Page 5

When I get back to our new Victorian house with its large, wraparound garden and elegant porch pillars, I sit on the front wall, put my head in my hands and cry.

I try not to make a sound, but sobs escape through my fingers.

Things will get better.

Of course I’m going to feel emotional on his first day.

Lizzie

I’ve been invited to a party, but I’m on the outside, not knowing what to do with myself. I’m not a skier or snowboarder, so I’m … nowhere. Standing on the balcony, looking at the mountains, I feel very alone.

Morzine is one of the world’s best ski resorts. I’ve heard it described as ‘electric’ after dark. Tomorrow, the slopes will be tingling with pink, white and yellow snowsuits. But tonight, they’re white and calm.

It sounded so adventurous, being a chalet girl out here. But the truth is, I’m running away. Things with Mum are unbearable again. I thought they’d be better after university, but if anything they’re worse. Her need to tear me down is stronger than ever.

It’s not about blame.

All I know is that I needed to get away, for my own sanity.

Behind me, Olympic hopefuls talk and laugh in their day clothes, drinking sparkling water or, if they’re real rebels, small bottles of beer.

Most of them aren’t interested in a twenty-something chalet girl with straight, brown hair and floral-patterned Doc Marten boots.

But … someone has come to stand beside me. He’s a tall, blond man wearing ripped jeans and a loose, light pink T-shirt. His light tan and white panda eyes tell me he’s a skier or snowboarder – probably a serious one, if the other guests at this party are anything to go by.

‘It’s Lizzie,’ the man asks. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘How do you know my name?’

‘You’re still wearing your name badge.’

I glance down and see my health and safety training sticker: Lizzie Riley.

‘You don’t remember me?’ the man challenges, raising a thick, blond eyebrow.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t—’

‘Olly.’ He holds out a large hand for me to shake. ‘I’m staying in the chalet next to you. With the Olympic rabble over there.’ He points to a rowdy group of young men holding beers. ‘You’re a chalet girl, right?’ He grins. ‘Nice work if you can get it.’

‘Actually, it can be exhausting,’ I say.

Olly laughs. ‘Are you thinking about jumping off the mountain then?’

My smile disappears. ‘No. Why would you ask that?’

‘Just joking.’

We stare out at the peaks for a minute.

A live band strikes up behind us, playing a Beatles cover – ‘Love Me Do’.

Olly’s shoulders move to the music.

Mine do too.

‘You like the Beatles?’ Olly asks.

‘Yes.’ I look at him shyly, hoping this is the right answer.