Christmas in the Snow (24 page)

‘As if I’d let you go more than twelve hours without a cup of tea,’ Allegra said, rolling her eyes and plonking a blue carrier bag on the kitchen table, triumphantly pulling
out a box of teabags, milk, biscuits, bread and jam. ‘I suppose you need some digestive sandwiches too, am I right?’ she asked, opening the packet of McVitie’s and quickly
spreading two with butter and jam before pushing them together.

‘Oh my God, I haven’t had one of those for years!’ Isobel exclaimed excitedly, grabbing a clutch of cushions and tentatively propping herself up with them as Allegra handed
over the plate. ‘Mum always made these when we were sick.’

Allegra didn’t say anything as she filled the kettle. Isobel ate wholesome, home-cooked family meals these days, but Allegra – if she wasn’t in a restaurant and she was home
alone? More often than not, this was her dinner.

‘Mmm!’ Isobel said appreciatively as she took a bite, spraying herself with crumbs and brushing them onto the floor. ‘Tch, I can’t believe I slept in my clothes,’
she muttered. ‘I haven’t done that for years.’

Allegra didn’t reply. She’d never done that.

‘It was a good night, though, wasn’t it?’ Isobel grinned, looking up at her sister with wicked eyes. ‘You and Max were getting along nicely.’

‘He’s OK,’ Allegra mumbled, reaching for some cups.

‘Good kisser?’

‘Don’t really remember,’ Allegra lied, pretending to search for teaspoons.

‘No, me neither,’ Isobel said in a puzzled voice.

‘What?’ Allegra spun round. ‘You kissed one of them? Iz! You’re—’

‘Relax! Don’t have a cow! Jeez. I just meant I don’t remember much about
last night
. I obviously can’t handle my drink as well these days.’

‘Oh.’

The kettle boiled and she poured their cups of tea.

‘It’s annoying that you’re looking so perky and being as efficient as usual,’ Isobel grumbled, watching as her sister set them down on the coffee table. ‘I can
hardly even move.’

Allegra arched an eyebrow sympathetically. ‘Well, I’ve been up for a few hours now. And I’ve eaten. Here, drink some of this.’ She pushed the cup towards her.

Isobel sighed and swung her legs round to the floor. Using her hands to push against, she sat up, her head lolling heavily like a rag doll’s. ‘Ugh. I’m dying.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Allegra grinned, tucking her legs in and watching her sister closely, wondering whether she was physically strong enough right now to handle the news she had
to tell her.

A few minutes passed as Isobel slurped her tea like a Labrador, finally looking sidelong at her, an apologetic expression in her eyes. ‘We should ski.’

‘We can’t ski,’ Allegra replied, shaking her head so that her hair was mussed up on the cushions. ‘Our bodies won’t work today. We broke them.’

‘Legs, you have to ski . . . I said we’d ski.’

‘To who? Who did you say that to?’ Allegra asked suspiciously.

‘Bri—’

‘No! No! Stop right there,’ Allegra demanded, holding up a hand and closing her eyes. ‘I think they’ve done quite enough damage for one ski trip, don’t you?’
she asked, gesturing at their battle-weary bodies, even though the worst of the damage couldn’t be seen. Her hangover – brutal as it was – still couldn’t compete against the
annihilation of her professional reputation. Fresh misery washed over the rest of the week’s hurts like lemon juice on a paper cut, and her hand flew to her face, pinching the bridge of her
nose. There was too much to absorb right now. She inhaled slowly.

‘Well . . . we kind of have to. He’s got my phone.’ Isobel’s voice was quiet.

Allegra’s hand dropped. ‘What?’

‘I gave it to him last night as insurance that we’d race the Infinity today.’

The Infinity? A buzz in the back of her brain became a drone. She remembered hearing about it last night, vaguely registered excited plans, phone calls being made . . .

‘Why would you do that?’ Allegra asked, her voice three octaves higher than usual.

‘Because he wanted to see me again and I’d drunk a barrel of beer by then.’

‘But you are married
with a child
. He knows that! What are both of you playing at?’

Isobel tutted and rolled her eyes. ‘Legs, I haven’t done anything wrong. I am allowed to talk to other men, you know. Being a wife doesn’t mean I’ve become a nun, and
being a mother doesn’t mean I stop being a woman. It’s just some light-hearted fun.’

‘You are blurring the boundaries and you know it,’ Allegra pushed back, jabbing her finger towards her sister. ‘You do not need their validation. Why do you always need to have
men fall in love with you?’

But she instantly regretted asking the question. They both knew why.

‘You weren’t so angelic yourself last night,’ Isobel said sulkily.

‘
I
am single. I can do whatever I like.’

Isobel glared back at her resentfully, but she didn’t argue further.

A minute passed and Isobel lightly drummed her fingers on the sofa. ‘Well, I still need to get back my phone.’

Above the clouds again, it was a beautiful day. Allegra had always thought this must be the best part of being a pilot. It didn’t matter what was happening on terra
firma, above the clouds the sun was always shining, and she closed her eyes as the sun pulsed gently, trying to pink up her pallid complexion.

The queues for the gondolas had been huge, the two of them shuffling forward, inches at a time in the heaving mass of mountain joyriders, and it had taken over an hour to get to the summit of
Klein Matterhorn and to the start of the race, where Brice, Max and the others were supposedly lining up.

It could have taken far longer, she knew. She could have not found her ski boots kicked under the bed (and now obscured by the displaced duvet), and Isobel could have forgotten in exactly which
locker Brice had stored their skis, helmets and poles. But some things, at least, were going their way.

‘Ugh, I’m still starving,’ Isobel wailed dramatically, finding a woeful lack of cafes at the top of the lift station and dropping her hands onto her knees.

‘It’s a wonder you’re not a Ten-Ton Tessie,’ Allegra joked, fishing a tatty ‘emergency’ toffee from her jacket pocket. ‘Sorry, best I can do,’ she
shrugged.

‘Ace!’ Isobel said with wide eyes, chewing so furiously the bobble on her hat bobbed as she looked around for the Frenchmen. Allegra scuffed the snow with the toes of her boots,
trying not to make eye contact with anyone. She didn’t want to see Max again. She had offered to buy Isobel a new phone to avoid precisely this, but Isobel had immediately started listing all
the once-in-a-lifetime photos of Ferds on the SIM card . . .

‘Oh, I can see them over there,’ Isobel said, handing over her skis and disappearing into the crowd.

Well, then, if they were all over there . . . Allegra thought, deliberately turning to face the opposite direction. Hundreds of people were milling about, all wearing numbered bibs as people
with clipboards tried to herd everyone into groups, and they seemed to encompass every age group, from families with very young children, breakfast still stuck to their cheeks, to university ski
trips, to retirees with tans.

Allegra watched as a young boy and girl thumb-wrestled, their hands clasped in a death grip. She smiled wryly as a boarder jump-walked past – his board still strapped to one foot –
wearing a onesie and a rooster hat. She looked on as two off-pisters skied off the chairlift, wordlessly bypassing the congregated crowd and disappearing over the top and across the border into
Italy.

‘Hi.’

She looked up. Max was standing beside her, his arms draped over his board, which he’d jammed into the ground like a resting post.

‘Hi.’ Dammit.

He looked younger today, his cheeks already flushed beneath his dense stubble, his eyes bright from a full morning of runs – how was that possible? She and Isobel had been
destroyed
all morning – and it made her wonder whether she looked older in the bright light of day.

‘How are you this morning?’ An easy smile spread on his lips, and were it not for what he had cost her, she would have found herself smiling back too. But she didn’t. He came
at too high a price. And he was twenty-three.

‘Fine.’ She remembered how his lips had felt on hers and she felt ridiculous now. ‘You?’

He just nodded, his eyes doing all the talking for him. Over his shoulder, she could see Isobel’s yellow and navy bobble hat wobbling like it was on a stick as she chatted to the others,
clearly with none of the inhibitions of her older sister.

‘That guy last night . . .’ he began with a quizzical expression.

‘He’s a client,’ she said quickly.

Max smiled, as though he didn’t quite believe her. ‘Well, it’s a shame,’ he said after a moment. ‘You looked so happy until he showed up.’

‘Oh.’ She wasn’t sure what to say. ‘Well, my work is . . . isolating.’

‘Isolating,’ he echoed, and she wondered whether he understood the word.

‘Lonely.’

Now he did. ‘You are younger than you think, Legs.’ The sound of her nickname, wrapped in his accent, made her blush, though it was what he had called her all night. She remembered
that at least. ‘You are freer than you feel. And you are definitely sexier than you know.’

His hand had found hers, but she couldn’t hold his gaze. The light out here was too pure to hide in; what had seemed possible in a dimly lit bar couldn’t stand up to scrutiny out
here.

A man with a young boy stopped beside them to ask Max something, and Allegra stepped back, self-consciously tucking her hair behind her ears.

Max turned back to her, taking in the distance she had put between them. His mouth opened, as though he was going to say something, but a whistle was blown and officials began hurriedly herding
the last bibbed stragglers to the taped areas.

‘It is time to go. Where are you racing?’ he asked, throwing his board on the ground and bending down to strap in one boot.

‘Oh, we’re not. We only came up here so that Iz could get her phone.’

Max straightened up, a quizzical expression on his face.

Allegra saw Isobel running towards her with a bright smile – her hangover seemed miraculously cured by the altitude – just as Max leaned in to her. She turned back at the movement
and found his face mere inches from hers.

He smiled, their eyes locked. ‘
Joyeux Noël
, Legs. It was fun.’ And he kissed her on the corner of her mouth.

‘Bye.’ Allegra watched him walk-jump off to where the others were gathering together in the front group, sliding easily along the snow with steady grace.

‘Last night’s attraction still going strong, is it?’ Isobel smiled, handing her a bib.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s twenty-three.’ She looked at the bib in her hand. ‘And what is this? I hope you don’t think we’re competing?’

‘Of course we are! I told you that. Brice entered us all last night.’

‘No!’ Allegra wailed. ‘You said we were just coming up here to get your phone.’

‘Oh, you didn’t believe that. I know you didn’t,’ Isobel said, smartly clicking her boots into her skis. ‘Listen, there’s only one way to kick this hangover
in the arse and that’s by flying down a twenty-two-hundred-metre drop in twenty kilometres.’ Isobel grinned. ‘Who knows, maybe today will be the day you finally beat
me.’

‘Ha, ha,’ Allegra said drily, joshing her with an elbow.

She pulled on the bib and followed in Isobel’s tracks to the first of the holding areas. What else was she going to do?

‘Hang on, don’t we need to go to the back?’ Allegra asked as they joined everybody readying themselves at the line.

‘No, the back’s for people who are doing the race just for fun,’ Isobel replied, fiddling with the strap on her goggles.

Just for fun? Allegra looked across at her. ‘So then what’s the middle?’

Isobel paused in thought. ‘People who are racing to beat their personal bests, I think.’

‘And up here?’ she asked slowly.

Isobel smiled, adjusting the pole straps round her wrists. ‘Those racing to win.’ She winked, before turning her attention to the man with the whistle, her weight poised over her
poles.

Allegra saw the French boys in the front row, their baggy gear at distinct odds with some hardcore types who were chesting the start ribbon in skintight racing suits. They were all laughing at
something Jacques had said, looking young again from here. A medley of images from last night played through her head again, but they clearly had no such remonstrations, no regrets. Last night was
already today’s chip wrappings to them. It was another day, another mountain, another bar . . . another girl.

The whistle blew, the tape flickered, and they were off. Allegra felt the ground slip away beneath her skis and the wind pick up with her pace. She angled her hips, felt the edge of the skis
carve the snow, a rhythm begin to form, some clarity begin to push through the fog of her hangover. Moguls had formed over the course of the morning runs, but her body, which had been so wooden and
stiff all morning, bounced easily over them and she was past them in a few minutes, easing into quick, short turns as she found her rhythm on the smoother, steeper slope.

She could see Isobel a hundred metres ahead, in the leading pack. Her skiing had a balletic quality to it that combined with an almost reckless love of speed and she was only just behind the
French boys, who were whooping all the way down the mountain, huge arcs of snow spraying left and right like fountains of water as they angled their bodies with athletic ease.

Allegra was fast, but she couldn’t keep up with them, and as they began to pull further away, everything retracted from her – last night, Valentina, her mother, her lost job –
until all that was pin-sharp was the fifty metres of snow immediately ahead of her, her eyes tracking the fall line as it changed every moment, the peak of the run higher and higher above her as
she swooped down the piste with heady freedom.

She was so caught up in her own head, in her own moment, on her own mountain, that when another skier passed, cutting aggressively in front of her and only just avoiding clipping the tips of her
skis, she almost wiped out. The near-miss threw her off her rhythm, making her heart pound erratically as her body tried to correct from the shock, and she almost lost her balance, one leg flying
high in the air, poles waving about like it was a comedy skit.