One by One(86)

And I was. I am not sporty, as a rule. I don’t do well with anything that requires teamwork, or running in circles. I disliked getting red-faced and sweaty, everything jiggling unpleasantly under a sticky T-shirt, while girls shouted at me to pass the ball, no not that way, oh for God’s sake Liz! Until I wanted to run away and hide from them all.

But skiing was different. Skiing is solo—and it is strategic. You have to think on your feet, making split-second decisions that could save your life or send you hurtling down a sheer slope at a hundred kilometers an hour.

I loved it.

I managed to go back again during my A-levels, and twice at university—the very cheapest trips I could manage: coach to Bulgaria, to stay in a Soviet-era concrete monolith; Ryanair to Romania, to a self-catering Airbnb with hot-air vents that smelled of ham. But it was worth it. It was worth the scrimping and the saving and the long nights spent crunched into economy coach seats, barreling down German autobahns in the middle of the night.

They did a corporate ski trip when I was at Snoop, wooing investors. Of course, they didn’t invite me. But since I left Snoop, since I have been earning my own money, I have been back to the Alps every year, sometimes twice. And I have become a very, very good skier. Not quite as good as Eva, who has been skiing every year since she was a toddler. But almost. And I have been to St. Antoine twice. I know La Sorcière very well indeed.

When she got off the lift, I was over by the barrier. I called out to her, pretending that I was in some kind of difficulty, and when she skied over I waited until she was right next to me, bending over, looking at the binding of my boot, and then I gave her an almighty push, toppling her backwards over the shallow safety barrier.

The barrier caught her in the back of her knees and she went down like a skittle and landed in the thick, untouched snow, right on the edge of the precipice, her skis windmilling in the air. For a minute I didn’t think it had worked. I thought she was going to stay, sprawled on the narrow ledge of snow, crawl her way back to the barrier, ask me what the hell I was playing at.

But then there was an imperceptible sound—like a sigh. The snow ledge began to shift and tilt, and a crack appeared at the top. For a second I saw Eva, frozen in horror, looking up at me, holding out her arms like I was going to be her savior—and then the whole ledge gave way, and she was gone.

I waited for a moment, and then I unzipped my jumpsuit and pulled out the scarlet jacket I was wearing underneath. I put it on over the top of my navy blue ski suit, pulled my scarf up, and settled my goggles over my face. Then turned my skis to face down the run, and I began to ski La Sorcière.

I would be lying if I said it wasn’t difficult. It was. Its twists and turns, full of sheer drops, heart-stopping hairpin bends and vertical ice sheets where I couldn’t do anything but a kind of controlled fall. If I hadn’t known the run well, I think it would have killed me. But I have never skied better.

I stopped halfway down to catch my breath and wait for the trembling in my legs to subside, and it was then that I saw Carl and Ani, traveling high above in the bubble. I looked up, safe in the knowledge that my goggles were pulled up and my hat was pulled down, and that no one could possibly tell who was wearing the distinctive scarlet ski jacket. I waved my ski pole, establishing my alibi, and Ani saw me, and waved back.

It was just my luck that she saw something else too: the empty bubble lifts making their way back to the valley floor. The bubble lifts that should have been taking me back to St. Antoine.

I saw the recognition in her eyes that night when she came to my room. I saw her literally put two and two together standing there in the doorway, the puzzlement changing to horror as she made her excuses. Suddenly she didn’t want to speak to me anymore. She wanted to get away—figure out what to do, and short of putting a hand over her mouth and dragging her into my room, I couldn’t think of any other alternative. So I let her go.

I knew then what I had to do. I thanked my lucky stars for Tiger’s insomnia, and the instinct that had prompted me to pocket the passkey when Danny left it in the door earlier that day.

Although that wasn’t luck really, was it. The truth is, I am not a lucky person. Yes, the Tiger thing went my way—but so much else has gone against me. And the passkey—that wasn’t luck. That was me. A split-second decision that looked like it was about to save my skin.

Because the thing is, I may not be lucky. But I am good at thinking on my feet. Perhaps that is why I like skiing so much. It is the same skills, the same twisting and turning, the same heart-pounding excitement. The same drop in your stomach when you realize you’ve made a stupid mistake, and then the same lift of excitement when you realize you can maneuver your way out of it.

I felt bad about Ani though. Bad in a way that I didn’t about Elliot. Elliot deserved what happened to him. He didn’t have to poke, and pry. That was his choice. Ani’s choice was no choice at all—she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like me. And that is a tragedy. But it’s not my fault. I have to remember that. None of this is my fault.

“Wh-what did you say?” Erin asks me, and I realize I must have muttered some of those words aloud. I’m about to answer when I look at Erin more carefully. She appears almost… drunk. She is listing to one side.

“Nothing, don’t worry. Are you tired?” I ask. I am trying not to sound too hopeful. She nods.

“Yes, I feel—” her voice is slurred, and when she blinks, it is as if her facial muscles are moving in slow motion. “I feel really sh-strange.”