It was only my confused exhaustion that stopped me experiencing my mental adultery with alarming clarity.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
JANUARY
An infantile squeal of frustration escaped my mouth as my legs slid out from under me and I collapsed onto the snow. An initial flash of anger at myself simmered down to a bout of giggling as I looked over to Esther, who had a gloved hand in front of her mouth to stifle her own laughter.
‘Oh, my God. It’s so hard. These skis are so skinny,’ I screeched, still laughing.
She sidestepped towards me and took my arm to pull me up.
‘Here, use your stick to push against the ground.’
I did as Esther instructed, trying not to put too much weight on the delicate and seemingly fragile pole, and together with her help managed to stand upright. I teetered on the thin skis, gathered my balance and brushed the snow from my backside.
It was a beautiful day. Above us a cloudless, cornflower-blue sky stretched to the snow-laden peaks of the Glarner Alps. There was a hint of warmth from the sun on our faces on an otherwise sub-zero morning with no wind. The temperature had rendered the snow squeaky, but kept it soft. The corrugation of the groomed Loipe stretched its ribbed lines to a stark point of perspective in the distance, a geometrical juxtaposition to our natural alpine surroundings. There were barely any traces on the loop at this time of the morning, with few skiers having yet arrived.
‘Come on, Alice. This is what you’d call payback time for all the help you’ve given us in the Chat Club.’
Four of us had driven the short distance over the saddle at the end of the Aegeri Valley, our skis jumbled into the rear of my Land Rover, with the backseat down. Esther had already tried to allay my doubts about the day’s venture. We were taking time out from English lessons and time on for a lesson in something completely different. Esther, an avid cross-country skier, was curious to see whether I wanted to learn her sport.
‘I’m sure this will be healthier for you than all that long-distance running.’
‘I’m definitely open to finding an alternative way to keep fit over the winter. And to be perfectly honest, I’ve grown tired of alpine skiing – though please don’t tell the boys. I can’t stand all that lugging heavy equipment around and waiting for hours in lift queues.’
‘You’ll find the calmness of the Langlaufloipe far more agreeable,’ she said.
‘That’s all very well for you to say, you’re an expert.’
I hoped my beginner’s performance wouldn’t hinder the girls.
‘Esther grew up on skis,’ said one of the other women. ‘She will be your best teacher. It runs in the family.’
‘My father comes from this village, Rothenthurm. Generations of us have grown up on skis. In his twenties, he won the local Volksskilauf, People’s Ski Race, several times. We may see a few racers training today. The annual event will take place in two weeks’ time. If you’re a natural, we shall register you for the race by the end of the day.’
I spluttered, but knew she was joking.
I realised it had been a long time since I had been in the company of a handful of women, discussing something other than the construction of the English language, or the perils of being stalked. I relaxed, enjoying this moment of sisterly camaraderie.
The other two women waited patiently at the start of the ski loop while Esther made sure I was steady on my feet.
‘Maybe I should have started out with the classic style first. Isn’t that easier?’
‘I think, in the end, you will enjoy skating more. Although it takes more energy here’ – she tapped her thigh with her hand – ‘you will have less pain in your ankle.’
‘They’re so narrow, compared to alpine skis.’
‘And lighter. Not so much for the lugging around.’ Esther smiled.
The sensation of free heels on the skis was unfamiliar. I had assumed my experience on alpine skis might help, but had been a little shocked to find myself floundering with a different set of equipment.
Esther patiently showed me, with very slow, exaggerated movements, how to push off, first with one ski and then the other in a sweeping skating movement. She made it look so easy, so graceful. She told me to practise back and forth on the first two-hundred-metre section of the loop, which was flat and wide, easy to navigate.
‘Take a little time here to get accustomed to the movement on the skis. I come back and check on you in a little while. That’s good.’
Esther left me with her encouraging words and joined the other two women to ski a quick round on the short training circuit.
I watched them skate gracefully away, envying them their experience, and continued to practise. My attempt at skating felt more like plodding on the snow, and I was unsure what to do with my poles. Beginning to wobble, I accidentally caught the basket of my pole underneath my right ski and ended up on the ground again, sprawling inelegantly on the snow. Resting a moment before expending the effort to get back on my feet, I felt truly incapable.
‘Gaht’s, da?’ asked a voice above me. ‘Hier, nimm mini Hand.’
I huffed, looked up, and squinted at a person offering his hand to help me, face silhouetted against the morning sun.
‘Danke!’ I said as I grabbed the hand. The man’s strong grip pulled me easily to my feet as his own skis blocked mine from sliding forward. I stood up, untangled my hand from the straps of the pole grip, and began slapping the snow from the side of my thigh.
‘Hello, Alice. I thought I recognised you,’ said the voice of my rescuer.
My heart jumped as my head turned back to see Gerry, a ski hat pulled tightly over his normally abundant wavy hair, eyes hidden behind almond-shaped sunglasses.
‘Gerry! What are you doing here?’ I asked, suddenly flustered.
I was embarrassed he had had to scoop me off the ground. My belly clenched. I blushed furiously, thinking my statement might have sounded rude.
‘I mean, of course you’re skiing, but I didn’t know you were a cross-country skier. You come here to skate?’
He didn’t have to justify why he was there. These were questions I had no business asking. He had a right to be there, just like any other skier. I made it sound like he was intruding on my territory somehow. As though this was more than just a coincidence. That couldn’t be. He was not his father. I was angry with myself for feeling suddenly so defensive, giving away undefined emotions. My overreaction implied that the coincidence might be of my making, and I was embarrassed for asking. I was behaving like a starstruck teenager.
Gerry laughed.
‘I think there are a few of us in this country who put a pair of skis on our feet from time to time,’ he said mockingly, but with a smile. ‘And I even know a few runners who exchange their shoes for skis in winter. But I can see you might need a little time to adjust.’
My cheeks continued to burn, and I hoped the crispness of the morning would cover my self-consciousness.
Gerry turned to his two companions and said something to them in Swiss German. They waved, and skated away. I assumed he would catch up with them in a minute, part of me hoping he would go soon, but another part of me hoping inexplicably that he would stay a moment longer.
‘My friend Esther has been showing me a few basic moves, but I’ve yet to master them efficiently. You all make it look so easy,’ I said, exasperated.
‘Come, skate with me for a few metres,’ he offered.
I looked round to see whether Esther and her friends were close to completing the training loop. They were still far off in the distance, on the outer edge of the circuit. I recognised Esther’s pink hat and turquoise sport pants.
‘Okay,’ I said tentatively. Gerry stepped over to stand beside me.
‘Look at your hands,’ he said. ‘Keep them always in front, but plant your pole beside your foot here. If it’s too far forward you will hurt your shoulders. And when you skate off, point your nose in the direction of the ski, not straight ahead. I
t is a diagonal, side-to-side movement, like a pendulum. Like this…’
Gerry pushed off on one ski in a long glide, then moved his body to the other side in a graceful, sweeping movement, his poles pushing behind him in perfect synchrony. I tried not to watch the muscles above his knee tense and knot, his athletic thighs straining against his black winter Lycra.
After a few skating movements, Gerry stopped about thirty metres along the flat trail. I gathered myself, pushed off, and tried to copy his style. My pace was less efficient than his and my balance was still shaky, but I understood the pendulum metaphor and exaggerated it to increase my glide. I was pleased with myself; I was finally getting it. I stopped in front of Gerry, laughing with delight.
‘That’s it!’ he said. ‘You should just practise that up and down this flat part a few times before going any distance. Try to stay on each ski for as long as possible to get used to the balance. It’s also good to practise with your poles tucked under your arms like this, to improve your steadiness on your skis. Then you won’t worry about getting the poles caught under your skis and tripping. I think you will do well. You’re a natural.’
‘Pah! You’re overgenerous,’ I said with a laugh.
I could see Esther skating over a small incline to reach the end of the training loop.
Gerry hadn’t mentioned the letter I sent. Perhaps I should have said something. It was almost as though he hadn’t received it. But he hadn’t called me either after our meeting in Zürich. It had been almost a month. And in between we’d celebrated a family Christmas and set ourselves New Year’s resolutions. Perhaps he was sensible enough to have moved on from it all. No need to ask any more questions about his father. And hopefully he didn’t feel the need for us to see each other.
But now he was there, I realised it wasn’t like I didn’t think about it at least once a day. Memories of that dream still made me blush.
I worried he might mention something about his father. It was still our only thin connection. He’d seemed so desperate for me to help him with some answers a few weeks previously in Zürich. Under different circumstances, I would have been flattered by his attention.
‘I should join my friends,’ I said hastily. ‘Thanks so much for the tips, Gerry.’
‘It’s a pleasure, Alice. Maybe I’ll see you around. I often come here on Tuesday or Thursday lunchtimes with my friends. My courses at the university don’t start until 3.00 p.m. on those days. Tschüss!’ he shouted jovially, and turned to leave, cutting off a parting greeting I felt cheated not having a chance to deliver.
He was doing exactly what my head had wanted him to seconds before, but a part of my heart wished I wasn’t watching him skate away. I studied his professional style and lithe legs. I laughed inside. I would never do anything to jeopardise my relationship with Simon, however fragile it was at the moment. But I was allowed to admire a handsome body when I saw one. Gerry must have known I was watching. I had no control over the messages my body was giving out. But despite his attractiveness, it didn’t make sense. His father’s son.
I vowed never to see him again.
‘You are making some friends,’ said Esther as she skied up to me, making me jump.
‘I already knew him. He’s the son of…’
I was about to tell Esther that he was the son of the stalker, but something made me hesitate. The chapter of our lives involving Manfred Guggenbuhl was over. I wanted to move on. Esther had been part of that story, but there was no harm in lying about Gerry’s identity. It would avoid any awkward questions. It felt good to pretend he was just a handsome young lad who had rescued me from a fall. I could live with that fantasy.
‘He’s the son of someone Simon knows at work,’ I lied smoothly.
‘He skis well. Is he training for the race?’ asked Esther, following my gaze. I shook my head, more to clear my thoughts than to answer Esther’s question.
‘I don’t know,’ I said vaguely, then more determined, ‘Okay, Esti, let’s crack this thing.’
I followed her back onto the training loop, waddling as though I had a pair of diving flippers on my feet. The two other women skated off to find a longer circuit, and Esther stayed with me for another hour or so, until my marked improvement once again deteriorated with an increase in fatigue.
Casting a brief backwards glance to the Loipe, we loaded the car up with our skis and made our way home.
Chapter Sixty
MARCH
‘I need to talk to you,’ Gerry pleaded.
My heart raced. I couldn’t control the reaction, although it had been weeks since we had seen each other on the Langlaufloipe. He called me on my mobile as I was driving, and although I answered on the hands-free system, I had to pull into a layby because I couldn’t concentrate.
‘The police have contacted me,’ he said.
My stomach lurched, and I was glad I’d stopped driving.
‘Isn’t the case closed? Why do they keep hassling you?’ I asked carefully.
‘Some final loose ends to tie up, I guess. It’s horrible, though, Alice. They still have his body in the morgue. They haven’t been able to release it yet because of their… investigation. I wish this thing could be finished. It has been weeks. We need to bury him.’
Indeed we do, I thought. We needed to bury this whole affair.
‘I thought… you didn’t care what happened to his body. Are you planning a memorial service?’ I bit my lip.
‘I cannot believe it is taking so long. It is confusing.’
‘Don’t they think you’ve been through enough?’
I wondered if he still needed reassurance that he had done nothing wrong, or if he simply needed to hear the sound of my voice.
‘Can I see you, Alice? I need to ask you something.’
‘I’ve told you I think it’s better we don’t see each other. You… I… There are some feelings it would be a good idea not to encourage.’
‘So you admit you have some feelings for me?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying. I mean your feelings for me.’
My head felt hot, and a dull ache developed in my belly.
‘It’s dangerous for us to see each other.’
‘Not for me, Alice. I have nothing to be scared of. Do you have something to be scared of?’
‘Stop digging, Gerry. You know why. I am married with a family. A family that needs and loves me.’
I thought of Simon, of his reluctance to share my enjoyment on the cross-country trail. He’d tried it a couple of weeks ago and said it wasn’t for him. I was making an effort to find something we could do together as a couple, something to help us reconnect. I was frightened of what I couldn’t control.
‘Alice, it is not about my physical attraction to you…’
The phrase ‘physical attraction’ sent an electric current through me. I could no longer trust how my body reacted when I heard Gerry’s voice. What the hell was happening to me? Just because of some stupid dream and memories of a brief kiss? It was insane to be entertaining any thought of an attachment to this… this boy. Keeping a line of communication open was only tempting fate.
But his next words stopped me in my tracks.
‘The police have some questions about the substances found in my father’s blood at the autopsy. And something you asked me some months ago, about the medication my father was taking, jogged my memory. I need to talk to you, to settle my own mind. Not on the phone.’
I swallowed, the lump in my throat so hard I was sure he could hear me. The last thing I now wanted to do was meet him face to face. I knew I would unravel.
‘The thing is, Gerry, I just can’t see you.’
I heard him draw in a breath. Perhaps he assumed I couldn’t trust myself with him. This was true, certainly, but the real reason was that people’s suspicions were making me nervous.
‘Alice, please, I must see you.’
His voice was pleading, and I felt my head begin to spin. I made myself think of Simon, the las
t time he had looked at me so lovingly in the bathroom mirror, months ago. I thought of the boys and their craving for independence. Their attempts to make us think they didn’t need us any more, while still secretly enjoying the attention bestowed upon them during events such as holidays and Christmas.
But it was no good. His plea sucked me up.
‘All right. I’ll meet you. But I cannot promise you much time. Things around here have become somewhat… hectic.’
‘Alice, have you not told your husband we have met?’
I flushed. The question was loaded with innuendo. I couldn’t lie. If I told him the truth, which was no, it would confirm to Gerry that my feelings might not be completely platonic. Yet if I told him yes, that Simon knew all about him, I feared a petulant reaction might trigger something else, something floating on a wave of jealousy. Instead of answering I said:
‘We’ll meet in Allenwinden. I’ll park near the post office. We can walk if we want; it’s not far to the Wildenburg ruins. I can meet you after lunch on Tuesday or Thursday. Then you won’t miss class.’
‘You remembered. Tuesday is good.’
Yes, I remembered. Not just when Gerry had classes. I also remembered he was almost young enough to be my own son.
‘Goodbye, Gerry.’ I rang off before he replied.
It wasn’t until I was about to start the engine that I realised I’d parked near the road leading to the Tobel Bridge. I changed my mind, pulled the key out of the ignition and got out of the car.
As I walked towards the bridge, something was different, although it had been months since I was last there, in another season. Rising from the concrete walls of the bridge on either side were panels of reinforced glass, fixed to the top of the concrete wall with solid steel brackets. The glass glinted in the daylight. I pressed my hands against the panes, leaned my forehead against their frosty coolness and stared at the gorge below, distorted through the thick glass.
Strangers on a Bridge Page 24
