Snowdrops

Anton walked me to the pharmacy; I was comforted by his quiet, competent presence and helpful translation service as I picked up my small packet of no doubt entertaining painkillers from the German-speaking monoglot pharmacist.

"You will be flying tonight," he said with a grin as he read the pharmacological information leaflet. "This would knock out a horse."

"I always get the best drugs," I said. Then I paused. "Can... can I buy you a coffee? To say thank you?"

He glanced at his watch. "Yes, I have time for a coffee. Come. The cafe over there is good and we can sit inside if you wish."

"No. Outside is... outside is better."

"Super, but it is my treat," he said, and would not budge on that point.

.:.

I clutched at my coffee cup, and summoned my courage.

"Can you... tell me anything? I want to know about... what happened to her. I don't really remember much of... that day."

"No. I am sorry, Lucy. I was not there, you see. Also it is not my story to tell."

"Oh."

"But I will ask my father," he added, after a pause. He sighed.

"Oh. Thank you," I added, conscious that I'd overstepped some sort of line that I had not known was there.

He sipped his coffee, then leaned against the backrest of his chair. "It was a freak thing," he continued, after a moment. "It should not have been possible. Nobody who heard could believe it. We... we even went and checked the site with a Physician and a doctor from the hospital in Bolzano. It should not have happened. Father... he has not forgiven himself for not being able to do anything for... for her."

"The doctors told us... it was probably... instant. Her neck... she couldn't... there was nothing..."

I swallowed, and looked away from the unbearable sympathy in his eyes.

"There is a difference between knowing something is hopeless, and experiencing the reality of it when it is actually happening to you," he said. "I am like my mother in this regard. It is why I am good at my job. I can... put the hard emotions into a box and take them out only when I have to. My father... he cannot do this. He is too gentle. Your sister... that rescue... he is not the same. He does not go to that mountain very often any more."

I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowed a mouthful of bitter bile back down. "I'm sorry," I said, when I could.

"Also."

"Thank you for... for being there for me today."

"It was... no. Pleasure would be the wrong word. It was an honour," he continued softly. "A debt of the soul." He watched me for a moment. "Lucy... are you going to be able to get back to your chalet safely?"

"I... think so. I'll manage somehow."

"That is unacceptable. I will walk with you and carry your skis and poles."

"Anton, please. You need to work. And you've wasted enough time on me already today..."

"It will take another half an hour. I will phone the Bergrettungleiter; he will understand that this is important. Come. I will get you safely home."

"Thank you," I whispered, touched.

.:.

I sat, staring at the slowly changing vista outside. My hostess had clucked over me like a mother hen, making me lunch and ensuring that I had extra blankets and a hot water bottle. She'd shooed Anton out of the apartment and down the stairs with good humour once he'd handed me over to her care. I'd leaned awkwardly into the sun bay, watched him walking down the road back into the town. He'd stopped to stare back at the apartment block, shake his head like he had something stuck in it, and then turn to stare up into the mountains where...

I swallowed, turned away from the glass, reached for my phone.

My mum's voice was a comfort as always, but I could almost taste the barely-masked sadness and worry when I told her about my day.

"Lucia, are you ok?" she probed.

"Not even slightly" I answered her, not even trying to deflect for once. "Not even the smallest, most infinitesimal bit. I'm a wreck, Mamma. Coming back here..."

"Was perhaps not the wisest idea," she finished for me.

"It hurts," I whispered. "It still hurts like it was yesterday. I can remember almost nothing of it and it still tears at me like a knife. I knew it would be hard. I just didn't know how hard it would be..."

"It will never stop, Lucia. It will just... change."

"Mamma..."

"Lo so, piccolina mia," and from her lapse into her native Italian and the huskiness of her voice I knew that she too was trying not to cry.

I took a breath, sighed it out, found calm.

"Mamma... I met someone here. A mountain rescue guide, I think. His dad... his dad was with Sue. At the end."

"Herr Larcher," she said, after a long pause. "I remember him only too well. Well. I suppose it makes sense his family would still be there. Lucia... be careful. I know how... fragile you are over this. Be careful where you go digging, cara mia. Sometimes it's best to leave our dead in peace."

"I want to know. I want to know that she was cared for. I need to know that she was cared for, Mamma. It's... I... I need this. I need this if I am ever going to have any chance of letting go..."

I heard the sigh, heard her blow her nose. Her voice was thick, strained, when she spoke again.

"I know. I'm here. I wish I was there, but I'm here and I will be here when you need me."

"I know," I breathed.

"Go rest, Lulubelle. Take those wonder drugs that you got and get some rest. I'll phone you in the morning to check on you. Ti amo, tesoro."

"I love you too, Mamma."

I broke the connection, sniffed, and wiped my nose on my sleeve.

I took a second dose of my painkillers. The drugs were not proving to be anywhere near as effective as I'd hoped they would be - my shoulder stubbornly refused to stop aching. Resting would be impossible and I was desperately lonely. So I struggled back into my boots and my jacket and went for a slow, cautious walk around the town. I paused at the Chiessa di Santa Maria to light a candle and say a quiet prayer for Sue, then sat for a while in the comforting silence and solitude of the church. I found a deli, ate a small salad, and wandered the high street for a bit. As the afternoon became early evening I made my way slowly back up the hill to my apartment.

I made a simple early supper, and poured Sue and I both a glass of wine to go with it. My body ached, and I took another dose of painkillers, earlier than I probably should have, but I was too tired and sad to really give a fuck about following the rules any more.

Third time seemed the charm, because the pain diminished quickly.

I read for a bit.

I paced for a bit more.

And then, bored, tired of being cooped up and feeling significantly better and more upbeat about life, I pulled on my jacket and cap and gloves and went looking for a bar and some Après-ski entertainment to distract me from my sorrows. Maybe I'd find some people my age I could hang out with.

.:.

The bar I ended up in was loud, and dark, and awesome. I was at one with the music, in perfect harmony with all the lovely friendly people around me as they talked and shouted and danced and sang along with me to songs I didn't know the words to. I drank my fluorescent green cocktail - a strange concoction that the bartender had poured for me in sympathy when he saw my sling. And I drank most of the subsequent Bacardi and something yellow he poured for me - I sprinkled the rest as a libation to the armless Barbie doll who was doing something anatomically improbable on the countertop with a legless Ken.

I found a group of friendly girls, danced with them, laughing along with them at me and my terrible rhythm and my ridiculous sling. I mingled and flirted with a group of boys, and scored myself another Bacardi and something else off them. Pleased as punch with my newly discovered superpower, I began insinuating myself into a mixed group in a corner only for a stunning blonde ice queen to grab me, shout something I couldn't understand at my face, and pull me back to the bar.

She pushed me onto a barstool and got up close and personal. I wondered what she had planned for me. I giggled. Maybe I was her type. I tried to pay attention to her words.

"Lucy! Lucy! What are you doing here!" she was shouting.

I squinted at her, wondering how she knew my name, then beamed in delight as her features suddenly clicked into place.

"Giselle!" I bubbled. "It's you! Oh, awesome! I love this place! Everyone is so friendly!" I reached out to hug her, wanting to share my happiness with my new best friend.

"Lucy! Was ist los? What are you doing?" she demanded as she shrugged out of my clumsy one-armed hug. She stared at me, then bent forward, peering into my eyes. "Lucy, mädchen, what the fuck have you taken? Ecstasy?"

"Oh, just some drugs and a lot of rum," I said, laughing at her expression. "Oh you're so serious, Giselle! I know what it is. Perfectly fine over the counter things! It's just painkillers. Um... it's.. here... somewhere..."

I fumbled around, found my prescription slip in my jacket pocket and waved it triumphantly at her; she snatched it from me and held it up to a light.

"Verdamnte Scheisse!" she swore in shock. "No more alcohol for you. Hey! Rudi! What the fuck, asshole!"

She descended into a long incomprehensible tirade directed at me, the barman and the world in general, complete with amusing gesticulation and head shaking, and the man behind the bar held up his hands and shook his head in mute apology. She turned back to me, caught me as I started to slip off the bar stool, and took a breath as if she was about to begin round two.

Then she paused. "Oh, danke Scheisse," she said. She stood up straight and waved.

"Anton!" she shouted. "Anton! Come here, Saftsack! Your idiot friend has mixed alcohol with codeine!"

I heard a loud, exasperated "Fuck!" from behind me, and I started to giggle again. I felt a strong hand on my uninjured shoulder, and gazed woozily up at Anton's utterly divine face.

"Lucy?" he asked. "Lucy, are you Ok? Lucy?"

"Hi," I drawled, unutterably happy to see him. "I'm super."

I began to slide off the stool again.

"She is crazy!" Giselle shouted as she lifted me up and pinned me to the bar with the weight of her body. "What is wrong with her? Why would she do something so stupid! Scheisse!"

"Die Bergengel war ihre Schwester!" he snapped at her. "Sie tut weh, Giselle!"

"Oh fuck," she said, stunned.

People around us who'd been spectating abruptly stopped and turned swiftly away. A bubble of silence seemed to spread around me as Anton got an arm under me and pulled me up from the bar stool. "Ich bringe sie in ihre Wohnung. Bitte rufen Sie Maria an."

"You have such a lovely voice," I managed to articulate. I tucked my face into his neck. "So gentle. So warm. I love your accent..."

"Anton..." I heard Giselle protesting. "Anton... I'm sorry! Es tut mir leid! Please, don't be angry with me! I didn't know who she was!"

"I know. I know. Giselle, I must take her. She will get home like this. She will freeze. She must go and sleep this off. Ich werde es wieder gutmachen. Giselle, ich bitte dich. Phone Maria and let her know I am bringing the girl home."

.:.

"Come. Another step, Lucy. Almost. There."

I could hear the rasp of his breath with each laboured step; the poor man was pretty much carrying me up the perilous icy road and struggling both for footing and to keep me upright.

"You are so nice and strong," I said. "Handsome too."

"It is... lucky that... I am strong... since I am... responsible... for you," he panted.

"I am not a child," I protested. "I'm twenty seven!"

"Tonight you... are... seven only," he muttered through gritted teeth. "What made you drink... like that on top of your... painkillers, Himmel weiß..."

"It was great fun," I said. "I feel better now though. The cold air is helping. Wait. Anton. I think I can stand..."

"Lucy, nein!"

I wriggled free from him, lifted a foot, slipped, fell, and took him down with me.

"Oh," I said, staring up at the stars. "Ow. I guess I can't stand after all." I shook with barely suppressed laughter. "Silly me. I love these drugs. They don't let me have fun stuff like this back home. Whee!"

Anton was laughing too. He disentangled himself from me, stood up, and stretched out his back with a groan. "Mädchen, du bist verrückt," he said, staring down at me with a grin. "Come. Not far to go. There is your chalet."

He reached down and pulled me to my feet. I leaned against him as the world danced around me. "I am sorry." I giggled into his chest. "I feel so stupid. I shouldn't have..."

"Yes. What you did was stupid, but you are not," he agreed. "But you are very lucky Giselle saw you. It is cold tonight and if you had fallen or got lost on the way home..."

"I feel really bad for disrupting her birthday like that. How can I make it up to her?"

"She will get over it. I will go back once you are home and... smooth things over."

"Is she your partner?" I said. "Oh now that would be tragic..."

He laughed loudly. "God, no! She is my cousin. The daughter of my father's sister."

"Oh. I'm glad."

"Glad?"

"Glad she's your cousin," I said as I tried to drape my arm around him and failed. "That means there's no competition." I settled for wrapping my arm around his waist and pulling myself closer. "You are so nice," I breathed. "I like you very much. I think I will keep you forever."

"Lucy, Lucy, it is a mercy for you that you will hopefully remember none of this," he said, with a gentle, somewhat sad smile.

My hostess was waiting at the door, wrapped in a shawl and shivering in the bitter cold. She gave us a disgusted look that quickly changed to genuine concern as Anton hurriedly explained the situation. The two of them manoeuvred me upstairs, and she helped me out of my jacket and boots before she placed me on my bed, She covered me with a blanket while Anton pulled out a chair at my table. "La guarderò" he murmured, and she nodded and pulled the door closed behind her.

I fell asleep to the gentle rise and fall of a muted phone conversation in a language I did not understand.

.:.

I woke with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. I groaned, rolled onto my side and gazed blearily around. I could remember parts of the previous night. Loud music, unaccustomed happiness, smiling people, strong arms carrying me, a voice like smoke...

My shoulder twinged, and I ground my teeth and swore under my breath.

Coffee. I needed some fucking coffee.

And why was I still in my fucking clothes? Hadn't I...

"Oh Jesus," I groaned. "No. Fuck! I must have gone into town..."

I groaned again, rolled off the bed and stumbled out of the bedroom and to the kitchen.

There was a note, a glass of water, and a blister pack of tablets on my kitchen table. I stared at them for a moment, mind spinning frantically, then picked up the note. The handwriting was far neater, far rounder, far more elegant than mine would ever be.

"Lucy-

Good morning, mädchen! You drank alcohol on top of painkillers. That was not a super idea. I have left you some paracetamol tablets. Drink the water when you wake up, then eat something with weight, then take the paracetamol for the headache. Also you should buy a box of chocolates for Giselle, she likes Lindt best - you were the life of her birthday party but you brought no present - this is unacceptable! Her shift starts at noon at the Sasslong cablecar station. Good luck!

-Anton"

I drank the water, and ate something with "weight", and took the paracetamol.

I stripped out of my dirty clothes and then, in a sudden throwback moment of paranoia, I checked both my underwear and my body for any signs that I'd fucked or, worse, been fucked by anyone. Thankfully there were no strange stains, no unexpected tenderness, no dried fluid on my skin, no bruises other than those I'd inflicted on myself. I breathed a shuddering sigh of relief that I'd dodged that bullet at least. My early twenties had... well.

Less said the better, really.

I took a long, hot shower. I brushed my teeth. I brushed my hair and found an old hairband to pull it back with since a ponytail was beyond my powers with only one functioning arm. I chose the nicest pair of jeans I had and struggled into them. I was too sore for my bra, so I went with a tight vest and my polar fleece base layer instead.

And throughout all these small struggles, I wondered what in the actual fuck I had got up to the previous night.

Armed, armoured and feeling somewhat better, I went looking for a box of chocolates.

.:.

"Hallo... is Giselle here, please?"

"Who are you, please?"

"I'm Lucy. Lucy Fitzroy. Ich... I have something I need to give to her."

"One moment." The woman reached for her radio, and muttered something into it that I couldn't follow. She listened to the garbled response. "She is coming," she said.

"Thank you."

She nodded and resumed her chat with a ski instructor, and I lurked awkwardly, feeling like an uninvited and unwelcome guest.

Giselle appeared at last. I watched her take a deep breath before approaching me.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out before she had time to speak. "I am really sorry for what I did. I don't remember any of it. Not really. I drank wine and then took the painkillers and then probably drank much more. It was stupid... I have no excuse. It... it was a really, really hard day for me. And I'm sorry you had to see that. And I'm sorry for spoiling your birthday party..."

She watched me, head tilted slightly. "Are you better now?" she gently asked.

"A bit."

"No dizziness, no nausea? No blurred sight?"

"No. Just a headache and the shoulder, of course. Thank you for asking..."

"Good. That is good. I am glad you are... feeling better."

She rocked from foot to foot, and looked like she wanted to say something more.

I remembered the gift, and fumbled in my bag. I pulled out the large box of Lindt Sauerkirsch. "To make this a proper apology," I said, holding it out to her.

"Oh hell," she muttered, flushing. She gave me a rueful grin. "Anton told you. That man is impossible."

She took the box from me, then sighed. "I am sorry, too," she said. "I am so sorry for being so rude to you last night. I didn't know who you were. I thought you were just an typical idiot English tourist like so many others we get here, not listening to the doctors and causing a scene. I... I can not imagine how... how hard it must be for you to be here. You are so brave."

"It's ok. It's fine," I said, staring hard at my feet.

"No. I know that it is not." She tucked the box under her arm, reached out and pulled me into an awkward one-armed hug. "There is nothing to forgive," she said. She let me go, and smiled. "For you, anyway. That fucker Anton, however. These are my favourites. My clothes will not fit after I have eaten these. I am going to kill him."

"Happy birthday," I said shyly.

"Thank you. I must go. Rest your shoulder, please, Lucy. And no more mixing your medications," she added sternly, waving her finger at me, the effect spoiled by her youthful grin. She paused. "Have you seen Anton yet?" she asked. "He carried you home last night and stayed with you until he was sure you would be okay."

"No," I answered, ashamed of myself. "I didn't realise that he stayed... oh God, how embarrassing. Giselle... I don't know where to find him. I need to thank him for looking after me. Can you help me? Please?"

"He is working today," she answered gently. "He will be done... after lunch. Come back here at two in the afternoon and you will probably find him. I will call him for you and tell him that you are looking for him," she added with a smile.

"Um... thank you."

She grinned. "Bis später, Lucy. Thank you for my perfect birthday present."

I made my way carefully back down into the town, hunting coffee, a book, and some sheltered spot where I could sit and think for a while while I waited for lunchtime to inch closer.