The Chateau

by Catherine Cooper

  Aura answers on the second ring.

  ‘Nick?’ she says. Oh God. She sounds stressed.

  I pretend not to notice. ‘Hi, Aura. How was your day?’

  ‘Started well, ended horribly. I don’t think Sorrel’s well.’

  I feel a lurch of alarm. ‘Not well? What’s up with him?’

  She sighs. ‘I don’t know. Probably just a cold or something. He’s tired and grumpy, a bit of a runny nose and a cough.’

  ‘OK. That doesn’t sound so bad?’

  ‘No, I don’t think it is. I could do without it right now though.’

  ‘What’s he up to at the moment?’

  ‘He’s watching CBeebies – he didn’t eat much and he’s not really himself. Floppy. Listless. He hasn’t thrown up or anything. It’s a bit hard to describe.’

  ‘OK. Hopefully he’ll feel better in the morning. Kids get little bugs all the time, don’t they? Especially now they’re at nursery and mixing with other children more – bound to. Did you get some work done while they were out?’

  Even at a distance and over the phone I hear her voice brighten. ‘Yes, I did, actually. Honestly, the course is so interesting. I’m really enjoying it, especially because I can devote myself entirely to it this week and not have to go in to my boring job. I wish I’d done it ages ago. Did you know that …’

  I tune out as Aura starts to regale me with various facts and figures she’s learnt today. She hasn’t asked how my day was, but I think about it anyway. The scenery, the crisp air, my fall on the drag lift. Ella’s wonder at the scenery in the lift and the ice crystals in her hair as we untangled our skis.

  I realize I’ve absent-mindedly let my hand wander under my towel to my crotch and snatch it back. I will not do this. I will not.

  ‘And they think women are much more likely than men to seek counselling, not necessarily because they are more sensitive or prone to depression but simply because they’re less likely to see it as a weakness to seek help. Isn’t that fascinating?’ Aura is saying.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ I agree, even though I haven’t been listening.

  ‘What are you up to this evening?’ Aura asks.

  ‘Not sure – probably stodgy dinner, making sure the kids aren’t trying to sneak out to bars, I think maybe we’ve got a bowling session, that kind of thing,’ I say, deliberately trying to make it sound as uninteresting as possible. ‘And you? You got anything good lined up to watch on TV now that you have full control of the remote?’ I joke. In fact Aura always has control of the remote as it makes my life easier if she gets to watch what she likes, but it seems like the right kind of thing to say.

  ‘Yeah, I’m catching up on Married at First Sight. Looking forward to it, actually! I only hope the boys stay asleep long enough to let me get through a few episodes. Speaking of which, Sorrel’s fallen asleep and is drooling on my lap, so I’d better get him to bed.’

  ‘Aww. That’s a shame. I wanted to say hi.’

  ‘Next time.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll send him to nursery tomorrow? If he’s not well?’

  She sighs. ‘Not sure. I guess I’ll have to see how he is in the morning. But if it seems like it’s only a cold, that’s OK if he goes, isn’t it? I’d really like another full day at my coursework.’

  ‘Think so. Hopefully he’ll be OK after a good night’s sleep. Miss you,’ I say, because even though I haven’t thought about Aura all day, right at that moment I do miss her. And the boys.

  ‘Miss you too,’ she replies. ‘Let’s speak soon.’

  42

  February, French Alps

  Ella

  I’m lying on my bed wrapped in a towel almost dozing off when there is a knock at the door. ‘Come in?’ I call sleepily, sitting up.

  The door opens – it’s Jack. His hair is wet – I guess he’s just got out of the shower too.

  He grins. ‘Hey! I just came to see how your first proper day skiing went. Exhausting, by the look of you.’

  I rub my face. ‘Do I really look that bad?’

  He sits down on the edge of the bed next to me and kisses me full on the lips. ‘No. You look gorgeous. But you also look like you’ve just woken up and I can see that here …’ he traces his finger along my thigh, ‘you’ve got some bruises coming.’

  He continues to trace his finger up and down my thigh over the nascent bruises, which sends a tingle through me. ‘It was amazing,’ I say. ‘I fell loads – I even fell off the drag lift …’ I pause as I remember how Mr Dorian and I looked at each other then but force the image from my mind, ‘but I totally loved the skiing. And guess what? We went all the way down from the top of the lift to the bottom!’

  ‘Yay! That’s amazing, Ells. You mean from the lift by the nursery slope? If you’ve done that already, you’ll probably go up higher tomorrow.’

  He leans in and kisses me again, pushing his tongue in this time. I kiss him back. It’s nice. I feel his hand creep up the inside of my thigh and suddenly I’m very aware that I’m wearing nothing except a towel which makes me feel a bit freaked out.

  ‘Jack,’ I whisper warningly, but he ignores me, kissing me hungrily. His hand keeps moving up my thigh. A panicky feeling rises in my chest. I don’t want him to go any further when I’m practically naked like this. But I don’t want to tell him that either. ‘Jack, we can’t …’ I say, a little louder. ‘Molly’s in the bathroom.’

  He moans softly. ‘I don’t care, she won’t care …’ With his left hand still inching up my thigh, he moves his other hand up to my boobs, pawing at me a little roughly for my liking, which makes the towel fall away.

  I leap up as if someone had electrocuted me, grabbing at the towel and wrapping it around my naked body. ‘Sorry, but I care,’ I say, this coming out much more primly than I had intended. ‘I mean, I don’t want Molly barging in when you and me, when we’re …’ I continue, helplessly. I don’t really know what I mean. After all, he’s right, Molly wouldn’t care at all if she walked in on a bit of groping, which I’m sure was all Jack meant to do. Wasn’t it? In fact she’d probably be actively pleased, the way she’s been going on about me and Jack.

  Jack looks up at me from the bed. His expression is difficult to read. Hurt? Annoyed? Angry, even? I’m not sure.

  He stands up. ‘Fine,’ he says crisply. ‘I’ll see you at dinner then.’

  ‘Jack, don’t be like that!’ I say, sounding more whiney than I expected to. ‘I just … with Molly there …’ I tail off.

  He looks at me. ‘You and me. You know how much I like you. I’ve made that clear. And I thought you were into the idea of us. But then sometimes … sometimes it seems like …’

  ‘Like what?’ I ask hoarsely.

  He pauses. ‘Nothing. Look, I’m not that good at this kind of thing, I really like you, Ells, but it seems as though you, you …’ He stops. ‘I’m going to go now before I say something I regret. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘But … we’re OK?’

  He sighs, looks at the ceiling, and then back at me. His face is suddenly colder. ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

  He turns on his heel, opens the door and slams it behind him.

  Exactly one beat later, Molly flings open the bathroom door with a crash.

  ‘Bloody hell! What was all that about then?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I mutter. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  43

  February, French Alps

  Ella

  ‘Today – a new challenge,’ Romain announces, ‘but I know you are ready. Le telesiège! The chair lift!’

  ‘How come it doesn’t bang you in the back of the legs when you get on?’ I ask. ‘And what if it knocks you over?’

  ‘Ah, Ella,’ says Romain. ‘It is magic! On y va. You sit down, lower the bar and, voilà! It is very easy – you will see. Compared to the tire-fesse, a chair lift is a piece of bread.’

  ‘Cake. Piece of cake,’ Mr Dorian corrects.

  ‘Merci, monsieur. A piece of cak
e, c’est ca. Allons-y. I will go at the last in case anyone gets knocked over.’ He gives me a wink.

  ‘We’ll go first,’ Molly pipes up, pulling at my arm, killing any hope I had of being able to share the lift with Mr Dorian. I follow her forward, through the little gates and shuffle into position. ‘Here it comes!’ Molly calls. The lift man catches the chair as it comes round. ‘Sit down!’ Molly yells. We sit into the chair and it swings up and away. We pull the safety bar down and lift our feet on to the footrest.

  ‘That was easier than it looks,’ I grin. We rise up and suddenly there are no more trees, just snow, interrupted by the occasional mountain restaurant and more mountains behind. ‘Isn’t this amazing?’ I enthuse.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Molly, uninterestedly. ‘Amazing. Listen … I want you to tell me about what’s going on with you and Jack.’

  I frown. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You know what. You say you’re into him but I heard what happened last night. If you’d have had a shitty stick, you’d have been beating him off with it. And he didn’t sound too happy about how things are going either.’

  I feel myself go red. Hopefully Molly won’t notice under my helmet and goggles. ‘Well, you being in the bathroom, obviously listening as it turns out, kind of killed the mood,’ I say lightly.

  Molly pushes her goggles up on to her helmet and stares at me, narrowing her eyes. ‘I don’t think that was it. I’ve been thinking about it.’

  ‘Perv,’ I joke, but she’s having none of it.

  ‘Don’t try and avoid the issue. You don’t want to do that kind of stuff with Jack, and I think I know why.’

  ‘Do you now?’ I say, more snippily than I mean to.

  ‘Yes. You’re all hung up on Mr Dorian.’

  The chair goes over a pylon which makes it rock around. I reach out to grab the safety bar. ‘Whoa, wobbly,’ I say, as if I haven’t heard her.

  But she isn’t going to be side tracked. ‘So? Are you going to admit it?’

  ‘Admit what?’ I ask, playing for time.

  ‘The Mr Dorian thing!’

  ‘No! I told you ages ago, I’ve moved on. It’s not going to happen. And even if it was – which it isn’t – I’m not interested anymore. Neither is he.’

  She nods slowly and sarcastically. ‘Riiiiiiiiight. So what was that thing that went on between you on the drag lift?’

  ‘The drag lift? What are you on about? I fell off and he crashed into me! Even you can’t read anything into that!’

  ‘When he picked you up. You stood there for ages. I saw how you looked at each other. It was like the dictionary definition of sexual tension. There’s stuff you’re not telling me.’

  ‘I’m not telling you anything because there’s nothing going on!’ I practically shout. For fuck’s sake. Why won’t she just leave it?

  She sighs. ‘You do realize I don’t actually care if there’s anything between you and him or not? In fact, that’s not true, I do care. I hope there is, as you’re obviously gagging for him, whatever you say. But it makes me sad that you’re not telling me. I thought we were friends. I thought we told each other everything. So that upsets me.’

  She turns her head away from me to face forward again. She bites her lip. She’s not going to cry, is she? Why is this such a big deal to her?

  We haven’t known each other that long. I’ve barely even spoken to Tash and Lily about this. Or anyone else. Why does she have to be so full-on about it? ‘Molly, of course we’re friends but there’s nothing to tell,’ I say tightly. A blue sign with a picture indicating that we are coming to the top of the chairlift comes into view on the next pylon. ‘Quick – we have to lift the bar!’ I shout, panicking and trying to yank it upwards. It doesn’t move.

  ‘You need to take your feet off the footrest,’ Molly says coolly. I move my feet to one side and the bar rises. As the ground comes up to meet our skis we stand and push away from the chair.

  ‘I wish you’d tell me,’ Molly says.

  I roll my eyes. ‘I would. But there’s nothing to tell.’

  44

  February, French Alps

  Nick

  Many of my friends have made jokes about my ‘freebie holidays’ on the few occasions when I’ve accompanied school trips before. If they had any idea how exhausting and full-on it is, they would think differently. So far we’ve had a broken leg, kids sneaking out at night and getting drunk, several lost phone dramas and one poor boy who had to leave early when his mother was diagnosed with cancer. Every day we’re up early, ski all day, and then supervise an evening activity of some type or another, as well as making arrangements for medical visits and sorting out new travel arrangements and insurance claims needed around the various dramas as they arise. So while I have usually (though not every night) enjoyed the unbroken sleep I craved, there has barely been a spare moment and, bar a few texts, I haven’t heard from Aura for a couple of days.

  On Thursday the weather isn’t good and we call it a day early. My legs are aching and I have a little more time in the early evening than usual before my presence is next required for teen-wrangling so I decide to treat myself to a bath.

  I call Aura. I know from her texts that she kept Sorrel off nursery yesterday as he seemed very tired but she still thinks it’s only a cold, so I’m not too worried.

  ‘Hello?’ she whispers, answering on the first ring.

  ‘Aura? You OK? You sound weird.’

  ‘I’m fine. Sorrel’s fallen asleep on my lap – I don’t want to wake him.’

  I imagine him sucking his finger in his sleep, his squirrel pressed against his cheek, and in that moment I miss him so much it almost physically hurts.

  ‘How is he?’ I ask. ‘Any better?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I’m going to take him to the doctor’s tomorrow. I’ve given him some pulsatilla but he’s still got a temperature.’

  I sigh. ‘Aura, we’ve been through this before. If he’s got a temperature, you need to give him some Calpol. Not that homeopathic … stuff,’ I say, biting back the word ‘nonsense’ to avoid a row. ‘It’s only fair to him, it’ll make him more comfortable.’

  She pauses. ‘If he’s not better in the morning, I will. You know I don’t like putting that rubbish in their bodies.’

  I clench my hand into a fist so hard that my nails dig into my palm. The thought of poor Sorrel burning up makes me feel sick. But trying to tell Aura what to do while she’s in charge of the kids and I’m off on a ‘jolly’ as she sees it isn’t going to end well.

  ‘What’s his temperature?’

  ‘Thirty-eight. So it’s only up a little bit.’

  ‘And has he been sick or anything?’

  ‘Nothing like that. I think it’s just a bad cold.’

  ‘OK. But you promise you’ll take him to the doctor’s in the morning if his temperature’s still up?’

  ‘Yes!’ she snaps. ‘I already said I would. If you know so much better how to look after them than I do, you shouldn’t have gone off skiing, should you?’

  I scoot myself lower down into the water, rolling my eyes. ‘You know I’m not saying that, Aura,’ I say. ‘I’m worried about him, that’s all. The thought of his little hot body makes me sad.’

  She sighs. ‘Kids get ill, Nick, especially when they’re at nursery. It’s fine, it’s normal, it’s good for their immune system. But I’ll take him to the doctor’s if need be. Then you can enjoy your little holiday with a clearer conscience,’ she adds snidely.

  45

  February, French Alps

  Ella

  After Molly having a go about me and Mr Dorian again, I deliberately stay out of his way for the next few days. I’m really regretting telling Molly about it all and wish she’d just drop it.

  I make a real effort with Molly, pulling her up when she falls down, trying to sit next to her on the lifts, and she doesn’t ignore me as such, but she stays fairly frosty. She, Ethan, Jack and I hang out together as usual, but things are di
fferent. Molly and I talk, but only about stupid stuff which means nothing. Ethan is grumpy and offhand with me; I don’t know why. I hope Molly hasn’t told him about what happened with Mr Dorian. Surely she wouldn’t?

  And Jack. After that time in the bedroom, he barely touches me. We hold hands now and again, but it feels like we’re going through the motions. I’m not sure if he’s gone off me, if he’s simply trying to give me some space, trying not to pressure me, or if he just can’t face me saying no to him again. I have to admit, a large part of me is relieved.

  46

  February, French Alps

  Nick

  My phone keeps buzzing in my pocket all morning but I am one of the slowest skiers (probably what comes of also being the oldest, I guess), so there is never time to get it out before the group moves off again. I am terrified of dropping it off one of the lifts as at least two kids have already done this week so I can’t look at it then. It’s lunchtime by the time I manage to actually get it out of my pocket and see that I have five missed calls from Aura as well as several texts from her in capital letters and with increasing numbers of exclamation marks demanding CALL ME URGENTLY!!!!!!!

  Shit. Shit. I go outside the hors sac picnic room and call. She answers before I even hear it ring.

  ‘Aura? What is it?’ I ask. Oh God. It’s Sorrel. I know it is. Please let him be OK. Why didn’t she take him to the doctor earlier? Not meningitis, please. Please no.

  ‘It’s Sorrel,’ she says, and a wave of nausea rushes through me. ‘He’s got measles.’

  My first feeling is relief – not meningitis or anything like that – and then bewilderment.

  ‘What do you mean, measles? Are you sure? No one gets measles anymore, do they? Is he OK?’ It’s not meningitis. He’s going to be all right. Isn’t he?

  ‘That’s not serious, is it then?’ I continue. ‘I think I had it when I was a child. Or maybe it was chickenpox – I can’t remember.’