Chapter 42
Visibility is getting worse and worse, even though it’s the middle of the day. It is not yet one o’clock, but Olivia can hardly make anything out when she looks down toward the valley from the top of ?reskutan.
They are standing next to the square concrete bunker that houses the end station. To the right they can just see the cables that carry the gondola, to the left the Svartberg trail that leads to Hummelberget.
That’s where they will have to turn off if they are heading down to the West Ravine.
“Okay,” William calls out. “Everyone in?”
Pontus looks tense. He glances longingly at the gondola, as if he would like to jump on board and turn back.
Olivia feels slightly sorry for him.
So far the skiing has been superb, in spite of the poor weather, and the snow has been fantastic.
However, they have skied only on slopes where the snow groomers have done their job, and the ground has been prepared.
When they head off-piste, it will be a completely different story.
Thick, untouched powder snow takes its toll, even for accomplished skiers.
It is particularly taxing on the thigh muscles, and none of them have skis specially adapted for that kind of surface.
Plus Olivia can barely see her hand in front of her face.
The fog is thicker up here, presumably the lifts in the peak zone will close if it gets any worse. The world already feels as if it is wrapped in a gray blanket.
She glances at Pontus. He is going to find the descent hard work, because he always ends up last. Every time they arrive at a new lift, William is first and Pontus last. He is the one they all have to wait for.
Olivia is well aware that it is no fun being the worst in a group. It saps your confidence, and you never get the chance to catch your breath, because those who have been waiting for you have a tendency to take off as soon as the slow coach shows up.
In the long term it almost becomes a form of bullying.
She suddenly has an unwelcome flashback from high school, when she joined a new class. The memory of the cool girls who ignored her is still painful.
She stamps on the snow, sending it whirling up around her skis. Why must there always be a pecking order?
Which means someone is always at the bottom of that pecking order.
Come to think of it, Pontus is the one they always tease; it comes so naturally that she has never even considered it before.
But William likes to have his entourage, and presumably that’s why he lets Pontus hang out with them.
William appears even more cool and worldly when boorish, unconfident Pontus is by his side.
And of course it would never occur to Pontus to question William’s authority.
Just like Amir.
He is standing a few yards ahead of Olivia, talking to William, who is adjusting his bindings. There aren’t many other skiers up here.
Amir is not going to object to William’s suggestion that they should take the West Ravine.
Olivia leans toward Pontus, resting on her poles.
“How are you doing? Do you want to carry on, or shall we call it a day?”
At first he doesn’t seem to hear, so she repeats the question, a little louder this time, and adds, “My legs are getting pretty sore. Maybe we should go home instead? Light a fire and make some hot chocolate?”
“I’m fine.” Pontus waves away her suggestion. “I’m happy to carry on, but you can go back if you can’t cope with the pressure.”
Typical. Olivia was trying to be kind, and he simply brushed her aside as usual. Okay, he has only himself to blame. She tried to be sympathetic.
Sometimes she gets so tired of guys and their testosterone.
William waves a pole and calls out to them. “Ready to go?”
Then he simply sets off, without so much as a backward glance.
Olivia has no choice but to follow him, although it infuriates her that William always has to make the decisions, that he never takes the rest of the group into consideration.
He is a fucking egotist.
Amir and Pontus set off too.
William is moving fast, straight down the slope, and Olivia tries to keep up as best she can. She can usually find her way without any difficulty, because she has skied in ?re so often, but it is hard to know where the piste ends in such poor visibility.
The fog distorts all proportions. The slope simply disappears.
She finds herself wishing that at least one of the guys was wearing a brightly colored jacket, like in the eighties. Then she would have had something to focus on. As it is, their black-and-gray ski clothes are swallowed up by the dense fog.
And then she realizes she is completely disorientated.
Where is she?
A second’s inattention was all it took. Before she can slow down, she is suddenly off-piste.
The solid ground beneath her skis is gone, and she almost falls when her right ski loses its grip.
At the last second she manages to swerve with her left ski, lurching backward with her chest in the same direction she came from.
It feels as if her body hovers in the air for an eternity, then she feels solid ground once more, and is able to make a couple of parallel turns to bring her back to safety. The snow is no longer giving way beneath her feet.
That was close.
Her heart is pounding. If she had gone over the edge, she could have been badly injured. Would anyone have found her?
The world is only white and gray, an enormity of mist and fog swirling around in the air.
Olivia looks around for the rest of the group. Her stress levels rise as she slowly slides down the slope.
And there they are; they have stopped a short distance up ahead. Thank God they realized she wasn’t with them.
The guys are waiting for her. But this is no fun anymore.
Olivia wants to go home.