Things I Want My Daughters to Know_ A Novel - Elizabeth Noble [125]
She wondered fleetingly whether one of the things Stephen loved about these skiing holidays was the opportunity they afforded him to escape from her. If they’d been side by side on sun loungers on a deserted beach, he would have to talk to her. Here they were never alone, except for the five minutes he was in bed before her, while she washed her face and brushed her teeth, and he was always apparently deeply asleep by the time she climbed in beside him.
If you didn’t talk much, you didn’t have to acknowledge that there was anything wrong. If neither one of you drew attention to the widening gap between you, you could pretend it didn’t exist.
THE SKIING INSTRUCTOR WAS JUST WHERE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO be, standing beside a flag bearing the company’s name, a little way from where the chairlift disgorged its passengers. She tried to come to a graceful stop in front of him, but ending up planting her pole at an unnatural angle to her body, too far away, and jamming herself into an ungainly skid, just barely managing to stay on her feet. He was short and slight, with dark wavy hair that was too long, and very dark brown eyes. He was deeply tanned, but the hollow of his neck was very white. When he spoke, it was with an incongruous Newcastle accent. He was on his phone when she arrived at the appointed meeting place, and her heart sank, but he raised his hand in apology and continued to talk in Geordie French. Her translation and his tone told her that he was begging his landlady for an extension on his overdue rent. He had mastered “louer”—to rent, and “Vendredi,” which she knew was Friday, and clearly several days later than it should have been, but not “pay” or “promise,” both of which he said, with emphasis, and increased volume, in English. She smiled sympathetically and turned to look for her fellow instructee.
At that moment, a woman with a comedy hat and a startled expression, her poles raised in a defensive gesture, slid into view.
“I’m Wendy,” she said, her voice full of surprise and laughter, as though she wasn’t entirely sure she was.
“I’m Jennifer.” They dared not shake hands, but nodded emphatically to each other in greeting.
“I feel like I’m at one of those anonymous meetings!” Wendy continued. “Skiers Anonymous. I’m Wendy and I’m an absolute beginner. Actually, I’ve been taught by amateurs for the first part of the week, but they’ve given up on me.”
Jennifer found her giggle contagious. “I’m Jennifer and don’t I wish I was a novice. I’ve been coming for seven years, and I’m still this bad.” Wendy laughed out loud, and Jennifer found herself laughing along. For the first time in ages, she realized how ludicrous it was.
“Great—we’ll have a ball together then!”
Jennifer thought they just might.
“I’m Justin, and I’m going to change all that,” the little guy said, clearly warming to their theme and clearly now off the phone. “Sorry about that. Bit of a problem with the rent.”
“Bet it’s expensive out here, if the cost of my chalet is anything to go by,” said Wendy, rolling her big eyes. When she spoke, the bobbles on her hat bounced.
“Not that bad where we are. No chalet maids, you see. Unless one of the boys gets lucky, of course. We just drink it all, to be honest!” Justin cheerfully replied. By now he’d stowed his phone and put his gloves back on. “Right, ladies, let’s get out of here, and find somewhere a bit quieter and flatter, shall we. Follow me, bend zee knees….”
And he tried. He really tried. Wendy was unlike most women Jennifer had ever seen on the slopes. She clearly didn’t give a fig about how she looked. When she started going faster than she wanted to go, or when her knees would not cooperate in letting her make the required turn, and she was careening toward the drifts at the edge of the piste, she simply turned into the mountain and fell. And every time she did,