Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [122]
Jennifer
The words skiing and holiday were not, for Jennifer, words that could ever be used in the same sentence. She arranged countless holidays for dozens of people every year, people for whom a weekend in Grindelwald, or Easter in Val d’Isere, or a week’s heliskiing in Canada was heaven on earth. For her, skiing was an ordeal. A holiday was something that relaxed you, allowed you to recharge your batteries, took you away from stress and worry. This did not do that.
Bob Newhart wrote a very funny sketch about Sir Walter Raleigh introducing tobacco to England. Explaining how you took a leaf from a plant, rolled it up, stuck it in your mouth, and yes, Walt, yes, Walt, you set fire to it! Her dad had had it on vinyl, when she was young. He would play it and laugh until tears rolled from his eyes, even though he’d heard the punch line a hundred times.
Skiing was exactly like smoking. It made absolutely no sense when you explained it. You put these narrow little planks of wood on your feet—and P.S., you are freezing your arse off as you do so—and then you get dragged to the top of a mountain, where you throw yourself off and try to get to the bottom as fast as possible. Made no sense whatsoever. Oh, and it costs you thousands of pounds. To be scared for your life. And give yourself muscle ache like you couldn’t get anywhere else, doing anything else.
Jennifer stood in line for the chairlift and looked at the people around her. The mountain was alive with skiers. Were they all honestly having a good time? It seemed so alien to her.
She started to worry about the chairlift when the queue in front was still three or four people deep. She shuffled forward on her skis, desperate to stay in the tracks of the man in front of her. You could never let your guard down, you had to concentrate at all times. It was when you got distracted that you fell. And then you had to get up. With dignity. And speed. The encroaching throng had no time for fallers. Nothing could be allowed to interfere with their passage to the top of the mountain. It was like Lord of the Flies out there. She felt every muscle in her body tense as the lift swung around behind her, then caught her sharply at midthigh and set off. Then you had to make sure you had your poles in the right place before the overhead safety bar came down and trapped you in, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to get off at the top. This maneuver successfully completed, Jennifer looked at the traveling companions on her left. Three young guys, with peculiar facial hair, in trendy voluminous jackets, on snowboards. Well—that was another thing entirely. They ignored her completely, chatting loudly and raucously in what she thought was German. They made it look so simple, damn them, with their arms flailing about in expansive gestures, and their easy laughter. Her own hands were firmly gripping the bar, white knuckled beneath her gloves. That was another thing. This was a sartorial challenge like no other. Even eight-stone women looked like yetis in this getup.
She turned to her right. It was so beautiful up here. Just like a round of golf spoiled a good walk, skiing ruined perfectly lovely scenery for her. If she could sit in a troika (she had no idea what a troika was, but it sounded impossibly romantic), covered in furs and blankets, and be driven around here, she’d be in heaven. The snow was so white, the trees were so pretty, their evergreen branches dusted with powder. The air was pure; you could really taste the nothingness in it. And beyond, the sky was that particular shade of blue you so seldom saw at home. Lovely. Snowshoes, even—a walk. That would be wonderful, too. It was this incessant need for speed, and the fear it induced in her, that spoiled everything.
This was her seventh year. She’d been shocked to realize it. They both had been novices the first time they came, not long after they were married. Skiing hadn’t been a feature of either of their childhoods—it was a modern pursuit for the middle classes. Stephen had some mates at work who were putting together a chalet, and