Page 35 of The Love of Our Lives

The next morning, I wake groggily. My head is splitting and my mouth tastes like sandpaper left out in the sun.

Reaching to find water, I find that I have none, and looking around the room, I suddenly realise where I am – in our old room, in the cottage.

It’s all here again in the daylight – the eaves, the little Scottish paintings, the matching quilts at the foot of the beds, the lamp with the beaded tassels Cat found in a shop up here, her old reading books on the shelf: The Secret Garden , Little Women and The Baby-Sitters Club collection and, for a moment, I can’t breathe from it all.

The last day Cat existed on this planet.

Those final steps she took just outside this house.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

But then I look down at my hands – Emily’s hands – and my heart rate slows as I remember why I’m here: to spend time with good friends, to eat and to ski, and do all the things I never permitted myself to do before.

Because I can’t deny that all of this isn’t largely for me – I remember so clearly watching as other people in the area piled into their lodges and chalets, loaded up with booze and ski gear, and I would wonder what it felt like, living to the max like that. Now, finally, that gets to be me.

Getting out of bed slowly now, I feel a bit hellish and regretful of quite how much we drank, how late we stayed up, but I manage to get my base layers on and brush my teeth before heading downstairs in search of sustenance.

It’s already nine o’clock and I curse myself for missing the best part of the morning on the mountains.

Down in the kitchen, Adam is already dealing with the mess we left last night.

‘Hey,’ I croak, a touch of guilt kicking in as he looks at me coming down. He looks pretty jaded too, and I know I played a part in that. There are shadows beneath his eyes, and his hair is ruffled like he’s been tossing and turning all night.

‘Good morning,’ he says in a deeper voice than normal and places a very welcome pot of coffee on the table. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Rough,’ I say truthfully. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever had that much alcohol before.’

‘Well, just get some coffee into you,’ he says gently, ‘and you’ll be fine. But let’s maybe take it a bit easier tonight, Miss Party, all right?’

‘All right,’ I smile ruefully as I take a seat at the table. He pours us both a cup, putting milk in mine while leaving his black.

‘Do you fancy some eggs too?’ he says, pointing at the stove. ‘I could poach them, if you like.’

I pause, feeling all kinds of emotions rushing at me – breakfast together, coffees together, eggs on the stove.

Just like before.

‘That’s OK,’ I say, eventually. ‘I’ll get some toast in a bit.’

‘All right,’ he says, and takes a seat across the table.

We drink our coffee in the comfortable silence we’ve always had – just two hungover friends up early, but content with the other’s company.

Our eyes meet and I feel he’s about to say something, when footsteps sound from somewhere. We both look around sharply to see a very dishevelled Sven walking towards the table in his boxers and a stained Scandi Pizza Man hoodie.

‘Morning,’ we both manage to grunt.

‘I feel like wild animals attacked me,’ Sven says, ‘and then I got run over by a truck.’

I can’t help laughing, even if I feel a little sheepish. ‘I’m sorry, that was my fault. I got a bit carried away.’

‘No shit,’ Sven says, heading to get two mugs from the cupboard. Bringing them over to the table he takes a seat. ‘Ah, it was all good fun. Nothing a little ski won’t fix, once Charlie’s up.’

‘Charlie’s not going skiing, is she?’ I say, a trace of worry kicking in.

‘No, no,’ Sven says, pouring himself and Charlie a cup, ‘she’ll just hang out at the bottom of the slopes. I feel sort of bad leaving her but remember what you kept saying last night?’

I frown, my memory of it all blurring somewhat. ‘What did I keep saying?’

‘YOLO,’ Sven and Adam say at the same time.

You Only Live Once.

I feel myself cringing. ‘God, sorry again .’

‘Don’t be,’ Sven says, taking the cups back to the bedroom now, ‘it’s all good. We’ll catch you guys back here for dinner later, OK?’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Adam says, and meets my eyes across the table again.

It dawns on me in this moment that I’ll be spending a whole day with Adam, out in the mountains. And I don’t know if it’s the caffeine flooding through my system or knowing I get to be close for him for all that time, but my stomach does the greatest backflip – twice.

It’s a clear day up on the slopes and I can feel the pain in my head starting to ease off with the freshness of it all, plus about a gallon of water.

The snow is light and powdery-looking under the chairlift we’re on, which Adam insists is a rarity in Scotland – it’s usually sheet ice and rock, apparently, and he saw it all in his childhood – skiing in Japan, snowboarding in the Canadian Rockies.

But as I lower myself off the lift at the top, I feel a pleasing bounce beneath my skis, totally different from what I experienced at the dry slopes back in Edinburgh.

It all looks quite different to the trips I’ve organised in the Alps, none of the outrageous peaks or huge stretches of woodland. It’s a vast range of glittering white, vulnerable and exposed to the elements. But there’s something so glorious about the way the slopes meet the sky like that.

There’s nowhere to hide out here.

As Adam leads me slowly down the run, a slight hitch of nerves hits my chest, and I think back to the first time I tried it a few weeks ago.

It had felt pretty unnatural at first, of course, and my whole body had braced as I’d slid slowly down the synthetic hill away from the instructor. And then I was going faster and faster.

‘Shit,’ I’d said, as the toes of my skis had pointed together then crossed.

My heart rate had shot up as I’d flown through the air, landing with a thump on my side.

I’d started laughing because the funny thing was, it hadn’t hurt, not really.

Not enough to take away from how awesome it had been, that feeling of flying.

The next time, I’d followed the instructor’s line, imitating what she’d done as best as I could.

I’d managed to make the turn for a moment only, before my skies seem to run ahead of me and I was flying backwards through the air – cold ground again, skis tangled in front of me.

But this time I hadn’t laughed. I’d just picked myself up and dusted myself down again.

Let’s go, I’d said.

We’d kept doing it, the instructor swooping down in front and me following behind with a new sort of determination, the type where all I could see was the bottom of that run and the only way I could get there was to move.

I’d fallen a third time, a fourth, my skies either crossing in front of me or me just simply losing my nerve when I started moving too fast. But then I’d managed to make two turns in a row, then three.

The final time I’d fallen, I’d looked back up at where I’d come from and suddenly I’d realised just how far I’d skied.

After that one go, I was hooked. I returned several times with the instructor or by myself, determined to get the hang of it.

It was expensive, of course, but since I knew how short Emily’s life would be, I didn’t feel bad about spending the money she’d saved anymore – no point in saving for a rainy day when the days are running short.

Ahead of me, Adam pauses now on the slope we’re on, and I pull up alongside him.

‘You were ace up there,’ he grins. ‘Did you seriously only begin a few weeks ago?’

I smile, knowing he’s only being nice – I’ll never be a pro but I’m still proud of myself for giving it a crack, for even getting to this stage.

‘You would love the summer skiing in Canada,’ he says, pauses. ‘I might do some when I go actually.’

My breath catches. ‘You’re leaving?’

‘Not forever,’ he says steadily, ‘but yeah, I’m planning on going out in May and then spending the summer there, I’ll be leaving in a month or so.’ He looks softly at me. ‘There’s nothing holding me here right now and I’ve completed a bunch of orders, which should last me for a while money-wise.’

I swallow as I realise the enormity of what he’s saying.

I’ll never see him again.

But not just that, it’s also confirmed what I suspected about him all along – he was always going to leave in the end, and I would have only have gotten hurt.

He didn’t even fight for me, not really.

It only took one quick push for him to go to Norway the first chance he could after Christmas.

It’s just as well I called things off when I did.

‘Sounds like a great trip,’ I say, my voice slightly strangled.

‘Hopefully,’ he replies, and we just stand there for a moment, uncertain.

Eventually he nods down at a significantly steeper section. ‘You game for this last stretch?’

I take in a lungful of cold air, smile. Because what else can I do?

‘I’m game.’

‘Good. Well, you go ahead this time; I’ll go behind.’

‘You might regret that when you’re skiing over me.’

He tilts his head, a soft expression on his face. ‘I think you’ve got this, Emily. Just remember to head forwards every time you turn,’ he says, making a slicing action down the mountain with his gloved hand.

‘All right,’ I say firmly, and before I can dwell on it, I’m off down the mountain again, except this time, I go forwards when I turn.

The wind rushes at my face before I push down with my boot.

It still feels slightly odd to plummet headfirst in order to change direction, but as I turn into the slope and soar across, I wonder if this is maybe where I’ve been going wrong in my own life.

Because you have to just give things a shot, and maybe you fall down, but maybe you’ll fly.

And isn’t it worth the risk? Isn’t it worth falling a hundred times to finally get that soaring feeling in your soul?

Then suddenly we’re close to the bottom and I’ve actually done it. I’ve skied down a mountain and I didn’t fall. It’s not hurting me, or anyone else for that matter, and all I want is to do it all over again.

Because this is living.

This is everything.

A whooping noise behind me makes me smile, and I finally come to a stop at the bottom. Adam pulls up alongside me and, as we look out together at the white ridges, with the dazzling sun glinting above it all, I think I’ve never felt more alive in my life.

Driving back to the cottage with Adam, with the sun setting rosily in the sky, my whole body feels pumped from the experience.

And as we chat away easily about which slopes we’ll attack together tomorrow, I get that overwhelming pull towards him again – this electric feeling spreading through me when I catch a glance at his hands, which once ran across the entirety of me.

My heart is beating wildly at the thought as we pull into the driveway. Charlie and Sven will already be back, the fire will be crackling and no doubt Sven will have started putting together some incredible canapés like last night. Perfect.

It’s clear something isn’t right though, as soon as we pull up to the house. All the lights are out and the chimney is still. Suddenly that setting sun in the distance, which had looked so rosy before, is looking blood-like in its redness.

The two of us immediately get out, look around the area. There’s no sign of Charlie’s red Mini.

I can feel this strange sense of wrongness swelling inside me, which I’ve felt only once before.

‘Let’s check inside before we start worrying,’ Adam says, reading my mind as he unlocks the cottage door.

It’s clear when we enter that someone has spent a while tidying everything up. The breakfast dishes have all been put away and the chequered table wiped clean – the fire in the living room has even been swept and reset for the evening, and both of us heave a sigh of relief.

‘Maybe they came back early and went out somewhere,’ I say.

‘Or they did something else entirely today?’ Adam suggests, and heads to put the kettle on for a tea.

It’s just as I’m pulling down a couple of mugs for us that Adam’s phone rings, and as he pulls it out his pocket, his face lights up.

‘Sven,’ he says, answering it, ‘where are . . .’

His face falls again and he glances at me. Then he walks across the kitchen, stops at the window. So I can’t see his face, can’t hear what’s being said.

‘Oh god,’ he’s saying, placing his hand on the island. ‘Oh god.’

My heart is pounding. What’s happening?

Adam finally turns, takes a breath in as he says the words I was dreading, ‘Charlie had a fall on the mountain this afternoon and she’s been airlifted to the hospital.’

He pauses.

‘I think we should go quickly.’