Snow Blind (31 page)

This was his last ordeal of his shambolic fatal trip? I hit the start button.

“Number one. Have a passion boys… mine was music. I could play but listened better… Music locates you…”
wind catches the speaker and blurs his speech for a couple of seconds. Silence reigns, I imagine he must be readjusting himself on the ledge. This is a slow death. Minutes of breathing, rustling and wind whistling elapse before Dan says “
Number two.”
On the last voice message he eventually says “
Number 3
…” It is excruciating to hear. He starts as usual with good intentions, to pass something of himself onto his boys just in case. He ends by underlining his inability to heed his own advice. Only those with willpower survive; Dan has killed himself.

I realise now that if I hadn't made my odd journey as a stagette, that Dan would have died without knowing about his first-born son.

My sobs flowed easily without consciousness. I looked up at Johnny and the green-eyed stewardess standing in the aisle. They watch over me but don't intervene. Grief at last, I am relieved to see it come. Near death he saw his failings; he needed to act on them years ago.

C
HAPTER
49

Juliet 18.30

“H
OW CAN
I
LOVE MY BOY MORE?”

My luggage spins across the interlocking rubber mats. It jostles for position like its owner at the edge of the conveyor belt. This petty behaviour is man at his worse, no, mankind at their worst. The reclamation of personal space and belongings is the last tired act of our journeys. Everyone dreads the ignominy of lost baggage and the hoop jumping needed to recover anything. Instead they all desperately hope they can sail their trolley past everyone else having reclaimed their full set.

Steve picks up an over-sized light brown leather weekend bag. He looks like he is shouldering blame for the death of his work partner. Johnny's politeness has let his rucksack go around once already. Each person at the belt edge won't relinquish a hard-fought front row position; they lean to one side but don't move their feet. He almost falls onto the conveyor belt in an attempt to grab it without having to disturb anyone. Chris is different. With no deference to this game he parts the crowd easily enough through naked insistence and the size of his frame. Three sets of people either side of him get rearranged at the conveyor belt. He is there to stay, but discomfort of being on home soil without his little brother is taking hold. He unrepentantly takes possession of a 1970's style Head shoulder bag and throws it around his neck. I have lost track of the others but have made everyone promise to walk out to our families together, in case there is any need of support or explanation.

My leg muscles ache rewardingly from skiing. If I close my eyes my body still feels in motion; the muscles seem to anticipate a drop to the left here or a stop there. I need to get to the bathroom to clear airplane germs and debris. I have to admit that all my other muscles are tautened by the unfathomable grief that waits in England. Get me home to my life before I even contemplate Dan's funeral.

Robert and Max are aptly stood directly opposite me, near to the customs exit on the other side of the carousel. They lean pensively together on respective aluminium and Burberry suitcases. The alpha male allies have stopped competing. Maybe they don't want the job now they realise that in a week or two neither of them will have one. They have collected Steve and Johnny. We stare at each other without expected enmity. There is a bond of a shared life and grief. I have seen their hearts but it hasn't been pretty. The arrival of my non-descript blue suitcase suggests I am without taste but it is more that I lack time to get a new one. I am true to type in this respect; I have the heaviest baggage by far. I can now join the others.

“Let's go troops; I have called ahead for a cab on account for me and Steve,” says Max. His mention of a business taxi account re-establishes a status he is about to lose.

“Let's wait for Chris at least,” I say.

“What did you pack in there, a body?” Even Robert winces at his joke and looks to the ground.

“Funny, I am sure I saw Chris pick up his bag first.” And so he had but I had forgotten we had luggage without a passenger. My immediate question would have been to Dan; how much use is a guitar case as a weekend bag? My second question was why Chris chose to carry Dan's case so clumsily under the same shoulder he has his bag on. We all stare at the guitar case: a leather embodiment of our lost friend. I daydream that Dan is tucked under the other arm, his black hair tousled by his mountainous brother. Everyone remembers the ridicule Dan got when this was produced in Chamonix an age ago on Wednesday.

“Dan skied like he was carrying the shopping home. Maybe he learnt carrying that thing.” Robert says as Chris approaches, prompting the rarity of a gentle laugh from all of us.

“Is there a guitar in there as well as his dirty undies?” Steve asks Chris.

“No, just clothes and stuff; the fruit loop thought this was cool,” Chris retorts.

“Perhaps all his bumbling was an act. It was a sure-fire cover for a Mafia hit man,” Robert proposed.

“He was definitely a failed hit man with his music career,” Johnny chips in awkwardly. We can all laugh a little without Dan. There hasn't been enough of this generosity of spirit in the past few days.

We realise we have been putting it off. We all know what happened and can make some sense of it. It all seemed pre-destined now. It is momentarily better to live with the protagonists who experienced it rather than the relatives who don't. We exit through nothing to declare, although everyone has, but won't.

A shriek breaks the camaraderie as we turn out into the space in front of the metal barrier. I turn to see the semi-famous face alongside me that caused the reaction. Another twenty-year-old manicured X-factor product that Dan would have detested.

“Juliet, you murderer!” Shock is less shocking when you are already in a state of shock. I am still reverberating from our loss and recalculating my life because of it. The faint smile from our jousting black humour a minute ago still inhabits my face.

“Luca, I'm here.” Excited tones of love to be rekindled cut through the unfounded accusation. Life and death mingle together. I was mistaken, it wasn't the scream of delight for a nobody I heard; it was a scream for the lost life of a somebody. I cannot see Sophia; why is she here? Why put yourself through this non-arrival?

“You promised me he would be safe.” The first thing I really notice is her fingers, turned white from her unconscious grasp of the handrail. Bepe peeps his features through two bars. Sophia's father is grasping her shoulders; both in comfort and necessary physical support. Again she squeals as I face her across the barrier; I feel these men behind me.

“Bo Diddy!” Bepe announces happily. “Bo.” I see a lifetime of overprotection for you. These people will spoil your perspective; they will expect too much of you. The metal bars already squeeze into signs of an indulged tummy.

Luca has led his lover away; scowling at us for spoiling his moment. No one dares walk around the barrier while Sophia is like this. Families hastily disperse but loiter waiting for a second act.

“I nearly rescued him you know…” my voice crackles and I try to push grimaced tears back into their ducts. Uttering abuse in Italian comes more naturally to Sophia. None of it makes sense to me so it is almost a relief.

“Aaagh, my Daniel. Aaagh, aaagh, aagh.” She starts to fall backward into her father's arms; I can't tell if it's fake. She is full-blown hysterical now, like a born again accepting God's way. I can't find sympathy for her while she is in this place. Bepe looks frightened for his mum now. This is excruciating until…

“Shut up.' Chris stands forward with the guitar case pointed at Sophia and gives no leeway to his never to be sister-in-law. He holds on to the case, assuming longevity of familial association.

“Bo Diddy.” Bepe seems to recognise the case and starts to lean through the railings.

“It's all of us. These dickheads did for him not her. She saved them all except our Dan.” Chris roughly grasps her on the right upper arm and pulls her back onto her two feet.

“It's over woman…” Chris walks away to his family without looking back. I am sure he is relieved that he has a free weekend next week. The two youngest have been climbing onto a currency booth and jump chimp-like onto his shoulders without causing him to change stride. He offers no further comment and marches away. Screams subside to violent sobbing across the barrier. The crowds are dispersing. People have found people and transportation.

Over Sophia's slumped shoulders I see the love of my life. Bodies walk across my view of him. He has the height of his father and his Goth haircut sways above the crowd. He never took on their style or attitude, just the haircut.

“Jesus, who is that?” Robert spots him first causing even Sophia to look around. She chokes on another potential wail.

Ethan walks like a man proud of his body. His dungarees remind him of the two-week trip he had last summer with Scott, who follows him unassumingly. They were following some band called The Grateful Dead across America. It will probably be the last time he wants to travel with either of us on holiday. They will not have washed anything while I have been away, so it's easier to put on a T-shirt and some clean underwear and throw these on top. I am sure they will smell. Ethan is smiling now.

The stags are aghast. They spent so much energy thinking about Dan that they believe they have resurrected his younger ghost. We all have images of Dan looking exactly like this at Ethan's age; except the haircut. An apparition in denim. Johnny and Steve are unwittingly walking towards a young man they have never met. Max is grey with fear. I walk past Sophia who is crying again but this time towards Ethan. Bepe is unleashed; Sophia has obviously been containing him using the barrier. He runs across the terminal looking backwards waiting for the chase.

“Bepe, Bepe…!” I shout.

Ethan can hear my distress so spreads his arms and captures him. He tumbles him upside down in one movement causing Bepe's rigid fringe to flop back and forth, releasing wild giggles with the stranger. I say stranger, but not by nature.

“Hi Mum. Hi everyone. Who is this little one?” Meeting your brother for the first time can seldom have been so uncontrived. He hands him over to Sophia's waiting arms.

“Bet the skiing was top,” Ethan states confidently to one and all.

I allow no more questions and silence him with the most embarrassing public mother hug I can manage. I kiss him on the lowered forehead catching strands of jet-black hair in my mouth.

“Well it's good to see you too.”

“Obviously this is a good time to ask if I can have some money to go travelling again in the summer.” He has no embarrassment either in public or private.

“Thanks Jules, you stag. I have to go. Got to get back to London somehow.” Robert knows I have a chauffeur going south but I don't owe him any courtesy.

“Hope things work out again for you.” I don't know if I really do.

“Your dad was a lanky… Err a good lad you know.” Robert lamely switches tack mid sentence. Such is their physical resemblance, he had started to insult a dead man, not this boy he doesn't know. Ethan is confused and unimpressed; maybe he thinks this man is his dad? Robert skulks off leaving a disaster in his wake.

“You saved us!” Max exclaims.

“Saved them from a wicked hangover by not letting them drink, hey Mum. I knew you would be a nightmare on a stag do. Remind me not to invite you to mine. It's a bloody daft idea.” Ethan at least thought he could understand Max's motives.

Scott reaches me and kisses me, causing me to turn too sharply around the barrier and drop the carry handle of my wheeled suitcase. I then softly embrace the broken Sophia. Her resentment is dissipated; she is now happy to hold the woman who last held her man. She briefly crumples into me and I am relieved.

“I am so sorry Sophia. I tried and tried but they just wouldn't stop. He was really happy with what he had achieved but they kept pushing him. He slipped from me in the rescue helicopter.” This was almost an accident waiting to happen for her. Although she knew the characters she can't have realistically foreseen the outcome.

I look to her father for help. “Here is his passport and here is the number to call to enquire about his release. They said maybe Tuesday.” I really hope it isn't. How shocking it will be to be attending your groom's funeral on the day before your proposed wedding. Perversely, it might be convenient for those travelling so they can still use their hotel bookings.

“I would like to meet Ethan…” says Sophia. Even through her grief she has deduced the purpose of my trip and seen through my lies of four days ago.

“Of course, the boys need to meet of course…” She knows now. Seeing Dan in him has imperceptibly moved life on.

Ethan, Scott and I don't look back. I hold Ethan's hand, squeezing it with the pride of a mother.

“Was it a good trip then?” I can't answer. “So then Mum, which one was my dad?” I know he is curious but it seems no more than that. I hope the loss of Dan a second time will not unduly harm him.

“So, which one was my dad?” he repeats.

“It's a long story darling. You missed him, but I know he missed you. He has given me something for you but I… it's a long story.” We walk into the spring evening. The day's temperature has been knocked off balmy by a cool wind. We go over the zebra crossing to the multi-storey car park.

“Your dad gave me this for you. It's virtually new. He said it's got some stuff on it already that he left on for you. Treat it as a very early seventeenth birthday present. You always said you wanted an iPhone.” A flush comes over me. Can a man explain a lifetime in a voice recording? Can his son gain anything from a distance?