Chapter 10
TEN
INTO THE WILD
Day One
So, I’ve decided to keep a journal. As I’m finally getting that Into the Wild adventure I was hoping for, I thought I should write it all down. That way, when I’m eaten by wolves, Sean Penn can make the movie.
First (because writing anything original is hard) some facts and figures:
Inches of snow: 5.
Food remaining: Masses.
Electricity: Yes!
Bottles of wine remaining: 7.
Actually, I’m not so sure about the facts and figures. They’re a bit Bridget Jonesey.
But I don’t know what else to write about. It seemed like keeping a journal would be a Good Thing To Do but other than the fact that things are pretty grim, there’s not much to tell. Sorry, diary.
Day Two
Inches of Snow: 12!
Food remaining: Loads.
Electricity: Yes!
Bottles of wine remaining: 5.
So, kerazeee amounts of the white stuff. And it’s still snowing.
Last night I demolished a delicious bottle of Beaujolais from the bakery and watched Netflix all evening.
Which initially helped (the wine, that is).
It made the Guy Ritchie film I chose seem almost like fun.
But after the fourth glass, the wine no longer helped because not only did I lose track of the plot, I fell asleep.
Missing the end of the film wasn’t that much of a big deal but what was sad is that I missed the cat.
I’d put food out for him/her/it and turned everything in the room around so that I could watch Netflix and the bowl simultaneously.
But the cat, being a cat, waited until I fell asleep and then swept in to gobble up the food.
When I woke up it was past midnight and the dish was empty. Better luck today, hopefully.
Other than that, there’s absolutely nothing happening.
Oh, I nearly called Harry last night. I wonder, does that count as news?
I was eating my pasta and watching Sky News when I was suddenly overcome with a burst of love for him.
It was so weird because it’s been ages since I’ve felt like that.
I suppose it’s bound to happen, though. Twenty-five years, the father of my babies, feeling lonely, dying slowly in the middle of an Alpine snow drift, etc.
Things are going to get emotional, I suppose.
But I do miss him. I will tell you and you alone this, Dear Journal. And sometimes it does strike me as utter madness that this is where we have got to.
Day Three
Inches of snow: ‘I’m getting a bit scared’ levels of snow. Maybe 2 feet?
Food remaining: Lots.
Electricity: Yes (A miracle!).
Bottles of wine remaining: 3.
Cat sightings: 2.
Primary emotion: Cabin fever.
I think I might be going a bit doolally. And I don’t think I’ll get eaten by wolves after all. I suspect they’ll find me and say, ‘Ooh, look, she gnawed her own arm off through sheer boredom.’
I’ve watched every decent thing I can find on Netflix and am reduced to dubbed Spanish drama.
And dubbing really does ruin everything, doesn’t it?
On my TV at home I know how to switch it to Spanish with subtitles, which even though it’s kind of tiring due to all the reading, I prefer.
But I can’t find any way to do that on my laptop. Maybe I’ll ask Todd. He’d know.
Other than Spanish Netflix, I’ve read three novels in four days, but I think I’ve already forgotten novels one and two. I’m reduced to pacing around the cabin like a lion in a cage (which makes me think about how that must feel when it’s for life. Poor lions! I hate zoos).
Anyway, I can’t stand it anymore. I’m heading out. Wish me luck!
Well, I didn’t get far, Dear Journal. The snow was above the tops of my boots and it sneaked in, crumbled down, and froze my shins. By the time I reached the main road, I’d had enough, so I turned back and promptly fell on my arse.
When I got home, Mittens (I’ve decided to call it Mittens, a great gender-neutral name if ever there was one) was there, peeping in through my window. I could almost hear it thinking, Where’s my food, human?
Of course it ran off the second it saw me (actually, more bounced off because of the snow), but I stomped some of the snow flat and put more food out so hopefully Mittens will be back.
Right now I’m drying my feet in front of the fire, which is bringing back a whole stock of memories of the kids when they were little.
The first time Todd saw snow he was five.
I remember asking him what he thought of it while we were thawing his feet by the fire, and he said, ‘It’s wery wery cold but wery wery lubbly, Mummy.
’ My God, they were cute. What happened?
OMG, Mittens is back! I wonder if he will ever deign to come inside?
Day Four
Inches of snow: Compacted down to about 18.
Food remaining: Plenty.
Electricity: Intermittent.
Bottles of wine remaining: 1.
Cat sightings: 3.
Despite falling over, I’ve been for another walk. I feel so claustrophobic stuck in this tiny place, it didn’t even seem like a choice.
I tried to do some sort of yoga-ish exercises first in the hope that would help, but the truth is I couldn’t even remember how they go. My last yoga lesson was at least ten years ago, and I only went about three times then.
So, my walk: the snow’s really deep, but has also melted a bit and then refrozen overnight which has given it a strange crispy topping.
It’s like walking through a massive crème br?lée.
The result is that you have to do a ridiculous John Cleese goose step and then try to smash your heel back down through the crunchy topping.
It must look very, very peculiar. Thank God no one was there to see me.
Again, I didn’t get far, but even my short ten-minute military march felt better than staying indoors. I do wonder whether it’s possible to actually die from being stuck in a tiny space. Again, a sad thought for all the animals in zoos.
Once I got back I put more food out for Mittens, and then left the door ajar and after only about twenty minutes, he (it’s definitely a ‘he’) appeared.
He stuck his head through the door and gave me a long hard stare before gobbling down his food.
Definitely making progress there. I think we’ll be friends soon.
And now, Dear Journal, we need to talk about something serious. Because I’ve realised that I’ve been lying to you. Lying to my own journal. How silly is that?
So the truth is that on Day One I didn’t have seven bottles of wine remaining, I had seven and three quarters.
And today I don’t really have one full bottle left, but merely a half.
Which means that I truly have been drinking more than two bottles a day.
That’s probably too much, isn’t it? And it obviously leaves me feeling a bit icky about that weird conversation with Manon.
In my defence, I was wildly bored last night because not only did the electricity go off, taking the internet with it, but my Kindle ran out of juice again, and with no electricity I couldn’t recharge it.
With nothing left to do but drink, smoke and watch the flames, I authorised myself that extra half bottle which pushed me over the edge into a positively tipsy state I would have to admit I rather enjoyed.
I’m going to have to be good tonight, though, as I only have half a bottle left. Only half a bar of chocolate, too. Things are getting desperate. Dear Sean Penn, if you’re reading this then send a search team! And please include a St Bernard (with whisky).
Day Five
Inches of snow ice: 6.
Food remaining: Random leftovers.
Electricity: Mostly off.
Bottles of wine remaining: ZERO!
Cat sightings: 0.
What a thoroughly miserable day. It’s stopped snowing but it’s grey, grey, grey. In fact, it’s like nighttime, which, as the electricity is now off, makes indoors as miserable as outside. There’s also a hateful, icy wind out there.
Still, look on the bright side. The forecast for tomorrow is sunshine. Just imagine if I’d chosen Norway! It would have been night-time nearly all the time. I hadn’t even thought about that…
So yeah, the electricity is mostly off now.
It came on for an hour, just long enough to charge my phone and laptop and then went off again.
Lucky I don’t have a freezer, I suppose.
I sent a message to the owner using one of my precious Tesco mobile megabytes, and she replied that everybody’s electricity is off.
Apparently the snow has pulled down the wires or something.
She didn’t offer any solutions to my problems, though.
I think the fact that I’m in the same boat as everyone else made her feel she doesn’t need to bother.
I’m praying that tomorrow’s sunshine is strong enough to reach through the snow to my solar panels!
But the truth is that I don’t care as much as I should.
I think I’m coming down with the flu and I’m also feeling quite depressed.
I’m eating weird combinations of food (instant noodles with cheese this lunchtime, for example) and mainly just dozing in front of the fire.
I hate it here. I hate my life. And I’m pretty sure I hate me.
Update: Still no sighting of Mittens today.
I wonder where he is, poor thing. And I’m definitely coming down with the flu.
I’m shaky, and I feel sick. The only tiny bit of good news on this horrid day is that I found an inch of gin which I’m swigging right now with orange juice. It definitely seems to be helping.
Day Six
Inches of ice: 4.
Food remaining: Not much.
Electricity: Gone.
Alcohol: None.
Cat sightings: 0.
The sun has returned, but I don’t care because I’m dying. I barely slept at all last night and when I eventually did it was for an hour or something and then I woke up soaked in sweat with a splitting headache.
I ventured outside briefly to empty the ashes from the wood stove (it left a horrible stain in the pristine snow) and it’s like an ice rink. It’s absolutely bloody lethal and there’s no way whatsoever I could make it to the main road, let alone the bakery.
Luckily I still have rice, two eggs and a tin of mushrooms, so I’m going to attempt egg-fried rice.
I’m so over this all now. I’ve been thinking I need to phone Harry, because I really, really want to go home as soon as I can get out of this damned place.
Day Seven
Inches of Ice: 1.
Food remaining: Scraps.
Electricity: Yes, it’s back!
Alcohol: Zero.
Cat sightings: 5!
God, I’m so ill. I woke up feeling sick and sweaty again, and very, very anxious. My heart was racing so fast that for a while I worried I was having a heart attack.
I wish I’d kept a bit of that gin back for emergencies because it was the only thing that made me feel better. Today I’m dosing on paracetamol, but it’s not doing anything at all.
I wasn’t going to write this down – because it somehow makes it even more real to do so – but whatever: I saw my mother this morning.
I woke up and she was sitting on the end of the bed.
Not transparent or ghostly or anything – totally solid and there.
I could even feel her weight through the covers.
She wasn’t doing anything, just sitting there quietly in that placid way she had with her hands crossed on her lap.
I think I cried out, then felt surprised that it wasn’t enough to wake me up. I mean, I was obviously dreaming but it didn’t feel like a dream after that.
Mum smiled at me and said, ‘Calm down, silly. I’m just checking in on you, but you’ll be fine.’ And then she added, ‘Then again, I’m dead, so what do I know?’ Typical Mum humour there.
I got the shakes then, and kept closing my eyes, sort of blinking really hard, but every time I opened them, she was still there.
I went through a whole range of emotions in less than a minute.
At first I was shocked, and then I was scared, and then kind of happy for a bit – I came over all emotional, and had a cry.
And then I got scared because I decided that I really was going mad and hid my head under the quilt instead.
Eventually I must have fallen asleep (or more likely, I was asleep the whole time) and when I woke up, she was gone.
And now I feel sad and a bit angry with myself for not making the most of the moment.
There are so many things I should have asked her.
Now, every time I look around the room I’m excited but terrified in case she’s back.
The snow has almost melted, so I’m going to be brave and try to walk to the bakery. I need bread and cheese and butter, at least. And I could really do with a drink.
But, honestly, I feel so ill. I think I must have got Covid all over again. Not sure if I’m going to make it.
Update: I suddenly remembered Erik’s kind offer so I phoned him. He answered, but he’s in Stockholm for Christmas. Damn! He said to ask Madame Blanchard for help, so I’ve sent her a message but for once she’s not answering. Perhaps her internet is down. Hell, I tell you, is right here, right now.
I made it halfway to the bakery but it was so slippery, and I was so wobbly on my feet, that I was about to give up and come home when Manon pulled up in her yellow post van.
She told me that the bakery isn’t opening until tomorrow and then drove me back home.
She didn’t mention our previous discussion, and I was feeling so rough I didn’t broach the subject either.
She kindly offered to get me some shopping if I need it but I can manage fine until tomorrow.
I’ve lost my appetite anyway. The only exception is that I would really, really like a bottle of something, but of course that’s the one thing I can’t ask her to bring.
I’ve been thinking about the drink thing, and I suppose the truth of the matter is that I don’t only want a drink because I’m bored. It goes deeper than that. There’s some surgical alcohol in the bathroom cabinet and I even found myself considering that.
OK, look, cards on the table time. I didn’t just consider it, I actually tasted it. I thought it might taste like vodka, but it was disgusting – even with tonic. But that can’t be normal, can it? Tasting random bathroom products in the hope they taste like vodka?
On the good news side of things, the electricity has returned and Mittens has been back five times today.
Five times! On his last visit I managed to get him to eat indoors on the doormat.
His fur is all matted and dirty and I’m gagging to get a brush to him.
It’s probably a bit pathetic, but when he’s here I don’t feel quite so alone.