like thick, soft goose-feathers: the kind of snow that would have delighted any skier, but right now it was the last thing they wanted.
Visibility had dropped to about ten metres. He could only vaguely discern the shape of the buildings across the road from the hotel. What’s more, it was already late afternoon. Even without the snow the daylight was beginning to fade. Prospects for driving were not good. He would need to get a move on if they were to reach anywhere useful before the daylight winked out; and yet Jake felt the crushing potential of triggering the big avalanche if he drove faster than a crawl.
They set off at a cautious pace. Giant flakes of snow landed on the windscreen as the car made it’s laborious way along the mountain road. Then he bumped something in the road.
‘What was that?’
‘Don’t know. I think I hit the kerbstone.’
‘Keep away from the kerbstone. Drive in the middle of the road.’
‘Gosh, I hadn’t thought of that! Thanks for that well-considered advice. Driving in the middle of the road is exactly what I’m trying to do.’
But pretty soon he bumped a kerbstone again. It was impossible. He complained that he couldn’t see a thing now in the fading light. They talked about turning around but decided they had to press on. Half a kilometre or so further along the road, the car bumped, jolted and shuddered. They had driven clean off the road.
Jake jammed on the brakes. The car skidded and juddered to a halt. Leaving the engine still running, he got out of the car, but with the ground invisible under his feet he dropped a few centimetres and turned his ankle.
‘Careful as you get out!’ he shouted to Zoe.
She stepped out of the car and came round to join him. The front wheel on the driver’s side was hanging in free space. The other three wheels were fixed on rocky, snowy terrain. Jake looked down. He had no way of knowing if the drop under the driver’s-side wheel was one metre or a hundred. The misty whiteness of not knowing flashed through him like a blade.
‘Can we reverse out?’ Zoe asked.
‘Maybe we could, but I don’t want to drive any further in this fog.’
‘What? We have to go, Jake!’
He pointed to the car’s dangling wheel. ‘Got any idea what’s under there? I don’t. We can’t drive. I remember when we came here on the bus: most of the mountain road drops clean away on one side. There’s no barrier to keep you on the road, Zoe! It’s straight over the edge.’
‘Then we have to walk.’
‘Okay. We can walk.’
Zoe knew Jake well enough to hear an unspoken
‘But here’s what I think. We’ll be walking into the night and into sub-zero temperatures. We could probably stay on the road, if we’re careful. But it’s twenty kilometres to the next village. We haven’t eaten anything all day and I’m already fucking freezing. In addition to the risk of dying of exposure on the mountain, we have the serious threat of an avalanche sweeping us off the road. Now, I know the hotel isn’t safe. But it’s a massive concrete building, and being inside there has got be safer than being out here.’
‘Jesus!’
‘You know I’m right.’
‘Are we going to drive back?’
He looked at the overhanging wheel. ‘No. I reckon we check this out in the morning, when the snow has stopped and we can see what we’re looking at. We didn’t get far. We could be back at the hotel in twenty minutes. Half an hour tops. ’
She didn’t argue. He switched off the engine got out and opened the back of the car. They stuffed a few essentials into a small bag and abandoned the rest before walking back in the direction of the hotel.
‘Some holiday this is turning out to be,’ Jake said.
‘Some holiday.’
‘I can just about see my hand in front of my face. No, that’s not true. I can see your face. It’s glowing.’
‘Believe it or not I’m sweating.’
And she could see his face, too, gleaming dimly in the falling snow and the grey, darkening mist; as if his skin were illuminated from behind. His skin was like parchment in this light, she decided, holy parchment, and his glittering blue eyes and his nut-brown eyebrows and the hint of crimson of his lips were like a monk’s illustrations on a sacred manuscript.
‘What you looking at?’
‘You. I love you.’
He laughed. ‘How can you think of that at a time like this? I married a loon who drags me into avalanches.’
‘This situation is loony, and all I can see is your lovely face, and I’m glad I can see it. I’m really, really glad.’
‘Come on. Hold my hand. Let’s get back to that hotel.’
3
There was a display board on the wall near the hotel recep tion, offering day trips, toboggan events, sleigh rides and fondue evenings. There were also contact numbers for all the holiday companies represented at the resort. Thumbtacked to the board was also a list of doctors, vets, pharmacies and all the emergency services associated with Saint-Bernard. Jake snatched the list from the board. They went back up to their room with the list and Jake began calling.
There was a good, clear, throaty dialling tone on the line. He called each of the holiday companies in turn, and in each case no one picked up. He dialled the local police station, from where they’d taken the car. No joy. He dialled the national emergency number. In none of these cases did anyone pick up the phone.
‘Phone someone in England,’ Zoe said. ‘Phone your mother.’
Zoe’s parents were both dead. Her mother had died long before Jake and Zoe had even met, though he had known her dad, Archie, for a couple of years before he too had died. Jake’s elderly father, meanwhile, had died some time after divorcing his mother, the only remaining parent. She was an over-fussy but kind woman with a bad blue rinse who had moved up to Scotland shortly after an unpleasant divorce conducted while Jake was at boarding school. His mother—emotionally as well as geographically remote—had thankfully thought very highly of Zoe because she was ‘musical’. Jake figured that his mother might at least contact someone in a position of authority and let them know that the pair had been left behind after the evacuation.
‘She’ll freak out,’ Jake said, dialling the number. ‘You know what she’s like.’
‘Phone her anyway.’
After he got no reply, Jake put the phone down. ‘It’s her Whist night. She always goes to Whist at the church on a Friday.’
‘Lovely. I hope she gets nine tricks or whatever while we’re here about to be eaten alive on the side of the mountain.’
‘I’m going to call Simon.’
Simon was Jake’s old friend from college. He was a housing officer for the local authority, and he’d been best man at their wedding; and even when Simon had tried to seduce Zoe one time somehow that relationship had survived. Jake called Simon on his mobile phone, but the signal faltered. So he called him on his landline, but that too rang off.
‘What time is it? He’s probably gone straight down the Jolly Miller after work. Who else can we call?’
It was a short list. They were on good terms with their neighbours at home but they were elderly and very frail. They decided against calling them. Zoe tried calling two close friends but no one picked up.
‘No one is answering anywhere. They can’t all be throwing back pints at the Jolly Miller! Let’s switch the TV on, see if we can get some local news.’
