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‘Erm… I’m not sure if I feel like it, to be honest,’ I said, getting palpitations at the idea of going into a packed pub and talking to strangers. Starting again.
‘The orientation is part of the onboarding process,’ Liv said, tossing her poker-straight hair over her shoulder. ‘You can’t mope around here on your first night. Get yourself together and let’s go.’
OK. I could do this. I needed to get back out in the real world and start living again. Show George what he was missing. It was time to act like a sort-of-free and sort-of-single twenty-seven-year-old and oh-my-God-what-the-hell-was-I-doing-here?
Liv opened the window and grabbed a small bottle of vodka from her snow-fridge, pouring a couple of shots into two egg cups that were sitting on the dressing table.
‘Santé,’ she said, passing one to me and downing the other. She cracked open a can of Red Bull, took a swig and offered it to me. ‘We’ll just go for a couple to familiarise you with the area. See it as a health and safety briefing.’
I sprayed my hair with dry shampoo and popped a roller in my fringe to give it a bit of lift. I had no idea what to wear so decided to go Christmassy, with a sparkly jumper, pleather leggings and my spiky boots. BB cream, CC cream, bronzer, eyeliner and three coats of mascara. Then a quick spritz of J-Lo Glow and I was good to go.
There was a knock on the door and Xavier popped his head in and smiled.
‘Are you girls ready?’ He looked like a boyband extra in his hoodie, jeans and biker boots. His eyelashes fluttered as he looked from Liv to me. Why do boys get all the good eyelashes?
‘Are you ready to defy the ski resort odds and take two of us out on the town?’ I asked. ‘Verbier won’t know what’s going on. Two women, one man. What prowess he must possess, what charm he must exude, the money and influence this man must have…’
‘Everything you’ve heard is true,’ Xavier said, as the three of us set off for the main square. The wine bars and restaurants were overflowing with people enjoying dinner and the street was full of skiers and snowboarders, singing and dancing to ‘Sweet Caroline,’ dressed head-to-toe in their ski gear, despite it being 8 p.m.
‘What is going on?’ I asked, slightly bewildered.
‘Après ski,’ Xavier said with a smile, ‘it starts around 3 p.m. and goes on all night.’
The party was in full swing and Liv was right about the ratios; I’d never seen so many men in one place. I was in an alternate social reality where women were in extremely short supply. In a sea of men, I could see maybe ten girls, dotted around. What a time to be alive. And single. I took a video and posted it to my Stories.
#PartyTime #ApresSki.
I would rather have been in bed after travelling all day, but I knew George would be watching and I wanted him to think I was having a good time.
The three of us snaked our way through the first pub to get to the bar, where it was very packed, very hot and very noisy. Xavier grabbed my hand to make sure I wasn’t swept away in the crowd, and I was glad to cling onto him. I’d never find my way back to the chalet if I lost them. Liv gave us the universal sign for ‘drink’ and we both nodded. There wasn’t really room to be specific, so we’d get what we were given. The barman saw Liv and his eyes lit up. She was served within seconds and each of us had two bottles of Desperado and a Jägerbomb to contend with. I took a photo of the table of drinks and posted it to my Stories – hope you are watching, George, I think you’ll find I can party just as hard as you can. I cheers-ed Liv and Xavier and necked my Jägerbomb, hoping the quicker I drank it, the quicker it would be out of my system. I felt the syrupy liquid burn my throat as it went down the wrong way and I started to choke. Liv slapped me on the back in alarm, and I pointed to the balcony with tears in my eyes, making my way outside to cough in private. Après ski was quite something. The dancing was so enthusiastic, it was verging on violent. I took a couple of minutes to breathe in the fresh mountain air and absorb this exuberantly happy place. I was already missing home and the call from George hadn’t helped, but Liv and Xavier had been so friendly and welcoming. I had a feeling I was going to really like it here.
‘So, what’s your story, Holly?’ Xavier shouted, as I walked back in to the opening bars of AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’.
‘No story, just trying something different for a while,’ I said. I didn’t want to tell them my fiancé had dumped me at the altar and I was running away from real life. This was a chance to reinvent myself and be the Holly that George wanted me to be.
‘It just came to you in a dream, did it? Out of the blue?’ Liv said archly, not believing a word. ‘What about the long-term thing you were talking about in the car?’
‘Well yeah, I’m kind of mid-breakup or post-breakup; I’m not completely sure, to be honest. All I know is that I’m off the market for the time being. I’m kind of single and not-single and broken-hearted all in one. How about you two?’
‘I’m trying out coupledom at the moment, and have been for a while,’ Liv said. ‘My current squeeze is over there.’ She pointed a sharp, red nail at the DJ, who was wearing a fluorescent pink jacket and glittery Minnie Mouse ears, a look of absolute concentration on her face.
‘Cool, what’s her name?’ I shouted over the music.
‘Bella,’ Liv shouted back, jumping up and down as the chorus sang out.
‘And you?’ I turned to Xavier, his wedding ring glinting in the disco lights.
‘Bit of a giveaway,’ he said holding up his hand. ‘I’m married. Two years in February. My wife Christina is from London, but she lives in Paris.’
‘Is that where you’re from?’ I asked, confused.
‘Yes, and it’s where she works.’
‘Does she ski? Will she come out and stay at the chalet?’
‘I doubt it. She runs a restaurant, so it’s difficult,’ he said, dismissing me and swigging his beer.
I nodded. No point pressing him when we couldn’t hear ourselves think. Plenty of time for us all to get to know each other. Maybe they did things differently in France – cross-country, long-distance marriages to keep things exciting. Either way, we were in opposite camps but similar situations. He was in wedding-ring-ville with his wife in another country, and I was wedding-ring-free with my ex-husband-to-be back home.
