Epilogue
DANE
Nine years later
This time when we’re snowed in at a cabin, it’s a very happy situation, and no one has died.
“Daddy, there’s so much snow, I don’t think we can leave the chalet!
” Patricia bounces on her toes, still wearing her pink Christmas-themed pyjamas, as she comes into the kitchen.
The Christmas tree is lit with multi-coloured lights behind her, and the presents that were stacked beneath it are now distributed around the lounge and the bedrooms.
“What do you mean?” I feign ignorance, leaving the pancake to cook and turning to my little daughter.
“It’s snowing! There’s so much snow! It snowed all night.”
“Are you sure?”
Her eyes narrow, and for a second, she clearly considers insisting that she’s sure. “Daaaaddyyyy,” she says instead, drawing out the word. “Look!”
Rushing over to me, she grabs me by the sleeve of my woollen top and tugs me over to the enormous window that overlooks the side of the mountain, with views right down into the valley.
She’s only eight, so it would be a huge feat to make me move, but I go willingly.
I’ll go see anything my kids want me to.
Especially Patricia. My eldest is the second person I fell in love with, and although I adore all the kids equally, the memory of how Patricia was conceived is extra special when we’re here in the chalet, on our own, snowed in as we try to be every Christmas.
And there is, indeed, snow falling in soft tiny pillows from the sky. White clouds blur the view and are thick enough to obscure the snow-capped mountains we can see on a sunny day.
“And look at the car. It’s a blob.” She’s jumping with excitement. Like any British kid, she doesn’t see snow that often, and snow’s so deep that our family SUV has turned into a gently sloping mound is far more than she’s used to.
“It is. We won’t be able to leave.” That’s always the aim. A week of just our family.
“Eeeee!” Patricia does a dance for joy. “We won’t have to go back to school, ever!”
I chuckle. If it really came to it, they could do virtual school. But it won’t. And it’s fun for her to believe she might get some extra days off. “You could take a sled and go to the local French school.”
“Oohh. Would it all be in French?”
“Yep.” I muss up my daughter’s hair, because she says she’s too old for cuddles, and she huffs and strokes it back down.
We’re in the Alps for Christmas, in a remote chalet. Well. Not that remote. It’s a ten-minute ski or snowboard down the hill to the village. But it feels very remote, and it’s just the five of us and a whole lot of pre-prepared food for these seven days. Heaven.
“But could I ski to my lessons on my own?” She’s slightly obsessed with being independent. A quality I suppose she learned from her parents, so I can’t blame her.
“I think that would be alright.” I nod as though this is a scenario that could actually happen. “It’s a gentle slope and you’ve done it lots of times. You’d have to take a bag with all your stuff. And you’d need to learn French.”
“I can speak a bit of French already!” Hopping up onto a barstool while I finish cooking the pancakes, she goes on to tell me all the things she can say in French, from asking where the railway station is to ordering orange juice.
“Yes, but do you know how to say ‘Happy Christmas’?” Stephie asks from the doorway.
My breath is taken away for a second by how beautiful my wife is.
Her hair down, our toddler at her hip. She’s grown more dear to me and more lovely as the years have gone past. I’m looking forward to seeing her hair get silver in it like mine has now, as well as our kids growing up and becoming the amazing people they’re meant to be.
I smile at Stephie like the love-struck fool I am, and she smiles back.
“Do you think we’ll still be here next Christmas?” Patricia’s eyes go wide. “Because of the snow.”
Stephie glances down at Patricia. They look quite alike, and it’s adorable seeing them together. Blue eyes. Straight brown hair. Our boy looks much more like me, and our toddler it’s too early to tell.
“Probably.” I toss the now cooked pancake onto the pile. “Might take that long to get the snow off the car, and the road cleared.”
Stephie stifles a laugh.
“Where’s Daniel? He won’t want to miss pancakes.” Our little boy loves pancakes, though maybe not as much as he loves the books about boy-spies.
“Reading.” Patricia rolls her eyes. She isn’t a big reader. Stephie says there’s still time, but I think our girl will like other things.
“Could you fetch him?” Stephie asks. “Go to his room and knock,” she adds quickly, before Patricia can open her mouth to yell in a high-pitched shriek.
Patricia grumbles as she walks off, and Stephie and I share a look.
“We should relax in front of the fire, only the two of us, later this evening. On the fur.” I had them brought from the cottage we spent that special night in, as well as funding renovations to that place and all the others like it.
Seemed the least I could do, since it not only saved our lives but brought me the love of my life, and a family who are everything to me.
Stephie’s cheeks go pink. It’s our code. If she and I are beside a fire, and the kids are busy and safe, I have one thing on my mind—making my wife come so hard she screams.
Thank you for reading!