One by One(28)

“I can’t do this,” I force out. Topher looks across at me, as if surprised I’ve spoken.

“What did you say?”

“I can’t do this,” I say louder. I am breathing very fast, and my voice is high and squeaky with a barely contained fear. My pulse is going a mile a minute. “I can’t. I just can’t. I’m not going to ski down. I can’t, Topher.”

“Well, how do you plan to get to the bottom,” Topher says sarcastically. “Toboggan?”

“Hey, hey.” Rik has been trying to consult his phone, but now he looks up. “What’s going on here?”

“I can’t do it,” I say desperately, as if, if I just keep repeating this one phrase, everything will slot into place. Maybe it still will. Maybe it will all be okay. “I can’t. I can’t ski down in this. I’m going to die, I know I will. You can’t make me do it.”

“Liz, it’ll be fine.” Rik puts a hand on my arm. “I’ll take care of you, I promise. Look, you can snowplow all the way down if you want to. I’ll guide you, you can hold my sticks.”

“I. Can’t. Do. It,” I repeat doggedly. If I keep reciting this mantra, it will be okay. They can’t make me ski with them. I know Topher. He’s not a patient man. Very soon he will get pissed off with trying to persuade me and give up.

“Fuck,” Topher says irritably. He wipes the snow from his googles and looks at Rik. “So what, then?”

“Liz—” Rik begins, and I feel that hard thing rise up in my throat, choking me, like it did at the meeting. The bubble with the single figure in it reaches the terminal. I think I am going to be sick. It’s now or never.

“I can’t do it!” I scream, and suddenly, out of nowhere, I am crying. The noise astonishes me—great ugly sobs, racking me. I lift up my goggles to scrub at my eyes with my frozen gloves, and the wind is so cold I can feel the tears running down my nose, freezing as they reach the tip. I swipe away the frozen drops, feeling them crackle against my skin. “I can’t fucking do it!”

“Okay, okay!” Rik says hastily. “Liz, don’t panic, it’ll be fine. Look, we’ll sort this out.”

There is a schussing sound behind us and we turn to see a figure skiing down the slope towards us. It is Inigo, his green jacket unmistakable even with his goggles down and his scarf pulled up. Behind him, Tiger has shuffled out onto the bank immediately outside the lift. She is sitting on the snow, fastening her snowboard bindings.

“I’m going back,” I say, gulping down my sobs. I point down the mountain, where the empty bubble lift Inigo came up in is returning back to the valley. “I’m going to talk to the lift attendant, make him let me back in. I’ll explain I can’t do it, that it’s all been a mistake.”

“Liz, this is fucking ridiculous,” Topher explodes.

“What’s the matter?” Inigo’s voice is muffled from behind his scarf, barely recognizable.

“It’s Liz,” Topher says angrily. “She’s having some kind of existential crisis.”

But I’m not. I’m calm now. There is another bubble lift coming up the mountain, with another figure inside it. I can do this. I know what I need to do, and no one can stop me. I begin to sidestep up the slope.

“Liz,” Rik calls, “are you sure?”

“Yes,” I yell back, though I’m not even certain they can hear me over the wind now. “I’m quite sure. I’ll meet you back at the chalet.”

And as I step inside the terminal building and the bubble lift doors open, a sense of peace enfolds me. I know what I have to do, and it’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.





ERIN


Snoop ID: LITTLEMY

Listening to: Offline

Snoopers: 5

Snoopscribers: 10

It’s nearly half past one. They said they’d be back by one at the latest, and Danny is shouting expletives from the kitchen as the minutes tick past and his risotto clogs.

At one forty-five he sticks his head out the door with a face like thunder, and I shake my head.

“There’s only one thing I hate more than fucking stealth vegans and that’s wankers,” he growls, and disappears, the swing door clacking behind him.

And then, suddenly, there’s the clatter of ski boots on tiles, and I hurry into the lobby to hear noises from the ski entrance, the unmistakable sounds of people clumping along a hard floor, clanging open the heated ski lockers that line the corridor.

“Eva?” someone calls irritably. “Eva, where the fuck are you?”

No answer.

Then the insulated door to the lobby swings open and Topher comes in wearing ski gear and thick socks, looking pissed off.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says shortly when he sees me. “Where the fuck is Eva?”

“Eva?” A retort about his rudeness hovers on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it back. “Sorry, Topher, I have no idea.”

He stops, halfway to the stairs.

“You mean she’s not here?”

“No, you’re the first back.”

He stands there, quite still, the expression on his face wavering between irritation and concern. Then he calls over his shoulder.