Page 25 of You Had Me at Chateau
My phone rings, and it’s a FaceTime call from Tom, so I grab my laptop to answer it on there, rather than balance my phone against a pile of clothes – not that I don’t have enough piles on offer to do it.
‘Hey, sis,’ he greets me, his face filling the screen. ‘Are you all ready for your trip?’
‘Oh, who wouldn’t enjoy being forced to fly to France right before Christmas to write a book they don’t want to write, staying with people who don’t really like them?’ I reply sarcastically, folding a scarf and shoving it into the corner of my suitcase.
‘You’re not flying to France, Amber. You’re flying to Switzerland,’ Tom points out.
I roll my eyes at him, staring into the camera above my laptop screen.
‘You know what I mean,’ I reply. ‘Anyway, you said you’d call me to tell me all about ski resorts, not to be a sarcastic arse. Come on, what am I getting myself into?’
Obviously I’ve looked up photos of the resort – and it does look beautiful – but I need the lowdown on these sorts of places from someone who has been (even if said person has only been a couple of times).
Tom leans back, thinking.
‘I actually think you’ll really like the place,’ he tells me. ‘Ski resorts are like these cute little villages, tucked away in the mountains, with cosy wooden chalets, snow-covered roofs, fairy lights everywhere, hot chocolate, plenty of alcohol – sort of like a Christmas card.’
‘I mean, plenty of alcohol just sounds like Christmas,’ I joke. ‘Tell me about skiing, because seeing as though you’ve been twice – and that’s two more times than I have – you’re technically the family expert.’
‘There are different slopes, ranging from beginner to expert,’ he explains. ‘Green slopes are for people who’ve never seen snow before, blue is for intermediates, red is for advanced skiers, and black is for the people who think they’re invincible.’
‘So I should stick to…?’
‘The lodge,’ Tom says with a laugh. ‘I don’t think skiing is going to be your cup of tea. But besides the slopes, there are the ski lifts and gondolas that take you up the mountain. They can be a bit intimidating if you’re not used to dangling from a cable high above the ground, but that could be how you thrill-seek. Better still, and definitely more your cup of tea, there’s the après-ski scene. It’s basically what everyone does after skiing. Sitting by the fire, live music, people drinking and laughing, and lots of socialising. Some places even have night skiing, where the slopes are lit up and you can ski under the stars. But don’t do that either. Absolutely no skiing at all, promise me?’
‘Why not?’ I ask, genuinely curious.
‘Because,’ Tom says with a smirk, ‘you’re not exactly known for your coordination. You’re the queen of hurting yourself on thin air.’
‘Name three occasions,’ I challenge him, half-smiling.
Tom takes a theatrical deep breath.
‘You closed the fridge on your hand, kicked your own shoe, and fell up the stairs running to the bathroom – and all of these happened last night, at Mum and Dad’s,’ he reminds me.
Yep, he’s got me there.
I laugh, shaking my head.
‘Fine, point taken. Maybe I’ll just stick to the lodge and the hot chocolate,’ I give in.
‘It’s for the best,’ Tom agrees. ‘But seriously, Amber, even without the skiing, it’s going to be great. Just soak in the atmosphere, relax, and maybe take some inspiration for your book.’
‘I’ll try,’ I promise. ‘Speaking of our parents, how are things?’
Tom’s smile fades a bit.
‘How can you leave me to deal with their post-pre-divorce announcement fallout on my own?’ he replies, half-joking, I’m sure.
‘Oh, I would love to be there if I could,’ I joke.
‘I was there for dinner earlier, and it’s not great,’ Tom admits, serious for a moment. ‘They’re sniping at each other, finding fault in everything the other person does. I actually get why they’re divorcing, if this is what it’s like. I couldn’t live like that.’
‘It’s sad, accepting it,’ I reply. ‘You think your parents will be together forever. Do you think they’re serious?’
‘I seriously think they will kill each other if they stay together much longer,’ Tom claps back.
‘I still think something must have happened,’ I muse. ‘They were ticking along just fine before. I’m not giving up hope yet.’
