by Sue Watson
‘Jon, I’m just thinking… it would be lovely to stay here for dinner, it’s such a beautiful place,’ I said.
‘Ah, I’m so glad you are going with the flowing.’ He smiled. ‘I know the perfect restaurant, majestic views across the mountains and the glacial lake. I would love to show you round my village – I’m very proud of where I live. I think you like it almost as much as I do. I know you will love it if you see even more.’
‘That sounds wonderful – but I’ll only join you on one condition.’
‘What is the condition?’
‘That you let me pay for dinner.’
He agreed, and while he called the tour company to let them know I’d missed the bus but was safe, I called Jody and told her I wouldn’t be joining them for après ski because there was an ‘evening option’ on the trip and I would be staying until late.
‘There’s a lovely restaurant with majestic views over the glacial lake,’ I said, repeating everything that Jon had told me about but missing out the key factor – that I was with him. Alone. I knew if I told Jody she’d be supportive and lovely, but she’d also be texting and advising me throughout the evening. I turned off my phone. I wanted some peace and some time to enjoy the company of this lovely man without being interrupted by the girls with advice on contraception, sexual positions or demands for a blow-by-blow account of the evening.
‘Oh, majestic views over your chicken dinner… that sounds great,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I mean you and a load of OAPs in a bloody restaurant eating soup looking out over a lake – don’t get too wild. I told you to relax and let Christmas come to you, but I doubt it’ll find you in a Swiss nursing home, love.’
‘Oh don’t worry.’ I smiled. ‘It might not be your idea of a good time, but I think it might be mine.’
Chapter 7
Gruyère and Wham! with a Gorgeous Man
Jon’s car was parked on a snowy side street and when we arrived he opened the door for me to sit inside while he spent a few minutes clearing the snow from the windscreen. I watched him through the powdery white windows and wondered at how life can take you places if you let go and open up a little. This was a fine line, and along with the new, more carefree me, there was still a little voice in my head asking me if I’d taken leave of my senses. You don’t know this man, it was saying. You could be in grave danger – he might be a serial killer. So to be on the safe side I risked a tsunami of sexual advice and turned my phone back on and texted Jody and told her I was with Jon and under no circumstances must she text me with ridiculous comments or pass this information on to the girls. However, if I wasn’t back by midnight she was to call the National Guard, the mountain police or whatever they have in Switzerland to find murder victims in snow. She responded with several emojis I didn’t understand and an OMG!! She also texted back that even if he was dangerous, I’d have a better time fighting off a good-looking killer than sightseeing with a group of wrinklies. ‘Enjoy your last hours,’ was her final comment, and I smiled as I put my phone away.
‘It’s turning into a blizzard,’ Jon said as he climbed back into the car.
‘Will we be okay?’
‘We will be fine,’ he said, his eyes locking with mine, his hand on my knee in a comforting gesture.
A year ago I’d have seen this as sitting in a stranger’s car in a foreign country – but Jon wasn’t a stranger; he was someone I’d yet to know. I was in a beautiful country, and I was finally strong enough to embrace the unknown, take a few little risks and even trust again.
We drove to the restaurant, which was just how I’d imagined. It was in the wood-cabin style, with roaring log fires, tinkling glasses and a warm, glowing respite from the freezing cold darkness outside. Here we ate tangy cheese fondue, hot and comforting, dipped with crusty chunks of bread – it was manna from heaven.
‘I’ve had fondue before, but it never tasted like this,’ I said, eating hungrily while skewering sturdy chunks of bread to immerse into bubbling rich cheese.
‘Only here in Switzerland,’ he said and smiled, watching me eat. ‘We use the Emmental cheese – the perfect marriage with strong Gruyère, and the splashes of kirsch and white wine.’
I lifted a steaming chunk of heaven-soaked bread to my mouth as our eyes met and my insides felt just like the hot, melting cheese.
After the ‘fondue heaven’, we drank strong coffee and gazed out over the stunning views, a glittering pale blue landscape framed by mountains, lit by moonlight.
‘I’ve had a lovely time,’ I said.
‘I like spending this time with you too,’ he said, finishing his coffee and sitting back, looking at me. ‘I have been away from the resort, but was looking for you… I like you, Jenny. I liked you when I saw you…’
‘Standing outside a nightclub in a see-through top? Or was it the cow costume that did it for you?’
‘Ah the cow, she was so cute.’ He laughed. ‘Especially in skis.’
‘Don’t remind me.’ I put my head in my hands.
‘I teach you to ski, Jenny.’
He reached out his hand across the table and touched mine, and the way he looked at me made me feel that I was just a little bit fabulous.
This was what I’d longed for, and I didn’t even know it – my life had been missing this for so many years. A man who looked at me like I was special, who spoke to me gently, smiled when I spoke and listened instead of waiting for a chance to leap in and put me down. It was also lovely to have a break from the girls, who I have to admit I was growing to love – but their drinking and carousing sometimes went on until dawn. Yes, this was perfect, a handsome, appreciative man, and delicious food in a perfect Christmas setting. And I wanted to remember every moment so I could take it home with me when Christmas was over and the snow had all melted.
‘I can only imagine what you must have thought of me that first night.’ I pulled an ‘awkward’ face. ‘I was out there drunk and half dressed.’
He laughed. ‘I thought, she is an English tourist and she has no idea. Then I see you dressing in the cow and I think, she is an English tourist and she has no idea. Then this morning you open your coat and I see your underclothes in a dress that shouldn’t be worn in the cold and I think, oh dear this English tourist, she is…’
‘Yes, I get the gist. I can see exactly what you must think of me.’
‘Ah but… then later, in the café, I think to myself this English girl, she is good… nice. She is loving the tastes and exciting to talk to… and we both love the baking… and she isn’t afraid to cry and show her feelings.’
‘Yes, sorry about that nonsense,’ I said, shifting in my seat. ‘I’m afraid I sometimes go on a bit. I just found you very calming, easy to talk to and I’m afraid it all came spilling out.’
‘Today I see the sadness in your eyes,’ he said, looking down – a little embarrassed at his own feelings perhaps?
I was touched. ‘Yes, it hurts that I gave my best years to someone who never had any intention of spending the rest of his life with me. But it isn’t about him any more – it’s about having a family. My own family was fractured and broken, and I suppose I’ve always dreamed of creating one of my own.’
‘I’m sorry you are sad. Children, family… they are a blessing…’
‘Yes, they are.’ I had to quickly change the subject – I didn’t want to end up in tears again. I’d managed to contain myself for at least two hours and he seemed to like me – I didn’t want to ruin everything with an encore.
‘I know you thought I was just…’
‘An English tourist, she has no idea?’
‘Erm… yes.’ I laughed.
He asked me about my job and my home, and I shared photos of Mrs Christmas on my phone, and Jon told me he lived alone in the village, his parents were both dead and he was an only child – and it seems we shared a lot of similar experiences. He also had a difficult break-up a few years back but didn’t seem to want to talk about it; I saw his eyes moisten and I di
dn’t think it fair to probe too much.
‘I come with the big, heavy suitcases,’ he said, and I assumed by this he meant emotional baggage.
We finished our coffee, and I wondered what he was thinking as he gazed into his empty cup. It occurred to me that he might be troubled but couldn’t tell me, or didn’t want to.
I caught sight of the beautiful Christmas tree in the corner, decorated in the traditional way, with scarlet baubles and striped candy canes. Huge red bows were tied on the branches, and the tree was topped by a big, gold star. It was the perfect tree and, turning to look out through the windows at the huge landscape, I saw the snowy Christmas scene was perfect too. I felt lucky to be here in such a wonderful place this time of year, and I recalled how, as a kid, I’d watched that Wham! video and sang along and dreamed of a moment like this. And I remembered something my mum used to say: ‘Stop worrying about tomorrow’, which was pretty much what Jody had advised too.
I’d spent most of my life worrying about what would happen next – from the moment my dad left I’d started worrying about the future, how we’d manage without him, where Mum and I would end up.
‘We’ll be fine – what doesn’t kill us will make us stronger,’ she’d said. But Dad leaving was my mum’s final chapter, the beginning of a slow decline – and subsequently the fear of being left had followed me into adulthood.
And after all the hurt and the heartache, I’d survived, it hadn’t killed me. Mum had been right – I was in fact stronger. Being abandoned by Tim had made me dig deep into myself and now I knew I could survive – anything. Alone if I had to.
As a result of my strength and my recent willingness to say yes to what life had to offer, I was also finding little shards of happiness everywhere. And that night was a perfect example. I was now in a beautiful restaurant with a beautiful stranger a few days before Christmas – and all because I’d said yes.
So I drank in the view and relaxed into the conversation. I didn’t know where it would take me, and it didn’t matter. And if Jon didn’t ask to see me again it didn’t really matter. I’d be disappointed, but no one could take away this wonderful Christmassy memory of me finally being in the winter wonderland I used to dream of. I’d finally arrived, walked the same streets that George Michael once walked – and what’s more I was with a lovely man who, for tonight at least, was mine.
After dinner we braced ourselves for the toothpaste-fresh air and walked back through the village arm in arm. I longed to hold his hand, put my arms all the way around him and feel him close against me – but for now I would be happy with this.
‘I grew up surrounded by these mountains; they are like old friends,’ he sighed. ‘I miss them when I’m away.’
‘How lovely to be born somewhere like this – for it to be your home, to feel part of the geography, the landscape. It must feel like Christmas every day,’ I said, laughing.
‘Ah but the summer… She is beautiful in the summer too. You should visit in June when the sun is high and the sky is deep, deep blue.’ I imagined that sky and looked into his eyes as he talked, his lips moving. I ached to kiss him. We eventually stopped walking to gaze at the Christmas tree in the village square. It was huge and twinkling, decorated by nature with real snow and glistening icicles, their sparkles caught in the lights twisting through the branches.
‘This is how a Christmas tree should look,’ I sighed, remembering all the Christmases I’d tried to get it right with my Marks and Spencer baubles and Homebase fairy lights. Perhaps it wasn’t about the kind of baubles after all?
Then, from nowhere, came a sound – children’s voices wafting along the iced air, a familiar yet different sound as it shimmered through the village.
‘The children’s choir singing “Stille Nacht”,’ he said.
They were singing ‘Silent Night’ in German. It was the most beautiful, ethereal sound I’d ever heard, and I was transported through the silence of the mountains. My head and my heart were high above, looking down on this beautiful place.
‘It’s my favourite carol,’ I said, ‘but it’s so much more beautiful in German.’
‘It was written in German. One snowy Christmas Eve the minister walked through thick crunchy snow, uphill to his church. He was going to practise on the organ so he could make the most beautiful sound for his parishioners the next day, Jesus’s birthday…’ Jon started.
I listened intently, vaguely aware that I must have looked like a little girl being told a bedtime story as we stood by the tree, the music all around us.
‘But when he sat down to play, not a sound came from the instrument. So he looked at the pipes and discovered they had been chewed by mice. He was so sad – he had nothing to play and went back home, where he began to think about how quiet it was in the church without his music. The thick silence of the night before Christmas was all around – and on that special night he wrote “Stille Nacht” on his guitar and sang it to his village…’
He told this with all the inflections and facial expressions that would delight a child. And I tried not to think about what a good dad he would make.
‘My father used to tell me the story of “Stille Nacht” and he always said “Jon, what a magical night that must have been. When you say your prayers tonight, thank the little mice for that beautiful carol.”’
I was so touched by this I felt my eyes filling with tears. Again!
‘Oh, Jenny, I made you cry?’ he said tenderly.
I nodded. ‘I’m an idiot, really – take no notice. I just love Christmas and your story was so lovely…’
He reached up to my face and wiped a single tear from my cheek with his gloved hand.
‘Your tears are happy tears?’
‘Yes… yes. I’m not sad, Jon, just moved, by the magic. Someone once told me I was the most important girl in the world, and tonight, for the first time since then, I’ve felt… important. You’ve made me sparkle.’
‘No, Jenny, the sparkles are yours… I just brought the starlight.’ He looked up and I followed his eyes to the huge, black sky twinkling with stars.
‘Thank you for bringing the stars,’ I said. ‘And for reminding me they’re there – I haven’t looked up at the stars for a long time.’
I was mesmerised by him and as we stood together under the dark sky, the white ground lifting everything to new, sparkly heights, I looked into his eyes. He was smiling and gazing down at me with a look on his face that I hadn’t seen for a long, long time from any man. He liked me, and I knew he was going to kiss me, and when he did I kissed him back. It was a little clumsy, a little awkward, our lips and timing weren’t quite in tune with each other, but in spite of this it felt so good to be kissing him under the tree in the middle of the village square as the snow fell, the stars twinkled, and I – apparently – sparkled. Now we had a secret; that kind of feeling when you first realise you like someone and your feelings are returned, like no one else in the world has ever had those feelings before – just the two of you. It was wonderful clinging to him in the cold night, locked in a passionate embrace. All the emotion I’d wanted, longed for, was here tonight and as we pulled away, we both smiled.
‘I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you,’ he said as we walked on, my head now nestling easily in his neck.
‘Me too,’ I sighed. ‘But I never thought for a moment you’d feel the same.’
‘You think I wouldn’t like you?’ He slowed down and turned to face me. ‘Here, let me show you another time again.’ I giggled at his English and the way he was gently tugging my scarf towards him, as he had on that first night. He pulled me into him and we kissed again, this time both more in tune, more sure of each other, both wanting this so much. As our lips met my heart flew high over the snowy peaks – I was in a cable car over the Alps, hotels and chalets below like fairy lights sprinkled through the snow. I thought about how lonely I’d been and how cruel life could be, and at the same time, how wonderful and surprising it was too.
Eventually we wandered back to the car, Jon pointing out various buildings and shops belonging to friends or family while drawing me back to the beauty of the mountains with his gorgeous accent. His voice belonged here in the rugged terrain and the unforgiving chill of the wind, and just hearing him made me shiver – and not with the cold. And inside I was tingling, because suddenly, out of nowhere, here in this little Swiss village, I saw a glimmer of something on my horizon: a change of luck, a new start… And, dare I say, a future?
Chapter 8
Sparkly Baubles and Crispy Onion Rings
After a final goodnight kiss with Jon in the doorway at midnight, I tore myself away from his arms, left my glass slipper on the stairs and tiptoed into the chalet. However, I needn’t have worried about waking the girls because the racket coming from the balcony told me they were all wide awake – and probably keeping the rest of the resort in that state too. I opened the balcony door to see them all in their underwear or worse, in the steamy hot tub. There were a couple of faces I didn’t recognise, both male, and I wasn’t quite sure where they fit in, but who was I to judge? I’d just been on an evening out with someone I hardly knew – I was definitely becoming one of the girls.
I stood in the balcony doorway, an observer. I wanted to chat, to tell them all about my day, how I’d just been kissed. I was ready to talk about things like this in a way I never had before. The girls had brought me out of my shell, and I’d marvelled at the way Jody and Kate discussed their sex lives with each other. I’d listened to them all and imagined it took the sting out of life when you could share these things.
The hot tub was a new acquisition. Lola was seeing the resort plumber and he had access to all kinds of amenities four resort workers could only dream of.
