Snow Blind by Richard Blanchard Page B

everything takes on a bronzed but focused life again.
    â€œHave you got everything, Danny Boy?” Robert’s smirk means that I don’t have everything. He tosses my gloves into my face; he must have swiped them in the ski shop.
    â€œMax and I are going to hit it from the top of Brevent now.” He is pointing to the highest peak in view. I see Robert has taken Max under his wing. They are a well suited but dangerous liaison. The rest of us are reluctantly booked into ski school.
    â€œMaybe we can meet later if you want, say one o’clock back here?” All agree to meet up at the restaurant alongside the ski shop with a nod.
    â€œTwenty-five minutes till ski school, what say we grab a drink?” Johnny unites those left behind around a hot beverage. We clatter over to the outdoor Snac Shack bar, needing some warmth and solace for our impending ski-off trial.
    â€œWhen did you last ski, Juliet?” I ask as we wait for service.
    â€œTwo years ago with Scott and Ethan actually, I’m okay, but could do with the lessons.”
    â€œMonsieur, une tasse du thé, s’il vous plait.” The barman looks painfully at me as I strain for my CSE French. He plonks a glass cup of hot water on the counter; the tea bag spins but releases no tea.
    â€œAu lait?” I create further disdain by requesting milk; this must be the easiest method for a Frenchman to reveal a Brit. I hand over a five Euro note. My waving hand indicates he should take it all. He has seen them all through here before, from the cocky new skier to the outright scared. He looks happy to be tipped two Euros for nothing in particular. We all sit awkwardly on a wooden bench atop packed ice and gathered snow. Steam mills frantically around the top of my glass.
    â€œSo what happens at ski school then?” Chris enquires.
    â€œSee where those poles are up on the slope. They will get you to ski down to see what ability group you should go into,” Juliet informs him.
    â€œWhat, we ski down that big slope there?” I can see Chris imagining the ten-degree slope as one of the final stages of a slalom race. Any ski gradient intimidates at first, but with a little ability and confidence they can quickly befriend you.
    â€œThere are some real hotties round here!” pronounces Steve. He is self consciously trying to keep the lad quotient up now the two alpha males have left. Juliet’s presence is dampening this behaviour but not eradicating it.
    The line of skiing novices forms early, a colourful patchwork of Europeans in a union of varying ski ability. Europe seems at its most united here at La Flegere.
    â€œIt’s time to show these foreigners how to ski.” Steve stands as we finish our drinks. Chris looks the most obviously disconcerted, although we all look tentative apart from Juliet.
    Boot clasps clack into place, zippers are zipped and skis cracked onto feet. I step precisely up the slope ahead of a young girl. Her ponytail sways from under the back of her woolly hat; she has pure unquestioning anticipation on her face. The three ski instructors confer at the head of the small slope, smoking and ignoring the group gathering beside them.
    â€œI am Jean-Paul your instructor. You ski down. We have three groups. Aldo will tell you group at bottom.” He stands ten feet below us, skis in a V facing up the hill. Aldo skis down on one ski in a graceful curve, stopping as if he had never started.
    After five faltering skiers complete their trial, Juliet is the first of our crew to ski off. She glides in good style, but her lack of weight means she doesn’t pick up speed. Aldo waves his pole to his right and she stands alone.
    Chris follows, moving inch by inch in contrast. He is stiff, the snow crunching under his weight, moving crab-like down the hill. He is waved to the far left away from Juliet.
    Six others follow behind Chris. I try to judge myself against them; surely I am better than that?