relatively skimpy netting. My mind got to work again, fearing gigantic boulders crashing into the car roof.
‘Shall we play I-Spy?’ I asked, desperate for distraction.
‘You can try.’ Angie sniggered as we were suddenly submerged into darkness. We all vanished, and I felt relief wash through me. I could do dark. At least we were safe in a tunnel.
‘Oh, we won’t then,’ I added stupidly.
‘We must be nearly there by now.’ Cathy stated what we were all thinking.
Angie swiped her brow. ‘I think we’ll see the village at the other end. I don’t pay too much attention when I’m in the passenger seat.’
I felt a stab of guilt thinking of poor Angie having to drive us all and listening to our constant gasps and gripes. This was probably a first for her – driving up without Rob and the boys. Ever since their eldest was twelve and had skied with the school, Angie and Rob had taken all three boys on their annual trip to the Alps or Dolomites. They went with a large group stemming from that first school trip. I’d been quite envious but in a different way than Mike had. I’d never had the teeniest inclination to ski, but there was a lovely camaraderie among them, as a family. They all loved it. I figured this trip must be quite daunting for Angie, leading us up instead of Rob leading her.
As we neared the arc of light ahead and felt the anticipation of arrival, my muscles untied themselves and I let my head roll back. I hadn’t felt as tense or as wretched since that day almost two years ago when the consultant oncologist sat in front of Mike and I had confirmed Mike was already in stage four of his cancer. Although the tests and waiting were physically draining, mentally, that day, a switch came on, powering my brain with a huge surge of strength. Instantly, I became wired to fight, to stay upbeat. I was going to shore up every bone, every muscle, every cell in his body to keep Mike alive. That was my coping mechanism. To stay strong for him, to research everything about his condition, nourish him with the right foods and attitude, seek out that miracle cure – mend him. Even Will, our medical expert, couldn’t do that, however much he tried.
I don’t think I’m bitter anymore. I was. Not towards Mike, but the situation. My life for thirty months involved never tiring or wavering but taking time off work to be around during and after the op, nursing, battling the brunt of his anger and bitterness, sitting beside him throughout long hours of chemo, the sickness, the loss of appetite, the hair loss and exhaustion of his once strong body as his immune system weakened. Then the radiotherapy and change of chemo drugs because the first weren’t ever going to cure him, just prolong his life, his suffering.
‘No more,’ he’d said, when the next round of chemo was offered. I remember it well. It was the middle of August, a warm, muggy day that was more overcast than sunny. ‘Sorry, love. I really am, but I can’t do this anymore.’ He could have hit me with a cricket bat and I wouldn’t have felt it as much. There was one thing Mike wasn’t and that was a pessimist. It was why I was with him in the first place.
Feeling hot with all the twisting and turning of the car. I picked up my water bottle and took a large swig. We’d be there soon.
I switched my mind back to Mike, to the fonder days of our youth. I could picture him now, caramel hair on a side parting, blond hairs on his warm cheeks, eyes that would eat you up. Apparently, he’d seen me before we first met at the school end-of-term disco. He told me he’d watched me play netball at a rally in our nearest town and fell in love with my peachy-skinned face and long blonde pigtails and made up his mind I was one day going to be his wife.
So confident I would be at that disco, he had it all planned. Soon after I arrived with my friends at he approached the DJ, gave him a list of slow songs to play: ‘The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face’, Roberta Flack; ‘Got to Be There’, Michael Jackson; ‘Have You Seen Her’, The Chi-lites; ‘Without You’, Neilson; ‘Let’s Stay Together’, Al Green – that was how optimistic he was. And how could a girl resist? Michael Watts was striking. This tall, athletic, blond boy leading me, plain little Virginia Matthews, to the dance floor, never to let go, until that day.
I so missed that crypto-energy he supplied. Sadly, I believed we both switched off that muggy August day. Forced to finally face reality. All that was left was to slowly watch the light in his eyes fade along with the breath from his lungs. That was a year ago this week, and the day I found out he had a secret.
‘Hurrah,’ Angie yelped as she steered the last of the less threatening bends and a cluster of chalets appeared. Beside the road, I read the sign. ‘Bienvenue La Tzoumaz.’
Kim
Seeing Ginny’s name light up on my phone had momentarily jarred me as it had often done of late, since I’d been party to the unwelcome information. There’s nothing worse than having to swallow something unsavoury and not being able to handle it. I read the text. Mission control. I liked that. Ginny was right. This would be our headquarters for the next seven days. Aw, and sweet – a subtle reminder to get in the wine. At least Ginny was in good humour. She’d had a tough few years and deserved some serious fun. After some hectic months nursing at the Midland General in Perth, and trying to deal with the issue concerning Ginny, I was seriously in need of fun too and looking forward to seeing and sharing the experience as well as spending time with my old buddies.
The restaurant terrace was filled with skiers. The welcoming smell of Savoyard cheeses filled my nostrils, making my tummy rumble as the memory of the mini cheese fondue I ate last night enthused my taste buds. I’d skipped breakfast after gorging on so many delicious dishes in the hotel restaurant. ‘You taste,’ the Italian had urged, and had sent out relentless small plates containing cooked meats, pasta, fried aubergines, curried cabbage, shellfish and finally the one course I’d requested, a flavoursome Savoyard fondue. The perfect mountain food as far as I was concerned. My guilty pleasure. Warm, rich and indulgent.
I ignored a whiff of diesel fumes and even the view for a while. I took a sip of my wine and leant back on the chair to let the midday sun wash over my skin. I closed my eyes. Sleep was tempting but I was too excited. Nervous too. I mean, whilst I couldn’t wait to see my friends again, meeting Ginny face-to-face, knowing this was the opportunity to tell her what I knew, was terrifying, far worse than confronting Will about moving back to England. Worse even than confronting my drunk and violent father. Confrontation scared me, I’ve always feared conflict – but losing Ginny scared me more.
At first, I held back from relaying what I’d learned because I didn’t think Ginny would cope. She had not long returned from having such a lovely time with me at my home in Perth earlier this year and was still highly emotional after losing Mike; then when I did drum up the courage to tell her, I found out her company had made her redundant and she was desperately seeking work. When I rang, she was so low.
So, as the months went on, hearing from the girls how she had withdrawn, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. And I had to be with her. Her self-esteem had sunk so low. In fact, I then feared that if I told her after all that time, I would lose her friendship. She would hate me. The thought was unbearable. Ginny was special. It was surreal to think that I was going to hurt the one person who had virtually carried me throughout my younger days. A knot tied in my stomach every time I thought about it, and when this trip was organised, and I knew I would see her, I made up my mind that it was my opportunity to sit her down, face-to-face.
Startled by that fact, I opened my eyes, catching sight of
