Читать книгу Chalet Girls - Lorraine Wilson - Страница 15

The Lodge Hotel, the Lake District and Mum all seem a million miles away as Luc negotiates the hairpin bends leading to his parents‘ mountain village. I wish I could pack up all my problems and ship them back to England.

Luc is gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are as white as the virgin snow blanketing the jagged peaks of the Alps. Other than that, and a tension around his jawline, there‘s no outward sign he‘s affected by the dreadful news we received this week.

The news I‘m still reeling from.

I hug myself and stare fixedly at the view. Normally the combination of the picturesque scenery of the country I‘ve adopted and being with Luc would lift my spirits but a black cloud has been trailing us since we left Verbier.

I don‘t know how to fix this. Or even if it can be fixed. By the time we reach Vex and Luc parks the car I‘m grinding my teeth. I do my best to unclench my jaw and breathe.

We‘ve agreed not to tell his parents, there‘s no point until we know for sure there‘s nothing that can be done. I want to go along with it, to help protect his parents from unnecessary worry. Especially given they‘ve got their own stress to deal with. The problem is, I can‘t remember how to be normal. I‘m rigid, wired for fight or flight. But there‘s no one to punch and no matter how far we run our problems would just come with us.

Luc guides me by the elbow across Vex‘s main square to the Café du Place. It‘s a gesture he means to be comforting but it makes me jittery. His awareness I‘m struggling only highlights my awkwardness and makes the painful emotions harder to suppress.

Today was going to be difficult enough already, but now I have more than one minefield to navigate.

‘Sophie, ma chère.’ Thérèse, my future mother in law, greets me with an enthusiastic double kiss as soon as we‘ve pushed our way through the café‘s heavy swing doors.

‘Bonjour.’ I attempt my ‚everything‘s just fabulous‘ smile, but my face feels tight and strange.

It‘s only as I lean in to kiss Luc‘s dad that I see Thérèse is wearing a similar strained smile.

Oh crap.

We‘re all pretending, but we need the pretence, the familiar greeting rituals and fetching of drinks. Without this social framework we couldn‘t contain our feelings and today we need to.

The worried glance Luc shoots his mother and the brief swimming sadness in her eyes put all our less tangible problems into context.

Her eyes clear and she replaces her fake, bright smile for her husband, Olivier‘s, benefit but the slip tells me we‘re about to get more bad news.

I slip my hand into Luc‘s and squeeze. I don‘t want to ask the question but not to ask would be horribly rude.

‘How did it go at the hospital?’ I revert to English. This is too important to trust to my imperfect French.

Working at the bar hasn‘t exactly expanded my medical vocabulary. For the millionth time since I moved to Verbier I wish they‘d taught us useful French vocabulary at school. I remember being made to debate environmental issues for my oral exam. Nothing prepared me for when my car broke down in the middle of nowhere at three am and the mechanic I finally spoke to had no English. Beyond saying ‚ma voiture est en panné‘ I was totally lost. And I’ve never once debated environmental issues since I came here. More importantly I’m not sure I know the French phrases for triple bypass or likely prognosis either. I must get Luc to teach me some useful phrases when we get time.

‘It wasn’t good news.’ Thérèse answers slowly and doesn‘t meet my eye.

‘What did they say?’ A muscle twitches in Luc‘s jaw.

‘The doctors have said your father needs to take things much easier if we don‘t want another, more serious heart attack.’ Thérèse sits back down next to her husband, eyes glistening. Her pose has an unnatural stiffness to it.

The dark shadows beneath her eyes make me wonder if she‘s shielding us from worse news. I have the feeling she‘s protecting us from the details. So she‘s protecting us and we‘re protecting her.

‘I can help out more,’ Luc offers straight away. I glance at him. We both know that won‘t be easy to manage.

‘That would help, thank you, son. You know how your mother worries.’ Olivier pats Thérèse on the arm, decades of affectionate ease and banter in the gesture.

Now I know it‘s serious. All previous offers of help over the years have had to hurdle almost endless barriers of resistance and pride. Immediate capitulation is unheard of. This is very bad. The knowledge sends a chill down my spine.

‘We should talk about happier things,’ Thérèse declares, blinking hard and getting to her feet again. ‘I need to check if the duck is ready, but when Paul and Marie get here we should talk about your wedding. I know you haven‘t set a date yet. I was thinking perhaps we ought to set a date for early Spring?

The glimmer of entreaty in her expression twists something in my chest. It‘s a conspiracy. If I didn‘t know for certain they‘ve never met I‘d swear Thérèse is in cahoots with Mum.

‘Let‘s talk about it later.’ I force a smile and ignore the growing tightness in my chest.

When she‘s out of the room I turn to face Luc and see my alarm about Olivier is mirrored in his eyes. I lace my fingers through his again and squeeze, holding on tight. I love Luc more than I ever knew it was possible to love someone. I want to marry him more than anything, but how on earth am I going to plan a wedding that will keep everyone happy? My chest feels tight, like I can‘t take a deep breath.

‘How are your parents, Sophie? Are they well?’ Olivier asks, his French accent far thicker than his wife‘s and the words more halting. I know he‘d be insulted if I turned the conversation back to French. He says he likes practising his English with me.

‘They‘re both okay, thank you.’ I shove Mum‘s emails to the back of my mind, but it‘s like trying to stuff an armful of ping-pong balls into an already-full cupboard. They bounce back, refusing to stay put. ‘Have you ever been to England?’

Luc and Olivier both laugh, as though I‘ve asked if he‘s travelled to the moon.

‘My parents rarely leave Valais. Isn‘t that right, Dad?’

‘Why leave the most beautiful country in the world?’ Olivier shrugs. ‘I don‘t like cities either. I went to Geneva once but my heart is here in Valais.’

‘You didn‘t like Geneva?’ I ask.

‘No. Too many cars and too many people. The mountains are in my blood, in my heart.’ He puts a liver-spotted hand to his chest.

I bite my lip, trying not to think about how long that heart has left to beat. It‘s casting a second shadow over us, I can see it in Luc‘s eyes too. Only Olivier seems defiant in its presence.

The need to fill the silence presses in on me. ‘You know the part of England I come from is called the Lake District? I think you‘d like it. We have mountains too, just not as big as the Alps.’

Olivier shrugs. ‘I am sure I would, cherie. Maybe if I were twenty years younger perhaps I could go and see … But I won‘t be travelling anywhere now. And I don‘t need to. I have everything and everyone I love right here.’

I blink hard and Olivier reaches over to take my free hand, squeezing it and smiling kindly at me. ‘Don‘t look so sad, Sophie. I‘ve had a good life and I‘m glad I‘ve lived to see Luc find a girl as lovely as you.’

There‘s a lump in my throat that won‘t go away. I wish I‘d had longer to get to know Olivier. I wish I had a tenth of his courage. I wish a lot of things.

I stare down at the table. I feel as though I‘ve been slapped in the face by death. I‘ve been brought up short for daring to live as though it didn‘t exist.

‘Papa,’ Luc protests. ‘You still have plenty more life to come and doctors can work wonders these days.’

‘Luc, you need to face it, my travelling days are over.’ The answer is gentle and resigned. Olivier‘s eyes shine with love tinged by pain and I have to look away again, my emotions are struggling to break through, but I can‘t be the one to crack when everyone else is being so stoical.

Luc tenses beside me and his lips compress into a hard line. I know he‘s not ready to accept this. He wants to fight it. I understand the feeling but instead of anger I feel a terrifying powerlessness. We‘ve been dealt one piece of bad news after another recently and this feels like one hard thing too much to bear.

‘Travelling? Who‘s travelling?’ Thérèse comes back into the room, forehead creased.

‘No one‘s going anywhere, Maman,’ Luc reassures her. ‘We were just talking about England, saying you‘d like the Lake District, the region Sophie comes from in England.’

‘It‘s a shame we‘ll never get to see it,’ she tuts. ‘But the doctors would never allow your father to travel now. Also we wouldn‘t get travel insurance with his heart condition and our age.’

Thérèse drops into her seat only to rise a second later when the café‘s swing doors open.

‘Paul, Marie! Bienvenue.’

I join Thérèse at the door and go to kiss Luc’s cousin and his wife. Then I force myself to drop down to greet their two-year-old daughter Hélène.

‘Bonjour, ma petite.’ I stroke the toddler’s cheek and smile up at Marie. ‘Hélène is walking so well now.’

Hopefully I manage the exchange without too much emotional leakage. It‘s so hard to be around babies and small children at the minute. It doesn‘t help that Hélène is one of the cutest – all curls, dimples and giggles.

How do I keep a lid on the pain when a musical giggle or cheeky smile can wrench it wide open at any time and with no warning?

‘Bonjour, Sophie. Ça va?’ Marie crouches down next to me to unzip Hélène‘s coat and pull off her pink snow boots.

‘Oui.’ I nod and try to up the wattage of my smile. ‘She‘s grown so much since I last saw her.’

Marie smiles that proud, contented-mother smile that has the same effect on me as salt on a red-raw wound. It excludes me and makes me feel less, somehow. Faulty and unwomanly.

Unfulfilled.

I glance at Marie. Has Luc’s mum has told her I’m infertile? I wish Luc and I hadn’t agreed not to tell his parents about our adoption application problems. He doesn’t want to worry them, which I get but … not talking about the thing tearing me apart isolates me even more. Like I’m trapped in a glass dome but forced to smile and pretend nothing’s wrong.

I could think about the other elephant in the room, the one trumpeting loudly for my attention. How do I tell Mum she has to ditch all her plans, that the wedding has to be in Switzerland? She’ll understand with Luc’s dad not being well, won’t she?

Maybe if I open with that news, she’ll suggest looking for Swiss venues herself? It’s the wimpy way to do it, I know, but I can’t face a big row. Not after the week Luc and I have had. I can’t take the backlash of another emotional onslaught, not now.

I sit back down next to Luc and slip my hand into his as we wait for his mum to bring out her renowned confit of duck. She’s a superb cook and it’s one of my favourite dishes, but right now I’m not sure I’ll be able to swallow anything. My chest feels too tight and my body too full of emotion to leave any room for food.