Page 78 of A Season in the Snow
Chapter 35
Alice watched the seatbelt sign, waiting for it to be switched off, as the plane crawled its way to a stop. Beyond the oval window, the weather was a stereotypical English December – pale grey clouds covering the sky like a duvet without a cover, a wet ground even when it wasn’t raining, a coldness hanging around in the air that felt like it could be the same cold that had nipped at Dickens’s nose.
Finally the sign pinged and the illumination disappeared, and the passengers were home for the holidays. There was a scramble to be the first to pull their bags and duty-free presents and coats and scarves from the overhead lockers in order to stand awkwardly in the aisle.
Alice stayed put, resisting London for as long as possible, but grabbed for her phone and flicked it off airplane mode. She waited for news from Marco, anxious to know Bear was okay, and if he was going to mention their kiss. Sure enough, true to his word, her phone tinkled with not one but two ‘pupdates’ in the form of photos. One showed Bear peering at a snowman, out on a walk, and the other was a selfie of Marco with his arm around a very relaxed-looking dog. Alice smiled.
‘Cute family,’ a woman standing in the aisle commented. ‘Merry Christmas to you all.’
‘Thanks, you too,’ said Alice, without bothering to correct her. He hadn’t mentioned what had happened, but maybe that was for the best for now. She had other things to think about over the next couple of days, aside from this mountain rescuer’s warm lips and kind eyes.
It was strange to be back in the UK. Walking through Heathrow Airport felt so familiar and yet so distant from the life she’d led for the past two months. Spaces seemed cramped, people seemed busy, signs seemed too big and intimidating, and she felt alone without her dog at her side. She kept her thoughts busy through passport control by letting bubbles of happy holiday memories foam inside her, little things that reminded her of comfortable familiarities she could enjoy again. She wanted to make her parents smoked salmon on toast for Christmas breakfast. She wanted to find Quality Street hidden inside the big, real Christmas tree. She wanted to wake up in her childhood bedroom again and remember it for the many Christmas mornings that had sparkled through her life before now, and not for the three weeks she’d spent under the duvet in there following Jill’s death.
As soon as she spotted her mum and dad in the arrivals hall, waiting beside a huge lit-up ribbon Christmas tree, her mum in her favourite plaid Christmas scarf and her dad tucking into a Toblerone, unaware of his daughter approaching, England reminded her where home is.
A rush of comfort took over and she picked up her step, bag bashing against her leg. She stumbled into the arms of her mum and dad, tight squeezes cramping necks.
‘Whoopsie,’ murmured Ed, brushing a chocolate smudge he’d created from her shoulder.
‘Merry Christmas, love,’ said Liz. ‘It’s good to have you back.’
‘We’ve missed you, poppet,’ her dad added.
‘Oh, I’ve missed you two,’ Alice replied, all the pent-up anxiety she’d built between leaving Mürren and arriving in London rushing away. ‘Merry Christmas!’
As they walked towards the train station, Alice’s mum and dad chattered on about the weather and the turkey they’d bought and the Christmas TV they’d been watching and the village decorations. Alice listened with one ear, while thinking how strange it was that this didn’t feel that strange. She’d anticipated cowering her way through the airport, the familiar black fear looming behind her, pushing her forward when she wasn’t ready, mocking her because it was the time of year where she had to pretend to be happy.
So how come she actually felt happy?
Notoverjoyed, but joyed.
‘Righty-ho, it’s just gone one-thirty, anyone for a late lunch?’ Liz asked with a false brightness that automatically made Alice suspicious. ‘Your dad and I thought we’d all pop to Regent Street first before going home, see the Christmas lights that everyone’s talking about this year, go and see the toys in Hamleys like we used to, have a big hot chocolate somewhere. What do you think?’
‘You mean, go into the centre of London rather than just go home?’
‘Yes, Regent Street. You always liked Regent Street.’
‘But it’ll be crowded.’Anything could happen.
Liz and Ed glanced at each other and Ed shook his head, just a tiny movement, but Alice saw it and said, ‘Well, we can give it a go.’
‘We don’t have to,’ Liz answered, worry on her face like she’d crossed a line. ‘It was a bad idea, let’s go home.’
They would have a much happier Christmas if they thought their daughter was okay, and wasn’t permanently damaged. She wanted to give that to them.
‘Nope, it’ll be nice to go to Hamleys again, it’s been years. Maybe I could find a present for Bear there, like a ball or a stuffed toy.’ Alice slapped on a smile and forced the ringing in her ears to be drowned out by her inner voice singing Rat Pack Christmas songs as loud as it could.
‘How is that big bear?’ Ed asked as the three of them made their way to the train platform. ‘Bet he likes the snow.’
‘Oh, he loves it,’ Alice enthused, and she found herself chattering about him and his adventures all the way along the Piccadilly Line until they found themselves nearing the Piccadilly Circus stop, on the south end of Regent Street. It wasn’t until they joined the bustle towards the ticket gates that it even occurred to Alice that she’d just done her first Underground journey since before the incident.
Tourists and last-minute shoppers bumped into her and stopped in front of her. It wasn’t easy: Alice concentrated on breathing and counting the seconds until she would emerge outside, following the stream of people like a trapped fish not wanting to tangle itself in netting further. Her mouth grew dry and she kept her eyes down, holding tendrils of her parents’ clothing, possibly without them even noticing, but not wanting them to end up beyond her reach. Like Jill had been.
The daylight burst through as they ascended the steps, and before she did anything Alice lifted her face to the sky and breathed. It was the same sky she would have been looking up at in Switzerland, she just had to remember that, and find stillness in that thought.
She lowered her eyes. ‘Oh, wow!’
Floating above the road, strung between the parallel sweep of Portland stone buildings that made up Regent Street, were vast, glowing angels, their bodies and wings made of a mesh of wire and tiny lights. They hovered, as if guarding the shoppers below within the blankets of their intertwining costumes. It was the best light show she’d seen on Regent Street, after many years of coming here, and it wasn’t even dark yet.
