a satisfying ferociousness.

  I must‘ve cleaned for hours – bleaching, scrubbing and scouring Thomas out of my life. Housework is a great way to deal with anger. You get to work it out of your system and have the satisfaction of ending up with a clean flat.

  I stare around at all the lotions and make-up primers, it‘s so weird to think it‘s actually happening – I‘m getting married. It feels like I‘m skipping inside, in spite of the odd flutter of nerves in my stomach. I‘m in a much better place than I was at the beginning of the season. I have to work with what is, rather than stay hung up on what I wish could be. I have plenty to be grateful for. Luc especially.

  Thankfully Luc is one of the few people I know who isn‘t on Facebook. He always says he‘s too busy talking to people face to face, and at the end of the day the only person he wants to connect with is me. I‘m finally going to tell him, but not until we‘re on honeymoon in Geneva. I‘m hoping the physical distance from Verbier will give him time to calm down.

  Today is our wedding day and Thomas isn‘t invited in any shape or form, especially digital.

  I am glad the truth is out there now.

  Mum bustles into the room with the girls, her face very pink in contrast with her white towelling robe. I think she overdid the steam room.

  ‘Are we on schedule?’ She picks up the clipboard containing her master lists, having refused the offer of an iPad, and surveys its contents.

  She and Amelia have a lot in common. For the first time in ages I‘m actually glad of Mum‘s bossiness. She and Rita took over the last-minute decorations and organised everyone else, which meant I could have a luxurious soak in the bath last night. Amelia also now directs any questions at my mother instead of me. So it seems there are some advantages to having a steamroller mother.

  ‘I think you‘ve got it all under control, Mum. You don‘t need to worry about anything.’

  She frowns, clearly not believing me. I suppose Mum wouldn‘t be Mum if she didn‘t have something to worry about.

  ‘We should be drinking champagne now, before we get our make-up done.’ She peers closely at the schedule. ‘Let‘s go. You‘re not using the steam room, Sophie?’

  ‘No, sometimes it gives me a heat rash and I don‘t want to look like a beetroot for the wedding photos.’ I ease out of my chair and follow Mum. While we drink Kir Royales I take a minute to stop and admire my dress. Its magical tiny pearl beads and silver embroidery on the bodice glimmer in the light. It seems like a blink of an eye before it‘s time to get ready. Once the dress is on,
the silk skirt skims my hips and the shape flatters my curves. Especially with the horrendously expensive but highly effective shapewear underwear I bought to wear underneath. There‘s a white fur- trimmed cape too. Amelia‘s style of dress is simpler and more modern, but this more traditional style suits me much better. Mum and Dad brought it out with them in the car so we wouldn‘t have to worry about transporting it on the plane back to Geneva. Rita and Gran had to travel with it laid out carefully on their laps for the entirety of the journey out here.

  ‘You look lovely, Soph. I‘d marry you.’ Tash beams at me.

  The make-up artist has finished working on us, although Tash insisted on her own distinctive style of eye make-up.

  ‘You look lovely too.’ I reach out and gently stroke the shimmering, silver silk of Tash‘s elegant bridesmaid‘s dress.

  Both our dresses are long enough to hide the fact we‘re wearing ski boots underneath, but not so long we‘re going to trip over our hems. I have some comfy cream ballet flats to change into for the reception. They‘re waiting for me at Bar des Amis, which I haven‘t been allowed to see since the preparations started in earnest.

  ‘So, are you ready to go and get married?’ Tash asks.

  ‘Yes, absolutely.’

  ‘Come on, Sophie.’ Mum appears, to chivvy us along. ‘We should have left the chalet two minutes ago.’

  I meet Tash‘s gaze and her lips quirk, suppressing a giggle. The urge to giggle rises up in me too, the earlier skipping feeling bursting through like a ray of sunshine through cloud.

  I give in to the emotion; it‘s such a welcome change from being ambushed by fear. Soon Tash is giggling too.

  ‘Girls, what‘s so funny?’ Mum‘s forehead creases in confusion.

  There‘s something about being treated like a child that makes you want to act like one. I manage to get myself under control but can only stop laughing if I avoid looking at Tash.

  Which could be a problem, given she‘s my bridesmaid and it‘s my wedding day. What if I get the giggles at the chapel? Luc would just think it was funny but Amelia would never forgive me.

  ‘Never mind, let‘s just go.’ Mum smiles indulgently. ‘Come on, quick quick.’

  I feel a rush of affection for her. I hate to admit it, but Mum‘s bossiness has actually turned out to be pretty useful. It‘s been much less stressful being able to take a step back from the details.

  We file out of the room like naughty schoolgirls. I catch up with Mum and squeeze her arm.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘What for, darling?’

  ‘Everything you‘ve done to help.’ I bite my lip. ‘I want you to know I appreciate it.’

  Mum blinks hard. ‘Don‘t make me cry, Sophie, there‘s no time for re-doing my make-up in the schedule. Anyway, you don‘t need to thank me. You‘re my daughter, I‘d do anything to help you.’

  She says it as though it‘s obvious. That it‘s an immutable law that parents will always love and support their children unconditionally.

  ‘You say that like it‘s a given Mum, but I‘ve got friends who don‘t have mothers who are always there for them,’ I say quietly, not wanting Tash to overhear. ‘I‘m sorry if I‘ve taken it for granted in the past.’

  Mum squeezes my arm back. ‘That‘s nice of you to say, Sophie. I‘d hug you but we can‘t risk crushing your dress. Come on, let‘s get you married.’

  The ceremony flies by in the blink of an eye. I try to fix the memories in my mind, taking mental photographs of Luc‘s serious eyes as he says his vows, the smiling faces of the guests and the bright-blue sky.

  I‘m overwhelmed by an intense relief. No more soul-searching. I‘m married; it‘s done. I‘m now a Mrs, not a Miss. A Madame, no longer a Mademoiselle.

  ‘I can‘t believe we‘re married,’ I say to Luc as we enter the marquee back at Bar des Amis.

  ‘Ma femme,’ he squeezes my hand.

  ‚My woman‘. I like that. The French word for wife is primal and possessive, but I like it. I‘m happy to be Luc‘s woman.

  I gasp when I get to see the Winter Wonderland that Mum and her press-ganged team have created in the marquee. Silver and white branches and pale-blue pine cones are artfully arranged around glowing lanterns. The larger branches are fixed to table centrepieces so it looks as if there are trees growing up through each table. There are white twinkling lights everywhere and with tall church candles flickering in brass lanterns the whole room shimmers in a magical silvery light.

  The buffet looks incredible. The white chocolate cake pops and snowball cocktails look particularly tempting. Amelia has pulled off her helter-skelter, ski-slope cake complete with tiny fir trees and a snowboarding bride and groom.

  Pipsqueak, Max and Toby are all lingering close to the buffet tables, tails wagging and eyes huge in typical doggy begging style. Pipsqueak trails behind the other two dogs, canine company helping him to grow in confidence.

  I smile when I see him. Someone has tied black bow ties to each of the dogs‘ collars, Tash probably. I feel a rush of love for Pipsqueak. He‘s so willing to start again, to try to trust me and so heartbreakingly grateful for every treat and cuddle. It‘s awe-inspiring that I can make such a difference to another creature.

  Luc and I have also talked about fostering. Apparently the authorities are so desperate for foster carers they apply ‚lower standards‘ when it comes to selection. That‘s kind of shocking and insulting all in one. Although it does open up new possibilities. When I think about a young Tash or a young Holly needing help and not getting it I think maybe it might be something I could do. Maybe it‘s even what we‘re meant to be doing. Luc would make a good foster father.

  I don‘t know, I‘m not usually hung up on fate or ‚meant to be‘s’. I think you make your own destiny, but I‘ve got a feeling about this, that we‘ve been pushed in this direction for a reason.

  I don‘t recognise the music playing. It‘s slow-tempo chill-out music, the kind they play at the W cocktail bar. It‘s only meant to be background music; we‘re supposed to eat first and then dance, but I don‘t object when Luc pulls me into a slow dance.

  I get it, he wants a quiet moment of it being just the two of us, to feel it‘s our wedding, not just a big orchestrated party we‘ve been invited to participate in.

  ‘We‘re not supposed to have our first dance yet, it‘s not in the schedule.’ I whisper.

  ‘I‘m happy to risk your mother‘s wrath to dance with my wife.’

  ‘My hero.’ My lips twitch.

  My wife. I really do like the sound of that.

  ‘Luc, you know that Mr and Mrs quiz Tash made you do …’ I hesitate. ‘You know I‘d choose you over a brooding cowboy any day, right?’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Luc asks. ‘How about a Regency duke?’

  ‘Definitely.’ I rest my head against his chest.

  ‘Or a billionaire boss?’ Luc‘s lips curve in a smile.

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘More than a playboy prince with his own tropical island?’

  ‘Tropical islands are so overrated.’ I grin.

  ‘True. I hear the best romances end with a girl and a bar owner. And a couple of rescue mutts.’

  ‘The very best,’ I reply, letting happiness wash over me.

  It makes such a nice change from niggling anxiety. Maybe I‘ve been more like my Mum than I realised – always looking for something to worry about. That way of living is pretty exhausting. I‘m doing things differently from now on. Being honest with Luc, even if I think it might hurt him, will be a good place to start. Even when it‘s done for the best reasons selective disclosure creates barriers.

  It‘s as though the wall I used to feel trapped behind has been gradually dismantled, brick by glass brick, each time I‘ve opened up to someone. I was the one who walled myself in. The bricks were all the things I didn‘t say, the weight of them pressing in on me until I couldn‘t breathe.

  Now the wall has gone I can breathe again.

  Luc‘s lip
s brush the top of my head. He holds me tight and we sway to the music bathed in silvery light. We‘re the only ones dancing, but I couldn‘t care less about looking silly.

  It‘s my wedding and I‘ll dance if I want to.

  Luc recites his poem, his lips close to my skin.

  ‘Sophie. Mon amour,

  Mon chouchou et mon cœur.

  Mon rayon de soleil,

  Et ma moitié.

  Sophie. Ma chérie,

  L‘amour de ma vie.

  Mon destin et mon avenir,

  Mon souffle et mon désir.

  Sophie. Mon préféré,

  Mon ciel étoilé.

  Tu as mon cœur,

  Je n‘aime que toi. Toujours.’

  The whispered words of Luc’s love poem wash over me and a warm peace seeps into every corner of my soul. All the stress of the wedding preparations and handling Mum floats away, as insignificant as a wisp of smoke. It’s done. We managed it.

  We’re married.

  I’m Luc’s ciel étoilé – his starry sky. We‘re going to be okay. Life won‘t be perfect or trouble-free but next time we hit a bumpy patch I‘m not going to ride it alone. I‘ll reach out to Luc and hold onto him tight, so at least if we‘re thrown off course we will still have each other. Without stars our night skies would be very dark indeed.

  ‘Je n‘aime que toi. Toujours,’ I repeat, looking up to meet his eyes. ‘Only you Luc. Always.’

  Chapter 26

  LUCY

  I think Estelle’s wide eyes are as big as the dogs’ eyes when she sees all the white and silver cake pops on the wedding buffet table. It’s the first time the three of us have gone out together. It was Seb’s weekend to have Estelle and Sophie said it was no problem to bring her along with us to the wedding.

  Amelia is busy showing off her ski-slope wedding cake to anyone who indicates a glimmer of polite interest. To be fair, it does look amazing, but I can’t help thinking it’s a shame Matt is off drinking with his best man while she is, well, I can’t think of a nicer word for it, showing off. But if showing off makes her happy, who am I to interfere?