Chapter Eight
December 2015
Lydia’s interview went well despite everything she had on her mind, and she began her new job almost straight away. She chose not to say anything about Theo to her new boss, or any of her colleagues. It was easier that way. It wasn’t that she was trying to pretend it wasn’t happening, but when she was within the walls of the new office in the city centre situated above a clothing shop, she could be Lydia Walters, a normal thirty-year-old career girl who lived in a house in Bath, whose favourite colour was lilac, who hated coffee but loved tea or hot chocolate, and a girl who just didn’t really have much of a love life to tell anyone about.
The latter had come up in conversation on her fourth day with these new people, when they’d had their Christmas lunch at a quaint Italian restaurant. Vivian, a girl in her early twenties with a name that was way older than her behaviour, had recently got hitched and extolled the virtues of marital bliss, and when Lydia was asked if she was with anyone, she had simply told Vivian her love life was non-existent at the moment. She’d had visions of Anita rising up in the middle of the table from the wax-dripped candles lined up down the centre, yelling at her that Theo was still here, her boy wasn’t dead yet.
And he wasn’t. And Lydia was still very much attached. But work for her was an escape that had come at the perfect time, a way for her to carry on with her life in spite of the vagaries she’d been hit with head on, not to mention the financial help she needed. Her savings hadn’t begun to dwindle yet but she knew if she wasn’t careful, the money would run out, and then what would she do?
Lydia had settled in to the small team at the office, and worked hard, relishing the feeling of finally doing something without the smell of disinfectant, the medical terms chucked around constantly, the faces that were becoming frighteningly familiar. In here it was talk of locations, exotic or simply different, the thought of something better coming along. Holidays that people lived for, that were booked to escape an ordinary banal day, a brutal winter, to travel to far-flung destinations and absorb an entirely new culture. There was talk of competition for the online magazine, strategies for growing and heading towards print one day. Her boss was full of energy, an enthusiasm Lydia hadn’t seen since her days in the London newspaper office, and it was exciting to be a part of.
‘Lydia, I’ve got an assignment for you.’ Her new boss, Ian, was at her desk. In his twenties, he was pragmatic as well as driven. ‘Do you think you could tackle something a bit different?’
‘I’m up for that.’ So far she’d done a lot of research for another writer who had been with Ian since the start of this venture and she’d also helped come up with captions and headlines, liaised with photographers and edited copy. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘There are two assignments. The first is straightforward. It involves using the research on Cornwall, amalgamating that with Joanna’s write-up on the hotels she visited and putting together the article along with photos.’
‘I’d love to.’
‘The second assignment is a bit more in-depth. What are you doing tomorrow from lunchtime onwards?’
Seeing Theo. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but tomorrow was Saturday. She could make this work. So far she and Anita had kept their visits separate. Ever since their conversation about what Theo would’ve wanted and the ‘pulling the plug’ episode, as Lydia thought of it – Theo’s own description was a welcome injection of humour in an otherwise impossible situation – they’d barely been able to tolerate one another. It wasn’t that Lydia wanted him to die, of course it wasn’t. But Anita didn’t see that. She just saw her son and the woman he lived with wanting to do away with him.
‘What do you have in mind?’ Lydia usually visited Theo straight after work until visiting hours were almost over, when she knew Anita would come back to say goodnight to her son, by which time Lydia would’ve taken off to grab some dinner. Tomorrow being Saturday she could visit early on and then she’d be free as a bird. And she had no problems running in to Graham, a stoic man who was visiting his son as much as possible, each time a look of hope on his face that today would be the day Theo would wake up and everything would return to normal.
‘A charity ski event,’ Ian explained. ‘It’s in Hertfordshire, you’d have use of the company car, and you’d need to watch the event, do an interview, and liaise with the photographer.’
‘Why us and not a Hertfordshire magazine?’ she asked as she logged off her PC, ready to leave the office.
‘The man organising it is Jonathan Maynard.’
She looked up at his expectant expression. ‘Should I know him?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Lydia, Lydia…you’ll get to know many names in your time here and Jonathan Maynard is one of them. He skied in Austria last year raising money for kids with cerebral palsy. The year before it was in France raising money for a hospice in his home town. I expect local journalists will be there too, but he’s offered us exclusivity. We want this scoop, it’s a good one.’
‘I’d love to do it.’ Lydia felt a stab of disloyalty swanning off when Theo was still lying in a coma in hospital, but closing her eyes and taking a deep breath she knew what he’d say: ‘Do this or you’ll regret it.’ And with that thought in mind, plus knowing she needed to earn a steady income now she faced so much uncertainty, she asked for all the details.
Lydia caught the bus to the hospital and when she arrived she greeted the usual people – the receptionist who was on evening shift this week, the cafeteria staff at the cafe where she sometimes came and grabbed a Cornish pasty if she couldn’t be bothered to rustle anything up when she got home, the orderly wheeling a bed through the corridor as she made her way to the ICU.
Theo was stable for now and the decision had been made to put in something called a PEG feeding-tube so food, fluids and medication could go directly into his stomach through a thin tube. Of course Anita saw this as confirmation that there was every chance Theo would make a full and meaningful recovery; Lydia saw it as just another reminder of how they were prolonging Theo’s life when perhaps this was how he’d be forever. She wondered how much of her recent pessimism had to do with simply being a voice for the man who couldn’t speak up himself and may disagree with the course of action they’d followed up until now.
Over the weeks Lydia had begun to talk more to Theo. She’d always loved research when it came to her job and although when trawling the internet she’d done her best to avoid searching for coma recoveries and the likelihood of waking up, or miracle cases, she’d still researched some aspects, including the behaviours of families with a loved one in this situation. One aspect had cropped up over and over again, in piece after piece, and that was that family could help. With their love and attention, it was not impossible that a loved one could react, and at this stage Lydia knew anything was worth a try. Because each time she looked at Theo hooked up to those machines she was reminded that he’d categorically told her this wasn’t what he wanted. And by bowing to any pressure from Anita, she’d neglected his one wish, the very promise she’d made him that night.
At Theo’s bedside Lydia waited for the nurse to finish – recording details on a chart, checking machines, jotting things down, checking the IV drip, looking at Theo’s eyes – and then she told her boyfriend all about her day at work, everything from the mundane: filing, replying to emails, washing up cups in the kitchen; to wading through photograph libraries to select appropriate images for pieces about to be published. She’d already told him about the Christmas meal and she elaborated on how Vivian was annoying everyone by still rambling on about her husband and how he was the best thing ever.
‘I mean, I know she loves him,’ Lydia told Theo, ‘and is besotted, but she doesn’t need to go on about it so much. If he ever comes into the office, he’s got a lot to live up to. We’re all thinking he’s some kind of god.’ She grinned and whispered. ‘It’d be funny if he was really ugly and had terrible hygiene.’
She held Theo’s hand as she rambled on. ‘I’ve got a new assignment and it involves some travel. Only Hertfordshire, but it’s something different. And I’ll be in a hotel for the night but I’ll be in to see you the following day.’
She was running out of things to say. ‘It’s freezing outside, you know. I think we might even see some decent snow this year. Remember when it snowed and Victoria Park was knee-deep in the white stuff?’ She smiled and reached out to stroke his hair. ‘We built a snowman and that nasty kid came and pushed it over. You were so angry you chased after him and I thought you were going to demand to see his parents until he ran so fast you lost him.’ Lydia had distracted Theo from how much he wanted to give that kid a piece of his mind by throwing herself on the remains of the snowman and pummelling it to the ground, and Theo had thrown snowballs at her for ruining what was left of their creation.
‘Oh, and just so you know…’ She moved closer and whispered in his ear, ‘I haven’t had a single chocolate from the tree. And I won’t, not until the big day.’
The big day. Even saying it sent a shiver down her spine, because for months she’d been picturing it: her and Theo wiping the sleep from their eyes as they tiptoed around the kitchen waiting for the heating to kick in, both of them laughing as they prepared the turkey for its visit to the oven, her nagging him about how the place settings had to be just so and him asking when it would be time to have a glass of champagne. It was going to be just the two of them this year. Most years previously, they’d either travelled to Suffolk to stay with Anita and Grace, or they’d gone to see Lydia’s parents in Yorkshire. But this year they had been looking forward to having nobody else to think about other than each other. They planned to binge-watch Christmas movies, snuggle up in front of the open fire, rip open their presents, and eat the Christmas dinner and talk about plans for the future.
In their final year at university, Lydia and Theo had stayed in Lydia’s student house for Christmas. It had been Sally’s suggestion because after that year nobody knew where they’d be, so eleven of them had pitched in to buy the dinner, cook what resembled a festive roast and even did Secret Santa presents of ten quid or less. On Christmas night, when the rest of the house were asleep, Theo and Lydia began talking about plans for New Year’s and whether they’d ever made any resolutions, and claiming it was all bollocks anyway, they decided promising themselves one thing was a better focus to have. Already both of them had been knuckling down rather than going on so many pound-a-pint nights – final year was serious stuff unless you wanted to waste your degree – and Lydia set her goal to be losing her uni-baggage, the term she’d given to the excess weight she’d gained. A love of beer and too many doner kebabs had seen her curves expand considerably and she was unhappy with her weight. So as well as putting in the hard yards with her studies, she began to dance more, she walked up to five miles most mornings, and within four months, before her first final exam, she’d reached her target weight and kept it off ever since.
Theo’s goal for the following year had been to get a job as a company accountant for a major corporation within six months of graduating, and he’d definitely done that. Since then there’d been a mixture of goals they’d aimed for: live in London was one to tick off the list for both of them; ski in New Zealand; travel to at least one European destination (the precise location was flexible); and their last goal, a joint one as it happened, was to get out from under the clutches of a landlord.
Lydia looked at Theo now, thinking of all the promises they’d made, and kept, over the years, some serious and some more tongue in cheek. But it was the promise she’d made to him that he’d never be hooked up to machines like this that made her hold his hand tightly and whisper the words ‘I’m sorry.’ Never for one minute had she expected to face this situation. Then again, did anybody ever think it would happen to them?
She reached out and stroked his head. She hadn’t broached the subject of Christmas with Anita yet. She knew Graham would be heading back to New Zealand soon with his wife due to undergo a heart operation, but Anita would still be here and already Lydia was wondering whether she should be inviting her over. If she did, it was likely to be torturous looking at one another across the turkey, silly hats on their heads, whiling away the minutes, the hours until they could get back to the hospital and see Theo.
Lydia kissed Theo goodbye, as she always did, and nodded an acknowledgment to the same consultant who’d talked to them about Theo’s wishes when she passed him in the corridor. Since the day he’d mentioned the living will and asked them to consider what Theo would want, the tension between Lydia and Anita had been palpable. But the consultant had been tasked with the impossible. He had to manage the delicate balancing act of doing what the patient would want in the circumstances, respecting the family’s wishes, and making decisions in the light of the evidence they had from the barrage of tests and observations. The nurse had told Lydia today that Theo was stable but there was no change. Nobody could make any promises and that was sometimes the hardest part in all of this. If they knew what the outcome would be in a week, a month, a year, then they could get their heads around it and make plans. But the uncertainty was what was made this all so unbearable.
*
Lydia bundled her suitcase into the back of the company car and climbed into the driver’s seat. It was only one night away but after the last few weeks, it was still an escape, and one she needed very much. Graham would be at the hospital now and it felt good to know Theo had company, but with only five days to go until Christmas day, she desperately needed some kind of break in her routine. She’d braved sending a text to Anita that morning, asking her if she’d like to stay for Christmas but crossing her legs, arms, hands, anything else that could physically be crossed, that she would say no. And the reply had come back less than half an hour later to say that she would be spending the time with Grace in a cottage in Castle Combe. There was no ‘would you like to join us?’ or ‘what will you be doing now that your boyfriend is in a coma?’ Of course Lydia didn’t want her to say those things at all, but still, it would’ve been nice to be acknowledged.
The winter sun was low in the sky and necessitated the use of the visor and some decent sunglasses as she drove up to Hertfordshire, but it was a relaxing drive. She’d already checked the weather forecast that morning, glad to see that for now at least the mild winter weather would last. It was a blessing. She loved the look of frost as it hardened branches on trees and twinkled in the sunlight, and she’d always loved the first snowfall of the year, bringing everything to a sense of peace, a lull in the busyness of everyday lives. But since Theo’s accident had rocked her world, the beauty of the winter season would forever remind her that it could also be brutal, it could take you by surprise when you least expected.
As Lydia drove she allowed her thoughts to drift to the research she’d already done on Jonathan Maynard last night, her iPad resting on her knees in bed. She liked to be prepared before she interviewed a subject and he was no exception. It seemed he wasn’t a professional skier, as she’d first thought, but a well-known name in the philanthropic circuit. A man who’d trained as an architect before giving it all up to go travelling, teach skiing and run charity events, this was his fifth fundraising project and all of those previously had drawn excellent media coverage, often in major newspapers both nationally and internationally.
After she’d parked in the hotel car park she checked in and found her room. She propped her washbag up on the bathroom cabinet, hung up the few clothes she’d brought with her and plugged her phone in at the charger. Checking her watch, she had enough time for a quick shower and freshen up before she was due at the snow centre. And it was when she was beneath the warm water jets, lathering her hair with the hotel’s surprisingly tangy smelling shampoo, that she realised how much she needed this. Normal actions in a totally different environment and finally she felt like an ordinary thirty-something again, at least for a while.
She stepped out of the shower, wrapped her hair in a turban and pulled on the fluffy white bathrobe that was folded and waiting on a shelf. She slipped her feet into the awaiting white slippers and as she was busy wondering whether Ian always put his employees in swanky hotels like this, her phone grabbed her attention and caller ID told her it was Sally.
‘How’s the hotel?’ Sally asked.
‘I’ve only just got here but it’s nice.’
‘I’ll bet it’s good to get away.’
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.’ She usually saw her best friend at least twice a week, but since Theo’s accident she’d not been in the mood for socialising unless it was at work, where she could pretend to be carefree and happy.
‘Don’t apologise, Lydia. You’ve got one hell of a fight on your hands with Theo and I admire how strong you are.’
She decided to lift the mood by changing the subject. ‘How’s Gerry?’ Things between Sally and her latest boyfriend had turned serious very quickly and they had already moved in together.
‘He’s fine, still lovely.’
Lydia smiled. It was good to see Sally happy. Gerry was the first boyfriend of Sally’s Theo had actually liked. Greg had turned out to be a bit of a tosser, and that was a pretty polite description. No wonder Sally had kept smoking while she was with him, the stress would’ve driven her to it. But Gerry was different. Sally gave up the fags the second they met and hadn’t looked back. He was good for Sally and treated her right. Just the way Theo treated Lydia.
‘I’m phoning to ask if you’d like to come to us for Christmas,’ Sally said and Lydia silently berated herself for not having been much of a friend lately. ‘No pressure at all. I’ll totally understand if you would rather go to your parents or you’re spending it with Theo’s mum.’
‘Sally, I’d love to.’ She sat on the bed, resting against the pillows. ‘I’ll go and see Theo a couple of times during the day if buses are running, or I’ll taxi it. So as long as you don’t mind me disappearing, I’d love to come over.’ Truthfully, she couldn’t bear the thought of staying with her parents, under their watchful eye, but neither did she want to spend the day in her and Theo’s home with its grey and white furnishings, filled with reminders which would be so much more painful on the one day of the year where everything was supposed to be that little bit more special.
‘Then that’s settled,’ Sally replied chirpily. ‘Lunch is at two o’clock, and you can come and go as you please.’
Lydia was in good spirits by the time she drove to the snow centre, and even more relieved Anita didn’t want to spend Christmas with her, whether in Bath or Suffolk. Spending Christmas with Sally and Gerry would be a relaxed affair, possibly even a bit of fun if she let it, but Christmas with Anita would’ve been close to impossible. After all, Anita was fighting for her son’s life, whereas in her eyes, Lydia had told them to let him go. And she doubted Anita would ever forgive her.
*
At the snow centre things were already kicking off. Photographers and journalists were everywhere, as well as representatives from the kids’ charity the event was raising money for. The general chatter in the venue was upbeat and Lydia imagined this centre would be a skier’s dream when they couldn’t quite make it to Europe or farther afield. The centre used snow cannons operating overnight to make real snow, and the temperature at the slope was kept below zero to keep the snow in the best possible condition. Right now, it was a blanket of white in front of them all ready for the first tracks from skis to leave their mark.
Lydia lingered upstairs, looking out of the window over the slopes. She hadn’t researched the charity yet but it was on her to-do list, to make the article meaningful, accurate and with a great human-interest angle. She’d queried why cover the charity event at all if the publication was for travel, but Ian was very much into the whole big picture and he said this would appeal to readers, in some way help them to understand this magazine was about people and their wants and needs, not just about holiday companies making money. Lydia could kind of see where he was going and the thing about Ian was that even when you didn’t know him all that well, you tended to trust his instincts and go with it.
She took off her jacket. Dressed in jeans, snow boots and a cream fisherman’s jumper that contrasted against her tanned skin, she was nice and warm and not looking forward to being out there interviewing. She hoped they could at least do some of the talking inside. She took out her notepad and jotted down things she knew would add colour to the article she was going to write: the buzz between people gathering for the event, the chatter she could hear faintly through the glass from where she was sitting in the restaurant overlooking the slope. She could see smiles on faces, hands rubbing together, laughing and cajoling between volunteers and anyone taking part. She took photos of the tables lined with food, the set up for a raffle at the far end of the room. The lighting was soft, it was cosy up here, and the whole environment gave the feeling of being in a real ski lodge, exhausted after a day in the cold and hours of physical activity, when everyone was more than ready for the après-ski.
It was almost time to head down and find Jonathan Maynard and she wondered which one he was. She’d looked him up on Google – of course she had – so she would be able to spot him but everyone was so bundled up in ski jackets, salopettes, helmets and gloves, that she had no idea. She knew he was tall, had a number-two haircut – or at least he had in the newspaper article from two months ago – and he had striking pale blue eyes. But that was a picture and he’d been wearing a T-shirt with well-cut jeans, none of this ski gear.
With enough notes made, Lydia zipped up her jacket and braved the viewing balcony. A group of people had just come inside and were mumbling about hot cups of tea so she nabbed a spot right at the edge where she could look out at the white, unspoiled slope. It didn’t take long to feel the icy blast. It was almost magical, being thrust into a wintry ski environment after the blustery, drizzly outside of England in December. Sheltered beneath a light-grey domed roof with pictures of mountains on every surrounding wall, the centre had created a ski environment that seemed far better than the last UK experience Lydia had had.
A few years ago Theo had surprised her with ski lessons at the dry slope in Trowse. They’d been visiting Grace who lived in Norwich at the time and for some reason Theo took it upon himself to introduce Lydia to a sport she had zero interest in. She argued why anyone would ever want to strap two planks of wood or metal, or whatever skis were made of, to their feet and throw themselves down a mountain! But she’d gone along to the beginner’s class, relieved to find it wasn’t entirely filled with people younger than her who mastered ski skills in an instant. Most participants were older, hesitant and took their time. Lydia was cautious, but by the end of the session she could at least snowplough down a small incline. She’d fallen a couple of times, nothing too bad, but the last time she scraped her cheek against the wretched fake surface, which was like straw except it was nothing like toppling into a hay bale in the middle of summer. It was brutal and sharp and the redness had lingered for the rest of the night.
She glanced around her now as the cold air lingered against her face and the iciness settled through her hair, and when she looked down from the balcony she locked gazes with a man who not only would she describe as incredibly good-looking, but someone she knew by name: Jonathan Maynard.
She almost waved but of course he’d have no idea who she was. Not unless he Googled ‘journalist+Lydia+girl-who-has-no-idea-whether-she’s-coming-or-going’. So instead she went back inside, through the restaurant and made her way downstairs to the doors that would lead outside. She showed her press pass and was allowed instant access. It always made her laugh, flashing the ID as though she were someone famous and not just a regular member of the public who wanted to watch the action.
Outside it was chaos and much more difficult to find Jonathan Maynard. She couldn’t see him anywhere. But she did spot the photographer she’d met once before, and they had a brief discussion about the sort of photos Ian was after. It didn’t take long. The man knew what he was doing better than Lydia, so she left him to it.
She checked her watch. Ten o’clock exactly, the time she’d arranged to have a preliminary interview with Jonathan Maynard before the event. Ian had corresponded with him to set it all up. She looked left and was bustled out of the way by someone carrying skis they then leaned up against the wall. Everyone out here was doing that funny ski-walk with their boots on, heels digging in the ground first and then toes clumping down afterwards. She was glad she’d worn her snow boots. Her feet were proper toasty and it was way easier to move around.
The chatter was at fever pitch with the event due to kick off in half an hour, so she didn’t have long to find her interview subject, but then a voice behind her rescued her from wondering whether she’d ever get a proper story at all, whether she’d have to admit to Ian that her first external assignment was a total flop. She knew she’d be able to do a write-up regardless of who she talked to, but there was nothing like talking to the man himself, the man who’d instigated the whole event and who would hopefully give her some nice juicy quotes.
‘You must be Lydia.’ He removed his glove and extended a hand. He had the remains of goggle marks around his eyes and she suspected he’d picked up a decent tan over in Europe, where he’d been skiing beneath the bright sunshine on the slopes all day.
Lydia took her hand from her pocket and met his, which was lovely and warm. Almost like a hand warmer, she thought, but then focused on why she was here. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lydia Walters from Let’s Get Going! travels.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Lydia Walters. But may I say, your hands are bloody freezing?’
She burst out laughing at the formal introduction followed by the candid remark and when she realised he still had a hold of her hand she withdrew hers pretty swiftly, stumbling over her words. ‘Er…yeah…I forgot my gloves.’
‘It’s a ski slope. You never forget gloves. Come on…’ He tipped his head in the direction of the doors leading back inside and then grabbed a pair of skis leaning up against the wall. ‘These need a slight adjustment so we’ll get you some gloves.’
She followed him inside, her hand already in her bag to pull out a notepad.
He put the skis onto the bench where he explained to the dude – floppy hair with blond tips a bit like a jester’s hat – what needed doing and then turned to Lydia. ‘Put the notepad away, we’ll just have a general chat now and then we’ll do a proper interview after the event.’
She did as she was told and scurried after him again to another part of the room where people seemed to be handing over salopettes and jackets. He sure moved fast. If this was his pace on foot she felt pretty sure he’d be a speed demon on the slopes. Maybe not this slope given it was short, but out there in Europe or wherever else he hung out when he wasn’t in the UK.
He grabbed the attention of the blonde behind the counter who seemed more than happy to chat but was slightly perturbed when she realised Lydia was with him. The look she gave Jonathan was warm, but the one she gave Lydia was more like it had come from one of those trusty snow cannons.
Lydia’s lips twisted in a little smile, more so when Jonathan looked at her and winked. He was obviously used to getting his way with girls like this who fell at his feet. She’d heard he was a bit of a charmer but it beat interviewing someone with no personality or someone so boring you wished you had a litre of Red Bull to keep you awake. She’d had a few of those in her time.
‘I’ll need a pair of small gloves please,’ Jonathan told the girl, who melted beneath his gaze, but stiffened when she handed the gloves to Lydia.
Back outside Jonathan rested his skis up against the wall again and they talked about the event. It was a skiathon fundraiser that he’d organised. Forty-five people were taking part, a mixture of adults and children, all competent skiers, and for two hours they would clock up as many ski runs as they could. They’d been sponsored by family and friends, and in some instances, by companies.
‘You’ll be exhausted,’ Lydia said, already relishing the warmth of her gloves. She wanted to break the silence and the way he was grinning at her. She thought of Theo. If he could see her now with Jonathan’s intense gaze barely leaving hers, he’d probably laugh. He’d never been a particularly jealous boyfriend. Even when they’d been to Majorca and one of the waiters had had a thing for Lydia, paying her so much attention his boss had mentioned it and made sure Lydia wasn’t uncomfortable. Theo had just laughed and said he liked it that men saw how beautiful she was, but she’d laughed and pulled a face, and the next night and every one after they’d gone to different restaurants.
‘Exhausted, but in a good way.’ As a rule Lydia had never liked a man who winked, until Theo, and it had become their thing, something that made her smile and feel all warm inside. So when Jonathan did it now, it felt weird, but not wrong. Perhaps it reminded her of happier times, she wasn’t sure, but Jonathan’s voice rescued her from analysing her response too deeply. ‘We’ll talk more later,’ he said. ‘I’d better get ready. And if I were you, I’d run up to the balcony now, and grab your spot.’
‘Thanks for the tip.’ Even though the cold air whipped around them, she didn’t miss the subtle waft of aftershave and wondered if it was the smell of his shampoo, the scent of his clothes or his freshly shaven face.
She did as he’d suggested and he was right. She nabbed a spot on the balcony overlooking the event and it was the last spare spot for a while. She watched Jonathan down below, easy to see now she knew he was wearing a burnt-orange ski jacket and marl-grey salopettes with lighter grey stripes. He wore a grey helmet with an orange stripe across the back and Lydia grinned, wondering if that was his ‘go-faster’ stripe like boy racers had on their cars.
The announcer’s voice came over the loudspeaker to say that the event was about to commence. A loud cheer went up from everyone all around and the participants lined up, ready for the off. It was a great atmosphere, and bundled up in all their gear Lydia didn’t hear one person moan about the cold. She stood and watched skiers being dragged up the side of the slope on long poles with button seats that you put between your legs and rested your bum on, she puffed white clouds from her mouth against the cold and felt silly when she looked to her right and realised the kid next to her was copying. She smiled and returned to sensible Lydia, the journalist here to do her job.
With music in the background to pump up participants and anyone watching, skiers started at the top and glided down, some fast, some cautious. There were a few tumbles, a lot of laughs, a lot of powder being kicked up at the end when the more confident members came to a dramatic stop at the end of the run. Lydia left halfway through to savour the warmth of the restaurant, which was a hive of activity. She could smell jacket potatoes, a rich chilli cooking, soups snaking their bouquet into the air, the tantalising aroma of coffee beans mixed with the scent of chocolate. She scribbled down more notes about the event itself, her feelings as a spectator, observations you’d only get from being there. She needed to bring her readers to the event through her writing and the little details were often the most important: how it felt listening to the music, what this would mean to the charity, the all-encompassing ambience.
She went outside again for the final twenty minutes of the event and noticed the exhaustion of some of the skiers. A few of the novices were lingering longer at the bottom of the slope between runs now, not leaping quite so eagerly onto the ski lift to go again. But for the most part people were still in good spirits, the commentator certainly hadn’t tired of his own voice and was still managing to be heard above everything else that was going on. She watched Jonathan Maynard in his distinctive orange coat standing out from the crowd as he parallel skied, side to side, all the way down from the top. Relaxed, upright and confident, she couldn’t imagine him ever struggling with the snowplough or falling flat on his face trying to change direction, because he zigzagged his way down and stopped serenely at the end laughing and chatting with others as they raced to the chair lift. Up they went, again and again, until the final whistle blew and raucous cheers erupted to celebrate a job well done.
Some of the crowd dispersed from the balcony, others were fixated on the slope. Her gloves had kept her warm and when she retreated inside, Lydia placed them in the returns tub and made her way upstairs to the restaurant. Her press pass earned her the offer of something to eat and she took a burger with relish that she could eat before she chatted with Jonathan again. She found a corner as the room filled out with rosy-cheeked skiers glad to be in the warmth, and the hustle and bustle of excited kids with parents and talk of how many runs they’d made. As she ate her burger she made more notes between bites, and Googled a bit about the charity. She felt satisfied with everything she had so far. All she needed now were a few quotes and she could write the article, match the photographs to the write-up and that would be it. Job done.
‘How’s the burger?’ It was the man himself, just as she crammed the rest of the bun into her mouth.
She nodded, embarrassed. It was at least two bites’ worth but she’d shoved it all in so she could dig out her purse and get a hot chocolate. Purse in hand, she finally swallowed. ‘It was good. I was just about to buy a hot chocolate. Would you like one?’
‘Allow me. I’ve just ordered a coffee so I’ll get both drinks and then we can chat some more.’
Lydia didn’t watch him saunter off to the bar because she knew what he looked like now he’d taken his jacket off. He wore salopettes and a fitted black T-shirt that showed off arms almost as tanned as her own skin was naturally all year round. His face held an air of mischief but his eyes were focused and serious whenever he looked at you, and the buzz cut did nothing to detract from his appeal.
She felt guilty. Theo was lying in a hospital bed and here she was enjoying the pleasure of another man’s company.
When he brought the hot chocolate over, she refocused.
‘I didn’t know whether you wanted cream or marshmallows,’ he told her, ‘so I got you both.’
‘Thank you.’ She momentarily considered scraping off either the cream or the pink and white marshmallows but she decided to do neither. She was going to enjoy this, guilt-free.
‘So, Lydia. What would you like to know about me?’
She ignored the accidental brush of his knee against hers and moved back slightly, pretending to flip through her notes. ‘I guess a bit of background would be good. How you started skiing and when, what you like about it, how you got started with the charity side of things.’
Jonathan talked all about his skiing experience. He was taking time out from his job as an architect to travel, ski and teach in different parts of the world. He loved seeing new places, he liked to meet people, and teaching kids to ski was his favourite part. ‘Adults aren’t nearly as much fun,’ he quipped before telling her he’d never once been tempted to try snowboarding.
‘Do you ski?’ Jonathan asked.
‘I have, but I’m not passionate about it.’ Lydia had plenty of friends who loved both skiing and snowboarding and Theo had loved skiing in particular. Even Sally was into it and raved about Europe, but it was one of the only types of holiday she’d never managed to drag Lydia on, no matter how much she begged and pleaded. ‘It’s not my top choice of holiday, put it that way.’
With most of the information she needed, she relaxed into their chat, buzzing from the sugar-filled hot chocolate and the general atmosphere surrounding them. ‘Can I ask what made you want to get involved raising money for charities?’ This information would lay a good foundation for the article about this Somerset-born man who had raised more than fifty thousand pounds in the last eleven months, for so many good causes.
‘My nephew, Charlie, was the reason. He started skiing when he was six years old, he was brilliant.’
‘Kids have no fear, do they?’ Lydia remembered her own lessons and kids skiing past as though they’d been born to do the sport. There was no hesitation at the top of the slope, no dilly-dallying at making their way across to the lift that would take them up to do it all over again.
‘They certainly don’t,’ said Jonathan. ‘Charlie was an inspiration to us all, me included.’
‘Does he still ski?’ She scribbled some notes on her notepad.
‘He doesn’t.’ He looked sad. ‘Charlie is no longer with us.’ When she looked as though she didn’t quite understand he added, ‘Charlie was diagnosed with a rare form of leukaemia and died two years ago.’
Lydia heart bounced somewhere out of her chest, as though it had hurtled down the ski slope itself.
‘Charlie was the best kid.’ Jonathan looked out to the slope and the instructors already getting back into the regular day’s session with lessons. ‘He never moaned about what was happening. His concerns were for everyone else. It was heartbreaking to watch. He’d talked about the wish-granting charity and what he wanted to wish for, but everything happened so damn quickly he never got a chance. When he was taken from us, I came across a newspaper article about kids who had been granted wishes and, of course, the fundraising efforts involved, and I read about how one dad frequently ran sports events at the local footy club to raise money. I decided I wanted to do something similar.
‘You know, there’s never a time when I ski and don’t think of him.’ As though suddenly remembering this virtual stranger by his side, he turned to Lydia. ‘God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lay all that on you. Oh, and I should probably say all that is largely off the record. Reduce the amount I said, don’t mention Charlie by name.’
She scribbled out the name on her notepad. ‘Done.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He looked down at his hands resting in his lap. ‘It’s just that the last thing I need is to read about Charlie, or for my family to see the article. I guess it’s my way of coping, treasuring the memories inside my head and within our family, not putting them out in the open.’
‘Jonathan, don’t worry.’ Her mind was in overdrive. ‘I’ll email you the article first. It’s not strictly a done thing, but I want to get it right. So I’ll add something in and you can approve it first.’
He looked at her with more meaning than she’d thought possible in a man she’d known less than a few hours. ‘Thank you, Lydia.’
When he kept his gaze fixed on her, it wasn’t his face she saw but Theo’s. ‘I have to go.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘Deadline,’ she stammered.
‘Nice meeting you.’ He called after her, probably bewildered at her sudden departure.
She turned back briefly and waved. But she couldn’t get out of there fast enough and it was only out in the car park, in the freezing cold December air, that she was able to breathe again.