WINTER WONDERLAND (3 page)

‘I can’t do this.’

Is that an ‘
I have a girlfriend
’ can’t do this?

I open my mouth to request clarification but nothing comes out. I just watch dumbly as the tripod is retracted, the bedding squished back into its casing, the camera tucked back down his trousers.

‘I will see you in the morning. In Quebec.’

‘Okay.’ I murmur as I watch him leave.

And then I am alone again.

The hush returns. And the stillness. But I can still feel his imprint on my body, still taste his kiss. And now when I breathe out I can no longer see my breath – because he has warmed the air in here. And me.

‘Oh my!’ I fall back onto the bed in a swoon, remembering too late that the headboard is made of ice.

CHAPTER TWO

Throughout the night I kept catching myself thinking, ‘
Is there a draught in here?
’ It’s only now that I realise that my room is right by the exit. Or ‘
Sortie
’, as they say here. And by exit I don’t mean one of those doors with a metal bar you have to lean on to open. I mean a great gaping archway leading directly onto the snowstorm outside. And all that’s separating me from the scything winds is my door drape. Which is flapping like a flag.

‘Jeez Louise!’ I shudder, reaching down into my sleeping bag to check that I can still feel my body. I laugh now at the notion that I would be too hot in my clothes. I long for my fleece now, but it would mean extending an arm from my cocoon and I just can’t face it. I have to try and go back to sleep – to will myself to fall unconscious so I can make it to daylight.

But then a new thought arises. I deny it as long as I can but the message is gaining urgency:
I need a wee!

No, no, you don’t. You just think you do.

No, I really, really do.

You do realise what this would entail?

Yes.

And you still want to go?

More than ever.

Who knew that the need to pee overrides all else?

Wish I’d studied the Go Girl! website a little closer now.

I look at my watch. 4.43 a.m. Well, I suppose it could be worse. With the jet lag this was somewhat inevitable. Of course breakfast isn’t for another hour and forty-seven minutes. It’s then I remember the mini-pouch of peanuts I stuffed in my bag from the plane. Currently in the locker in the main building, along with my suitcase. So now I have two good reasons to brave the cold. And it’s not as though it’s really going to get any warmer when the sun comes up.

‘Right! Here we go. I can do this!’

I sit up and try to claw my way out of the sleeping bag, forgetting in my frenzy that the top toggle is tied too tight to release me. Nooo! I don’t want to get trapped half in, half out!

‘
She was frozen from the waist up but her legs were still kicking!
’ Then I remember the side zip and gasp as the chill rushes over me.

‘Wow.’ It’s actually worse than I remembered. Three times I accidentally rest my ankle on the edge of the bed only to recall that it is made of ice.

I reach for the black waterproof storage bag and pull on my (cold) sweater and my (cold) coat and my (cold) socks and boots. And then I do a vigorous jig as if I might be able to energise some heat molecules.

So this is it. I pause for a moment’s appreciation of my room – which come the spring simply won’t exist – and then pull back the curtain and step into the corridor. All is silent.

I retrace my steps to the front entrance and find myself gaping at the black snow-flurried sky. Yesterday was a whisk of confetti compared to this onslaught but I can’t deny the beauty of the scene – not so much a blanket of snow covering the earth as an overstuffed duvet. I almost don’t want to disrupt the crystalline surface with my nubbed boot sole and, when I do take a step, the white engulfs me up to my thigh.

‘Woah!’

I look around me. Not a soul. But the Celsius Pavilion and its hallowed bathroom facilities lure me on …

‘Oop!’

That would be a step there. Not that you can tell: the snow is so deep there’s absolutely no indication of what lies beneath. I look back at my footprints/leg indents – already the wind is covering my trail. I give a little shudder and tromp boldly onwards, puffing with eagerness as I reach the toilet.

There were times when my dog could just pee and pee and pee. Now I can relate.

Oohh. I feel better for that.

No sooner am I tucked in, strapped across, buttoned and zipped up than I realise I want to go again.

‘I can’t believe you did it!’ Laurie cheers when I call to tell her that I survived the night.

‘Well, half-did it.’

‘Listen, anything beyond an hour is a triumph in my book. I don’t like lingering too long in the frozen food aisle at Tesco.’

‘So you don’t think it would be a total cop-out if I left now and got a few hours’ kip at the backup hotel?’

‘Backup hotel?’ she queries.

‘It’s on the itinerary. Very considerate, actually. For those of us who aren’t interested in first-hand knowledge of cryogenics.’

‘Are you sure it’s going to be an improvement?’

‘It’s a Hilton.’

‘Hilton? Didn’t they get our memo about favouring non-chain hotels?’

‘Apparently this one has something in particular to commend it. Right now, that would be heating … Oh!’

‘What?’

‘I thought I might have dreamt this but … ’ I pull a feather out from my collar. ‘Last night a stunningly handsome man with a French accent came to my room.’

‘I thought they might provide a hot-water bottle but that’s even better! What did he want?’

‘Well, for a few minutes he wanted me.’

And then I tell her the whole story. From initial sniping to pillow fighting to apple-flavour kisses.

‘Wow.’

‘I know.’ I sigh. ‘I just wish I was never going to see him again!’

‘Huh?’

‘Oh you know how quickly last night’s bliss becomes morning-after mortification.’

‘A story as old as time,’ Laurie concurs.

‘I’ve got to spend a whole week working alongside him and I can’t bear it if he’s all awkward and regretful.’

‘I can see how it would have been preferable to have had a week-long flirtation culminating in a night of passion before the flight home,’ she concedes. ‘Not that I’m complaining, because the fact that you’ve kissed someone other than your ex-husband is a major breakthrough.’

‘That’s true.’

‘But I thought we decided you were going to hook up with a Canadian Mountie or one of those bendy people from Cirque du Soleil?’

‘Well, it turns out that Mounties are a rare breed in Quebec and Cirque du Soleil HQ is in Montreal, which is about three hours west of here.’

‘Hmm, might be worth a trip for a side story – most of our readers would be flying into there initially and we could offer a two-centre holiday.’

‘Oh I do like a two-centre!’

‘Like Manhattan and the Hamptons!’ Laurie coos. ‘One fine day … ’

Laurie is convinced that her future husband is waiting for her in the Hamptons. All she needs is an invitation to one of those summer mansion shares and everything will fall into place … I’m actually working on a lead for that at the moment but I haven’t mentioned it because I don’t want to get her too excited in case it comes to nothing. Speaking of which …

‘What do you make of Gilles’ parting words: “
I can’t do this!
”’

‘Hard to say,’ she replies. ‘I suppose the obvious interpretation is that there is another woman. Or maybe he’s physically incapable of following through … ’

‘Oh dear.’

‘I think this is basically one of those “prepare for the worst, expect the best” scenarios.’

‘And how does that translate in practical terms?’

‘You’re going to have to set aside any romantic notions until you are clear on his situation. The last thing you want to do is turn up with an expression that says, “
What was that last night and where do we go from here?
”’

‘Even though those would be two perfectly natural queries.’

‘You need to detach from the outcome,’ she affirms. ‘At least for this first meeting. Go neutral. No wariness, no neediness, not even a trace of curiosity.’

‘What does that leave me with?’

‘Hopefully your dignity.’

I’m not convinced.

‘Anyway, you’ll know within the first few seconds how it’s going to go – either his eyes will light up at the sight of you or he’ll get all awkward and avoid your gaze.’

‘I suspect the latter.’

‘Either way,
you
mustn’t be awkward.’

‘So basically, act like it never happened?’

‘Well, there are basically three ways to go with this.’ She proposes. ‘One, you could be defiantly upbeat. Nothing to be embarrassed about! You have this effect on men all the time.’

I splutter so hard I look as if I’m giving myself the Heimlich manoeuvre
.
‘Number two?’

‘You have a secret knowingness to you.’

‘I don’t know,’ I cringe. ‘Whenever I try to look enigmatic I just end up looking confused. Number three?’

‘There’s this word … ’ She’s silent for a moment, trying to recall it. ‘I know!
Beatific!
’ She cheers. ‘You want to look beatific!’

‘Remind me … ’

‘Serene and sort of “above” whatever he throws at you. So if he’s all fretful and squirmy you just rise above it all and give him the royal pardon.’

‘Doesn’t really sound like me, does it?’

‘Yes, but he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that you’d typically bend over backwards to accommodate him in any way you can and then immediately set to work finding a cure for whatever ails him. All he has to go on is how you behave in that moment. So if you can pull that off, you’re in the clear.’

‘Right.’ I gulp, wondering if there are any local acting classes held at 5.30 a.m.

‘I suppose there is another question,’ Laurie adds. ‘If he was available, would you be interested?’

‘I don’t know.’ I bite my lip. ‘He’s not really me. I think he might be a bit “fancy” for my tastes.’

‘A bit gourmet?’

I giggle. ‘He’s used to mingling with the fashion elite.’

‘And that may be the greatest thing in your favour.’

And then Laurie’s phone alarm intervenes.

‘Meeting?’

‘Yup, 10.30 a.m. with Madrid tourism.’

‘I can’t believe it’s still so early with you.’

‘It’s even earlier with you kiddo!’ she reminds me. ‘So here’s what I suggest you do in the short-term – get a hot drink then a cab to the Hilton and get thee to bed.’

‘Okay.’

‘And do me a favour … ’

‘Anything.’

‘Put the Do Not Disturb sign on your door this time.’

Smirking to myself, I tuck my phone in my pocket and head for the Keurig machine. That’s when I spy Another Human Being, yawning over at Reception in an ‘I can’t believe I get the graveyard shift’ way.

‘Oh hello!’

‘
Bonjour!
’

It’s too early for me to attempt any French so I simply ask, ‘Is it possible to order a taxi?’ Though really a horse and sleigh might be a more appropriate option.

Since the walkway is buried and they haven’t had a chance to clear the pathways yet, Reception dude summons a 4x4 to take me round to the pick-up point at the Welcome Centre.

I expect the driver to be another insomniac youth, but the guy has to be in his seventies. Shouldn’t he be at home with a pair of sheepskin slippers and a pipe? I don’t know what it is with old folks these days – they seem more daredevilish and energetic than people a third of their age.

Not only does he scoop up my hefty case as though it’s filled with candyfloss, apparently he can also read minds because he says, ‘You know we had a ninety-one-year-old here this week?’

‘You’re kidding?’ I gasp. ‘How did he get into his sleeping bag?’

‘Oh he managed fine! I saw the pictures – his kids documented the whole thing.’

‘His kids?’

‘Well, when I say kids, they were in their sixties.’

My head rocks back.

‘See these cages?’ He slows beside a series of large, fenced-off areas, some with stepped concrete structures within. ‘This used to be a zoo here.’