WINTER WONDERLAND

by Belinda Jones

  ‘So I was thinking I could take some shots from Krista’s perspective, of her team?’

  ‘Of course.’ Jacques helps Gilles into the sled.

  ‘And maybe I’ll take a couple looking back up at you, Krista?’

  ‘Because I’m sure that’s an incredibly flattering angle.’

  ‘Have a little faith!’

  ‘Okay,’ Jacques unties the rope and hands it to my passenger. ‘You hold this and Krista, same thing, give me a head start and then follow.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Have you ever done this before?’ I ask Gilles.

  ‘Never. Woah!’ he gasps at our jolting launch. ‘It’s a little bumpier than I thought.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Do you want some video?’ He offers. ‘Might be fun for the website?’

  ‘Actually, that would be great,’ I agree, imagining a little inset box with constantly running huskies.

  For a few minutes we fall silent, focussing on the rhythmic panting of the dogs, the crunch of snow and creak of sled, then Gilles exclaims:

  ‘Oh merde!’

  ‘Literally!’ I smirk, as Didier takes a little ‘bathroom break’. ‘Well, don’t film him poohing for goodness sake!’

  ‘You wanted reportage!’

  I groan out loud, then get a little giggly. And then I take a deep breath, inhaling the blue of the sky and the freshness of the snow and I think how glad I am that I didn’t stay in bed. Laurie was right! It’s amazing how quickly your whole day can turn around…

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When we get back to base, Jacques is already welcoming his first group of the day – a dozen or more enthusiasts – so it’s all hands on deck.

  ‘Is there any way you can wait an hour to see the puppies?’ he calls over to us.

  I look at Gilles.

  ‘I’m fine. Happy to do more pictures.’

  I’m sure Annique is in no rush. And me? Of course I’m delighted for any excuse to linger longer.

  As I pretend to be pointing out adorable furry faces to Gilles, I edge closer to Jacques so I can eavesdrop on the Q&A he’s having with his group, all eager to hear about the perils of competing in the Iditarod, which I learn now is nearly a thousand miles long!

  ‘Certainly it can be dangerous,’ Jacques acknowledges. ‘Between the stop points no one knows what is going on with the musher and his team out in the wilds; it’s not like most sporting activities where you get a play-by-play commentary.’

  ‘Have you ever got lost or had an accident, miles from anywhere?’

  ‘I have had plenty of scrapes but nothing too serious. I think the most dramatic incident was a few years back at the Yukon Quest. The Eagle Summit is the highest and harshest hill and that year, I think it was 2006, the weather was particularly atrocious – the gales were so strong they had blown away the snow exposing the ice and rock, and you can’t brake on that. The trail markers were gone – also blown away. The visibility was so poor you couldn’t see your own team.’ He shakes his head. ‘One musher became separated from his dogs – he tried to follow them but their barking was drowned out by the wind.’

  ‘Oh no!’ One larger woman looks stricken. ‘Did they have any chance of survival?’

  ‘Well, the cold would not have been a problem but the fact that they were still attached to the lines and the sled, that could have proved fatal. But it didn’t happen,’ he quickly adds. ‘So many teams had gone missing and the local trappers on snowmobiles had no luck finding them, so the state troopers called in the military – they sent a Black Hawk helicopter up to the summit and in two hours airlifted six mushers and eighty-eight dogs to safety.’

  ‘Wow!’ the entire group is mesmerised, breaking into spontaneous applause.

  I’m so relieved – the thought of those poor dogs running and running unattended…

  ‘Of course none of the rescued teams could complete the race because if you accept outside help of any kind you are immediately disqualified.’

  ‘Gosh. That’s harsh.’

  ‘That’s the race,’ he shrugs.

  ‘What happens if a dog sustains an injury on the way?’ a short chap wants to know.

  ‘You stop, release him from the pack, rest him in the sled bag and drive on with one less dog.’

  ‘Is it true you can use packs of up to sixteen dogs?’

  ‘It is. That’s quite a handful though. I like twelve.’

  ‘Are there many women mushers?’ a younger girl asks.

  ‘An increasing number,’ he replies. ‘There was an eighteen-year-old rookie at the last Yukon Quest.’

  ‘Any resistance to their presence?’

  ‘With some of the old-school mushers, of course, like with any field that is still evolving.’

  ‘What do you think? You personally?’

  ‘I think it’s great. I have a friend competing at the Carnival race this year – Rosalie Morin-Dore. She and her sister have a very gentle, gradual training approach from puppyhood. We tease them because they talk to their dogs.’

  ‘Does it make them run faster?’

  ‘It may be that or it may be the mix – they prefer husky with some greyhound and pointer. And it’s working.’

  ‘So women can be just as good mushers as men?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he says, catching my eye with a smile.

  I respond with merely a blink, ever more in awe.

  And then it’s time for them to take off on their sleds, so Gilles and I retreat to the farmhouse, him eagerly pulling one of the semi-collapsed armchairs closer to the fire.

  ‘You really feel like you’ve earned the warmth after being out there a while, don’t you?’ I note.

  Gilles nods but can’t speak. His hands look particularly wind-burned. Not easy to operate a camera with gloves on.

  ‘Chocolat chaud?’ I offer.

  He releases one last shiver. ‘Yes, please.’

  By the time I’ve been to the loo, changed my socks and poured out two steaming mugs, Gilles has nodded off.

  ‘Pssst!’ Annique beckons me over to her blanket cocoon in the far corner, gratefully accepting the spare mug.

  ‘Feeling any better?’ I ask as she makes room for me.

  ‘Much,’ she nods. ‘How was your ride?’

  I describe the humiliating start leading to a finale high and then she tells me that she’s been busy too – absorbing gossip …

  ‘Really?’ I ask with a flutter of nerves. Will this be something I want to hear?

  She checks there is no one else around and then says, ‘Did you know Sebastien used to be in Cirque du Soleil?’

  ‘Actually I did, but how do you?’

  ‘Oh, people say a lot of things when they think you’re asleep,’ she winks. ‘I think they forgot I was here.’

  ‘Did they say why he left?’ I huddle closer.

  ‘Well, this is strange. He seems to be here on suicide watch.’

  My stomach loops with concern. ‘Gosh. I mean, I know he’s a bit moody—’

  ‘No, no,’ she stops me. ‘He’s the watcher.’

  ‘Well, who’s he watching?’

  ‘Jacques.’

  ‘Jacques!’ I splutter. ‘He hardly seems like a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I mean, there is a sadness to him, but if you were going to compare the two, I’d say Sebastien is the more unstable.’

  ‘That’s what they were complaining about – the new workers couldn’t understand why he’s even here when he seems so bad-tempered all the time, so Lucy—’

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘You know the girl with the curly hair on Reception?’

  ‘Yes, yes … ’

  ‘She was explaining to them that there had been an accident … ’

  In hushed tones, Annique tells me that about a year ago Jacques’ best friend had come to visit and they had decided to take the snowmobiles out for the day. The guys had played together since they were little kids, always loved to race, but at on
e point his friend – whose name was Rémy – skidded way out of control, slammed into a tree and—

  ‘No!’ I blurt.

  Annique nods. ‘He literally died in Jacques’ arms.’

  ‘Oh my god,’ I close my eyes, blanching at the tragedy. I can’t even imagine how that would feel, watching your dearest friend take their last breath with you clinging on, willing them to stay, begging them not to go … I feel a great weight upon my chest.

  And then I think of the sympathy cards. And how Jacques was so emphatic, cautioning me about the dangers of snowmobiling. I sigh. No wonder Sebastien told me I couldn’t ‘save’ him – how could you save anyone from that depth of grief?

  ‘But did he really think that Jacques would want to take his own life as a result?’

  ‘Well. There was a second accident.’

  ‘A second?’

  ‘This time it was Jacques. Something to do with falling inside a frozen lake … Everyone at the farm was certain he didn’t mean to harm himself, but Sebastien was equally convinced his brother would never make an error like that; he knew the land too well … ’ She shrugs her shoulders. ‘Either way. Sebastien quit his job—’

  ‘His dream job.’

  She nods. ‘Came running here and now he’ll barely let Jacques out of his sight.’

  ‘And nothing Jacques can say will persuade him otherwise.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Wow. That’s quite some sacrifice. I mean, considering Jacques is okay.’ And then I pause. ‘He is okay, isn’t he?’

  She hesitates.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s more.’

  ‘More?’ I gasp.

  ‘More hot chocolate?’ Annique suddenly switches tack.

  ‘Huh?’

  I look around and see Gilles heading our way. He’s bleary-eyed and oblivious to what he is interrupting.

  We all reconvene to the kitchenette but I soon withdraw from the conversation. I’m pretending to be writing notes but in reality I am just squiggling on a page.

  I keep looking at my watch. The team will be back from the ride in twenty minutes or so. I’d like to know the rest of the story before then so I don’t put my foot in anything. I don’t know how Jacques can even run these circuits, every day passing the place where he lost his friend. Or perhaps they had gone off track. Flying through uncharted territory. Whooping one minute and then …

  I shudder.

  And I thought I had it bad with Andrew disappearing from my life. It’s nothing compared to this.

  ‘Krista … ’

  ‘Hmm?’ I look up at Gilles.

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’ He looks concerned.

  ‘I was just thinking of something sad.’

  ‘Don’t worry, the puppies will cheer you up,’ he says.

  But he’s wrong …

  Of course there is an initial rush of rapture – how could there not be? – at the fluffy, round-bellied bundles tumbling and tripping and stapling their little puppy teeth into trouser hems and dangling scarves, flossing with loose hair strands. But now my heart is panging so badly for both Jacques and Sebastien, I just want to bury my face in the dogs’ wispy fur and have a good cry.

  Of course this could also have something to do with this morning’s news. Cradling a little being just a few weeks old is inevitably making me think of Andrew and his baby-to-be. Not that babies wriggle as much as puppies, and they don’t tend to get involved in synchronised wrestling matches, pinning each other down by clamping their jaws around their opponents’ neck. They also don’t throw themselves off ledges, eat straw or scratch behind their ears using their foot.

  ‘Towards me,’ Gilles instructs as I try in vain to corral one pup with apricot accents to her fur.

  ‘You can tell you’ve never had children,’ he jokes as the puppy twists and flounders until I am now holding her upside down.

  Of course he doesn’t mean to hurt my feelings.

  Then again, why would anyone say such a thing? Who would want to hear that they have no natural aptitude in this arena? Even if it’s true. Perhaps because my body can’t produce a baby, it doesn’t see the need to be able to nurture and care for one. Perhaps even adoption would be unwise. Perhaps I’m better off with animals that are more resilient to being dropped …

  I turn away on the pretext of trying to rearrange the wriggler, but I can’t stop my eyes brimming up and over. How is it possible that my tear ducts have refilled so quickly after this morning’s outpouring. Why is there so much left? Why can’t I stop it?

  ‘Jinx, are you misbehaving?’ Jacques steps in, blocking Gilles’ prying lens. ‘Here.’ He boosts Jinx higher so her furry face is now level with mine, her little puppy tongue quickly lapping away the salty streams.

  ‘How’s that?’ he asks with the tenderest tone.

  ‘Better,’ I nod.

  He looks as if there’s something more he wants to say but not in present company. I wonder if he has any children of his own?

  ‘Why don’t you sit here?’ He guides me to the wooden ramp leading to the hutch. ‘That way you can hold more than one,’ he says, as he heaps Toutou and Sky and Asha onto my lap.

  The trio are almost entirely soft beige, but with flecks of black along their lower spine and tail. Toutou has velvet ears that flop forward in little triangles, Sky has milky sapphire eyes and Asha looks as if she slept in her mascara, waking up with rings under her eyes.

  ‘And you have to have Bandit, he has the best eye mask of them all … ’

  He keeps going until I am overrun with loving, nuzzling, leaning, licking puppies, all cramming into the baby-less gap in my heart and filling it up with fuzzy puppy love.

  ‘This is fantastic!’ Gilles raves as the remaining pups trot over to join the party, grouping around my feet. ‘Just look at the camera and let them do their thing!’

  Now these pictures I can’t wait to see – I have no idea what mischief they are up to around me.

  ‘Watch out for Biscuit,’ Jacques laughs. ‘I think he’s going to start nibbling on your ear!’ And then his phone rings.

  He turns back to give me a significant look as he says, ‘It’s my father.’ And then he excuses himself, beckoning Sebastien to take over the puppy supervision.

  I try not to even look in his direction as he enters the pen. It will be all too apparent that my attitude towards him has changed. Instead of bombarding him with questions and challenging him, I only want to offer quiet understanding. And a little admiration at his loyalty and devotion to his brother. Even if said brother is, at this very moment, concocting a plan to release him from his Guardian Angel contract.

  ‘Well I can’t this week: it’s the Carnival, we’re booked solid,’ Jacques projects loudly as he heads back over. ‘I’ll have to send Sebastien.’

  ‘What? Send me where?’

  ‘Montreal. Dad needs the old car, his Citroën has finally died and he has to be at the physio by Friday.’

  ‘Well I can’t leave.’

  ‘What choice do we have? We can’t leave him stranded.’

  ‘It’s only three hours away, isn’t it?’ I chip in.

  Sebastien shoots me a look that clearly states, ‘This is none of your business.’

  But I ignore it …

  ‘You could leave first thing in the morning and be back on the train before dark.’

  ‘Do you have some vested interest in this?’ he snaps at me.

  ‘Only that I’d like to visit Montreal, and hear about all the hotspots from a native.’

  He looks between the two of us, sensing a conspiracy.

  ‘Give me the phone.’

  ‘What?’

  He snatches the mobile from Jacques’ hand and presses redial.

  ‘Dad?’ There’s a pause. ‘Oh. So it’s really broken. You want it on Thursday now?’ He sighs heavily. ‘All right. All right! I’ll see you then. Yes, yes, and the citron-pistachio biscotti, I know, I know.’

  He hands the phone back
to Jacques.

  ‘Café Olimpico?’

  Sebastien jerks his head for a yes and then sighs, ‘Well, I suppose it’s an opportunity to get some more of my stuff.’

  They exchange a few words in French and then Sebastien says he’s going to the barn, which seems to be his equivalent of the garden shed.

  Jacques waits until he’s certain he’s out of range and then gives me a high-five. ‘Six months I’ve been trying to get him back there! I know he’ll get hooked again once he sees his old haunts. If you could try to prolong his stay as long as possible … ’

  ‘I’ll certainly try.’

  ‘This is great,’ he enthuses, gently rubbing at Bandit’s belly with the edge of his boot.

  ‘You will be all right while we’re gone, won’t you?’

  He stops what he’s doing. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘I just mean, you won’t be short-handed?’

  ‘I’ll be fine. There’s a guy in the next village I can call upon anytime. No need to worry.’

  I wish I could be certain. This is what you get for meddling before you have all the facts. It seemed such a simple solution before – your brother has left his dream job to get under your feet and on your nerves? Let’s get him back to Montreal so you can both get on with your lives! But now I know why Sebastien is here, I’m not so sure that I want to be the one to take him away. What if something, god forbid, did happen while we were gone? But no. I’m being silly. It’s just one day. And Jacques seems in genuinely good spirits about it all. Besides, there are so many people here to watch over him, all of them know the situation. They wouldn’t let anything bad happen.

  ‘Jacques!’ Lucy is calling out to him to let him know the next group has arrived. It’s time for us to move on.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so unprofessional today,’ Annique apologises when we collect her from the farmhouse.

  ‘Not unprofessional,’ I correct her. ‘Human.’

  She smiles and then gets a twinkle in her eye. ‘You know there is one thing I can do even with a hangover … ’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Shop!’

  ‘Ooooh!’ Now she’s got my interest. ‘Not that you can let me buy anything,’ I tell her.

  ‘We’ll just lick the windows!’