The Little Swiss Ski Chalet

by Julie Caplin

  She forced herself to read the first page. It wasn’t really her sort of thing, but then her sort of thing – jumping in with both feet and not considering consequences – was what had got her to this point in her life, so maybe she ought to make it her sort of thing.

  Where are you on your journey in life?

  Waiting for a train

  Chasing a rainbow

  Lost in the forest

  Halfway across the bridge

  Stuck on the motorway

  None of those things sounded the least bit appealing, in fact they all sounded depressing. Was she in one of these categories? With a sigh, she read on. Hannah disapproved of these self-help books on principle, she always said that they were written by masters of stating the bleeding obvious. Mina wondered for a minute if perhaps her sister had a point. But these books were written by experts, surely they knew what they were talking about? And shouldn’t you be open to other people’s perspectives on life?

  She turned the page, forcing herself to focus. Apparently people who were ‘waiting for a train’ knew what they wanted to do, but were hampered by the belief that they just needed to wait for the right circumstances before they could achieve it. Well, that wasn’t her. She believed you just got on and did things. If you waited for other people to make up their minds, sometimes, like with Derek and Miriam, you could wait forever.

  ‘Rainbow chasers’ also knew what they wanted, but were scuppered by their own lack of confidence. Again, not her. When she knew what she wanted, she went for it – although in hindsight that had been a big mistake with Simon. If she hadn’t jumped the gun and proposed that night, would things have turned out differently? Although, she couldn’t blame herself for his affair with Belinda.

  With another sigh, which earned a further curious look from the guy opposite, she turned the page. According to the author, people ‘lost in the forest’ just didn’t believe that what they wanted was achievable, and therefore gave up on their goals. That sounded a bit wishy-washy, decided Mina. Definitely not her. While reading ‘halfway across the bridge’, the light bulb went on. People who were in the middle of the bridge weren’t sure whether to go forward or back; they didn’t know what they did want, but they did know what they didn’t want. Now that, sadly, did sound like her. Not all the time, but definitely now. Well, at least she wasn’t alone.

  With horrible awareness dawning, she reread the words. It was right. The events of the last few weeks had brought her to a crossroads, but none of the roads had helpful signposts on them. She had no idea what she wanted out of life. Her job, which she’d always thought was OK – admittedly she’d been frustrated by the restrictions, but she’d always enjoyed it – now, thanks to Ian in HR pointing it out, wasn’t what she wanted to do forever. It occurred to her, with rather depressing finality, that she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to do it for the rest of this month. Following on from that unwelcome realisation came the next bit of awareness sliding perfectly into place: she didn’t want to stay in Manchester forever.

  Heedless of the other fascinated travellers, she let out a disgruntled huff. Darn it. If she were honest, she’d always known she wanted to live somewhere else, but this was the first time the thought had been brought out of hiding from its dusty shelf to be examined properly. But where would she go? You needed a job, a place to live, reasons to move.

  And then there was the thorny issue of relationships. She wasn’t built for solitude; she liked being with people and she certainly didn’t want to be single forever, but after Simon, her confidence had been severely dented. She’d always thought she was good partner material. Fun, good company, caring. But Simon had made it clear he thought her personality and disposition weren’t cut out for marriage at all, that being with her was wearing, irritating, and hard work – too much for a man to take on. His view had shocked and frightened her.

  She swallowed, feeling uncharacteristically despondent. Her life was a bit of mess, really. At least, according to the book, she wasn’t alone. If she were in the halfway-across-the-bridge category, it meant there were other people out there like her. Thank goodness she wasn’t ‘stuck on the motorway’. That sounded hideous. Apparently that was when you knew what you wanted, but there were too many things getting in the way. That would have driven her mad. She’d rather be a bulldozer and go straight over the top of obstacles. No, she was definitely halfway over the bridge.

  To the curious amusement of the man opposite she let out a quick self-deprecating, ‘Hnuh.’ Meeting Luke on the train summed it all up – the perfect example of being halfway across the bridge. Fun, sexy, and spontaneous as he was, he epitomised all the things she didn’t want in a man or a relationship. Ironic because he was so like her. They had so much in common. With awful irony, she realised that the type of guy that Luke was to her, was what she’d been to Simon.

  ‘Ist dieser Platz besetzt?’

  Mina glanced up at the fair-haired, slim woman in jeans and a sunshine-yellow anorak who’d clearly just boarded the train at the last stop. The rapid German defeated her schoolgirl knowledge, but from the way the other woman gestured towards the empty seat beside her, it didn’t take a genius to work it out and she shook her head, giving the girl a welcoming smile. She couldn’t stand those people who looked daggers at you as if they thought no one should sit next to them. ‘All yours,’ she said, indicating the empty seat.

  ‘Great,’ said the young woman, who was probably about Mina’s age, flopping into the seat, immediately swapping to English in that easy way that so many Europeans did, and which always made Mina wish she’d tried a bit harder to learn a language at school. ‘I thought I was going to have to stand. The train from Geneva was full to bursting.’ She dug in her pocket and pulled out a packet of Jelly Beans. ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘I’d love one.’ Mina shoved the book back into her bag and turned to give the new arrival her full attention. ‘I haven’t had any for ages and now you’ve given me a complete craving.’

  The woman laughed. ‘Me neither, I picked them up in the station shop.’

  Over Jelly Beans, Mina bonded in the quick, easy way she frequently did with complete strangers. Hannah often complained she would talk to anyone, but Mina didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. As far as she was concerned, everyone was a potential friend, and where was the harm in that? And once again it paid off, as twenty-seven-year-old Uta was also travelling to Reckingen to stay at a local hotel. Apparently she was meeting up with a party of friends who’d all used to work together in a bank in Zurich.

  ‘We can take a taxi together,’ said Mina.

  ‘They go quickly from the station, so be ready to jump off quickly.’

  Thanks to Uta’s advice they hopped off the train sharply and made a quick dash to the taxi rank, and were first in the queue.

  ‘Result,’ said Mina, once again feeling that kick of excitement to be in a new place. She was impatient to see where she’d be staying for the next two weeks. Amelie had suggested she get a taxi, apologising profusely in her last email for this appalling welcome and dereliction of duty as a godmother, but explaining that Mina’s expected arrival time coincided with the one of the busiest times at the ski chalet.

  Once seated with Uta in the ancient Mercedes, glancing around at the scenery and the tiny village spread across the slopes, Mina wondered if she actually needed a taxi.

  ‘The village is smaller than I expected,’ she said to Uta.

  ‘Yes, but it’s deceptive, some of the houses are more spread out than they look, especially when you have a case, skis, and ski boots.’

  Mina craned her neck to look around the driver, to see as much as she could.

  The village seemed little more than a cluster of wooden buildings, spread out across the gentle, lower slopes of the valley between the rising mountains on either side. In the crisp winter sunshine, the thick layer of snow blanketing the uniform inverted V-shaped roofs glistened and sparkled like tiny diamonds. It was utterly en
chanting and Mina clasped her hands and sighed with sheer pleasure at the pretty-as-a jigsaw-puzzle scenery surrounding her.

  ‘It’s so beautiful.’

  ‘That’s why we keep coming back, it’s my favourite place in the whole of Switzerland but don’t tell anyone I told you that. It would be lovely to live here, but there isn’t so much work, not for a finance manager. The houses are very historic – see, they are all made of wood. It’s a very traditional style in the Valais.’

  Mina studied the big, dark, sturdy houses dotted across the landscape. They seemed as if they’d been placed at random, with no discernible streets, or sense of the buildings facing the same way. She could probably count each one. She compared the scene to the view from her flat, where the houses and blocks of flats were so densely packed in, you had no idea what was in the next street, let alone on the other side of the valley.

  The taxi drove past a few houses before crossing the main road, where she could see a small supermarket and a few shops, before starting to climb very slightly up the side of the valley.

  ‘We’ll stop at your hotel first. Mine is further on,’ said Uta.

  When at last they drew up outside a four-storey chalet, layered with balconies, Mina let out a small sigh of satisfaction. It looked every bit like a typical Swiss Chalet should.

  ‘Some of my friends stay here. They rave about it,’ said Uta, peering up at the signage by the steps. ‘I keep meaning to stop by and check it out. Maybe I’ll come by in a couple of days and we can have a drink?’

  ‘Yes, do. You can give me some tips on what to do on the area.’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy. Ski, hike, and ski some more. Maybe I’ll drop by on Sunday evening with a couple of the guys.’

  ‘The more the merrier. See you then. Now, what do I owe you for the fare?’

  Uta waved a hand. ‘Pfff. Buy me a drink.’

  As the taxi drove off, Uta waving from the back window, Mina stood for a moment just taking in the muffled silence, as if every sound had been dulled and diluted. The thick covering of snow had smoothed away the sharp edges of the buildings and softened out the contours of the land, like a freshly plumped-up feather duvet. She couldn’t get over the whiteness of the pristine surface of the snow. At home, almost as soon as the snow fell it was blackened by the city’s car exhaust fumes. Here, everything looked so clean, and as she breathed in, she felt the sharp hit of the freshness in the air. There was a purity and crispness to the atmosphere that she’d never experienced before. Was this what breathing pure oxygen was like, she wondered. She took in another deep breath, amused by the puffs of steam that drifted out of her mouth. The journey had cocooned her, and now it was like being thrust out into a jewel-bright world where all her senses were being retuned.

  She turned to look at the building. Constructed entirely of wood, and pretty as it was, those great solid beams reminded her that it had been built to withstand the weather conditions in the winter. Although only four o’clock, the sun had dipped behind the mountains and the bright blue of the sky darkened at the edges like dampened blotting paper. She could feel the temperature dropping rapidly and was grateful for the golden glow that lit each of the windows on the front façade like welcoming beacons.

  Lifting her case, she carefully walked up the snow-free steps and pushed open the big, heavy door. She found herself in a small, self-contained lobby area full of shelves and racks for boots and skis, with hanging rails that were already half full of ski jackets and that indefinable smell of the outdoors. Puddles and drips dotted the floor, particularly around the short, low benches on one side of the room where people obviously sat to discard their wet boots. There was a warm, fuggy atmosphere which she realised came from the pipes running around the edge of the room under the racks and rails, clearly designed to help everything dry out overnight. For a moment, she paused to examine the array of footwear, hiking boots, big plastic ski boots, and odd-looking, unfamiliar boots that looked like a cross between a slip-on trainer and an ankle boot. She felt another quick trip of excitement at the thought of getting out into the fresh air and skiing.

  She pushed her way through another door and stepped into the most gorgeous light and airy open-plan room, clad with wood and open to the inverted, V-shaped, beamed ceiling. An open timber frame created a notional division between the reception room and the much bigger lounge beyond.

  On her right, in the centre of the partition, embers glowed in a huge fireplace of rough-hewn stone built into a vast chimney breast, open on both sides to each room. On the other side the lounge area contained a few people quietly reading or chatting on the selection of sofas and chairs arranged around a big square coffee table facing the fireplace. The atmosphere was smart and elegant, but managing to be cosy and welcoming at the same time. There were two beautiful and expensive-looking, plump, fern-green velvet chairs side-by-side, just begging to be sunk into. They were separated by a small, highly polished table decorated with pretty china bowls, and a tall, long-necked lamp, and opposite, making up a right-angle, were two large, natural-linen, comfortable-looking sofas dotted with stylish cushions of velvet, silk and wool. Underfoot, the floor was made of rustic, wide-planked floorboards that looked as if they had a few stories to tell, and soft wool rugs were dotted here and there. Mina immediately felt as if she could go and take a seat and be at home with everyone else.

  On this side of the fire, the reception room had a different feel, slightly more basic with several big squashy, battered, chestnut leather sofas that didn’t look as if they’d quite earned their battle scars, and the coffee table here was a big rustic wooden affair pitted with knots and gnarls. Next to the fire was a huge wrought-iron log holder that was filled to the brim with chopped wood that scented the air.

  As she was taking all this in, the cuckoo clock in front of her burst into action, a cuckoo popping out of its tiny door, narrowly missing being decapitated by the painted figure of a wood chopper, whose axe swung as the hands struck four. Mina laughed out loud with delight as she examined the clock with its detailed workmanship and elaborate carving. While it wasn’t that big, it certainly made up for it in volume. Still smiling to herself, she turned and realised that people were appearing from all directions, as if the cuckoo had set off some secret signal, and everything began to happen in perfect sequence. It was like watching a set change at the theatre, as everyone settled into places. Guests who had been absorbed in their books suddenly began chatting to each other, and around corners more people began to appear, taking up seats in both rooms. The noise level rose to an all-round hum, and then a woman, carrying a large tray almost as big as she was, looking like an old-fashioned cigarette girl, burst through the doors at the back of the room, followed by two teenage girls carrying smaller trays. The hum rose and anticipation rippled through both rooms as the woman, beaming at everyone as she went, beat a determined path to the coffee table in the elegant lounge area.

  With a hint of triumph, she placed the tray on the table and stood back to absorb the appreciative ‘mmms’ that filled the air. ‘Tonight we have Basler Kirschenbrottorte.’ Only the ta-dah was missing as she presented a dense, rustic-looking cake that perfumed the air with cherries and vanilla. The surface was pitted with craters of dark red, almost caramelised whole cherries. Mina’s stomach rumbled in anticipation. With careful, attentive fussing, plates and mugs were dished out and the cake was sliced up and served.

  Mina watched with a smile on her face as each of the guests, probably about twelve in total, were tended to. Cake was pressed upon one reluctant guest who was won over with quick, gentle chiding, a plate was presented with a flourish to another eager guest who clearly knew he was in for a treat, and a forkful-sized taster offered to one young lady who dared to refuse a slice. It was everything she loved to see, people coming together over food, and there at the centre of it was her godmother, Amelie, with a mile-wide smile on her face as she danced through the people, dishing out her little plates of joy. Then she looked up, her smile
widening even more. She handed a plate over and, dusting down her hands on her flour-speckled apron, darted to the doorway and came rushing through.

  ‘Mina, liebling. You’re here,’ she boomed in her deep, loud voice which was so out of keeping with her delicate frame, and grabbed her by the shoulders, kissing her soundly on both cheeks. She hugged Mina close to her. ‘Beautiful girl. Although a little pale, I think.’ She patted Mina’s cheeks. ‘But the good mountain air will bring the roses. Now come, come. Have some cake. Leave your things here.’

  Mina found herself thrust into the other room. ‘This is Mina, she’s just arrived.’ She waved at the people in the room as a plate with a slice of cake on it was pushed into her hands. ‘They can introduce themselves. I must bring more coffee. More people are expected.

  ‘After café and cake, I’ll take you up to your room.’ Amelie glanced up at the cuckoo clock and frowned. ‘The new guests are late. They should be here. But your train was on time.’

  ‘It was. The taxi rank was very busy.’

  ‘Ah yes, and one of the taxis has broken down.’ She walked over to the window, and whatever she saw relieved her. ‘It’s OK, they’ve just arrived.’

  Mina found herself a seat, helped herself to one of the mugs of black coffee from one of the trays, and sat down on one of the sofas.

  ‘You just arrived?’ asked her nearest neighbour, an older man with the sort of serious, sophisticated, wireless-framed glasses she associated with Europeans, which didn’t quite go with his extremely bushy eyebrows.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Mina, picking up her slice of cake and giving it a quick study, her eye caught by the unusual-looking ingredients. It reminded her of a rocky road slice, with unidentified layers among the cherries. ‘This looks delicious.’