WINTER WONDERLAND (14 page)

‘In a heartbeat. They put a lot of training into him. He’s one of their strongest aerialists.’

‘As in those contortionist people who dangle by their wrist or crook of their knee, no safety net?’

He nods. ‘Of course he does it all.’

‘I can imagine. With attitude.’

‘Oh, he’s a different person in Montreal. It’s too small-town for him here. Makes him grouchy.’

I smile. ‘You’re English is really good.’

‘It was my mother’s first language.’

‘Ohhh,’ I nod, then crouch down beside Sherri who has decided to press her forehead into my leg. ‘What lovely dogs you are!’ Then I look back at Jacques. ‘You know I was thinking about going there, to Montreal, maybe write up a day trip or overnight for the website. Perhaps I could hire Sebastien as my guide?’

‘He’d be the best you could get but he won’t go.’

‘Not even for a day?’

‘It would take something more … ’ He stops suddenly as an idea presents itself. ‘Maybe something to do with our father … ’

‘He lives there?’

Jacques nods and then points behind me. ‘Here he comes.’

Gilles gives us an enthusiastic if slightly exhausted wave. If I’d known he was going to be that quick I wouldn’t have spent the whole time talking about Sebastien. I hope I haven’t give the wrong impression …

‘You want to get ahead again?’

‘No need,’ he pants. ‘I got it, look at these … ’

He holds his camera up for us to see the shots.

‘You look so happy!’ Jacques laughs at me.

‘Well, you know, I was vertical so that was an excellent start.’

He looks as though he wants to ruffle my hair, if it wasn’t ensconced in a chunky wool knit.

I’d quite like to ruffle his hair too, truth be told.

‘So I was thinking I could take some shots from Krista’s perspective, of her team?’

‘Of course.’ Jacques helps Gilles into the sled.

‘And maybe I’ll take a couple looking back up at you, Krista?’

‘Because I’m sure that’s an incredibly flattering angle.’

‘Have a little faith!’

‘Okay,’ Jacques unties the rope and hands it to my passenger. ‘You hold this and Krista, same thing, give me a head start and then follow.’

‘Will do.’

‘Have you ever done this before?’ I ask Gilles.

‘Never. Woah!’ he gasps at our jolting launch. ‘It’s a little bumpier than I thought.’

‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘Do you want some video?’ He offers. ‘Might be fun for the website?’

‘Actually, that would be great,’ I agree, imagining a little inset box with constantly running huskies.

For a few minutes we fall silent, focussing on the rhythmic panting of the dogs, the crunch of snow and creak of sled, then Gilles exclaims:

‘Oh
merde!
’

‘Literally!’ I smirk, as Didier takes a little ‘bathroom break’. ‘Well, don’t film him poohing for goodness sake!’

‘You wanted reportage!’

I groan out loud, then get a little giggly. And then I take a deep breath, inhaling the blue of the sky and the freshness of the snow and I think how glad I am that I didn’t stay in bed. Laurie was right! It’s amazing how quickly your whole day can turn around…

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

When we get back to base, Jacques is already welcoming his first group of the day – a dozen or more enthusiasts – so it’s all hands on deck.

‘Is there any way you can wait an hour to see the puppies?’ he calls over to us.

I look at Gilles.

‘I’m fine. Happy to do more pictures.’

I’m sure Annique is in no rush. And me? Of course I’m delighted for any excuse to linger longer.

As I pretend to be pointing out adorable furry faces to Gilles, I edge closer to Jacques so I can eavesdrop on the Q&A he’s having with his group, all eager to hear about the perils of competing in the Iditarod, which I learn now is nearly a thousand miles long!

‘Certainly it can be dangerous,’ Jacques acknowledges. ‘Between the stop points no one knows what is going on with the musher and his team out in the wilds; it’s not like most sporting activities where you get a play-by-play commentary.’

‘Have you ever got lost or had an accident, miles from anywhere?’

‘I have had plenty of scrapes but nothing too serious. I think the most dramatic incident was a few years back at the Yukon Quest. The Eagle Summit is the highest and harshest hill and that year, I think it was 2006, the weather was particularly atrocious – the gales were so strong they had blown away the snow exposing the ice and rock, and you can’t brake on that. The trail markers were gone – also blown away. The visibility was so poor you couldn’t see your own team.’ He shakes his head. ‘One musher became separated from his dogs – he tried to follow them but their barking was drowned out by the wind.’

‘Oh no!’ One larger woman looks stricken. ‘Did they have any chance of survival?’

‘Well, the cold would not have been a problem but the fact that they were still attached to the lines and the sled, that could have proved fatal. But it didn’t happen,’ he quickly adds. ‘So many teams had gone missing and the local trappers on snowmobiles had no luck finding them, so the state troopers called in the military – they sent a Black Hawk helicopter up to the summit and in two hours airlifted six mushers and eighty-eight dogs to safety.’

‘Wow!’ the entire group is mesmerised, breaking into spontaneous applause.

I’m so relieved – the thought of those poor dogs running and running unattended…

‘Of course none of the rescued teams could complete the race because if you accept outside help of any kind you are immediately disqualified.’

‘Gosh. That’s harsh.’

‘That’s the race,’ he shrugs.

‘What happens if a dog sustains an injury on the way?’ a short chap wants to know.

‘You stop, release him from the pack, rest him in the sled bag and drive on with one less dog.’

‘Is it true you can use packs of up to sixteen dogs?’

‘It is. That’s quite a handful though. I like twelve.’

‘Are there many women mushers?’ a younger girl asks.

‘An increasing number,’ he replies. ‘There was an eighteen-year-old rookie at the last Yukon Quest.’

‘Any resistance to their presence?’

‘With some of the old-school mushers, of course, like with any field that is still evolving.’

‘What do you think? You personally?’

‘I think it’s great. I have a friend competing at the Carnival race this year – Rosalie Morin-Dore. She and her sister have a very gentle, gradual training approach from puppyhood. We tease them because they talk to their dogs.’

‘Does it make them run faster?’

‘It may be that or it may be the mix – they prefer husky with some greyhound and pointer. And it’s working.’

‘So women can be just as good mushers as men?’

‘Absolutely,’ he says, catching my eye with a smile.

I respond with merely a blink, ever more in awe.

And then it’s time for them to take off on their sleds, so Gilles and I retreat to the farmhouse, him eagerly pulling one of the semi-collapsed armchairs closer to the fire.

‘You really feel like you’ve earned the warmth after being out there a while, don’t you?’ I note.

Gilles nods but can’t speak. His hands look particularly wind-burned. Not easy to operate a camera with gloves on.

‘
Chocolat chaud?
’ I offer.

He releases one last shiver. ‘Yes, please.’

By the time I’ve been to the loo, changed my socks and poured out two steaming mugs, Gilles has nodded off.

‘Pssst!’ Annique beckons me over to her blanket cocoon in the far corner, gratefully accepting the spare mug.

‘Feeling any better?’ I ask as she makes room for me.

‘Much,’ she nods. ‘How was your ride?’

I describe the humiliating start leading to a finale high and then she tells me that she’s been busy too – absorbing gossip …

‘Really?’ I ask with a flutter of nerves. Will this be something I want to hear?

She checks there is no one else around and then says, ‘Did you know Sebastien used to be in Cirque du Soleil?’

‘Actually I did, but how do you?’

‘Oh, people say a lot of things when they think you’re asleep,’ she winks. ‘I think they forgot I was here.’

‘Did they say why he left?’ I huddle closer.

‘Well, this is strange. He seems to be here on suicide watch.’

My stomach loops with concern. ‘Gosh. I mean, I know he’s a bit moody—’

‘No, no,’ she stops me. ‘He’s the watcher.’

‘Well, who’s he watching?’

‘Jacques.’

‘
Jacques!
’ I splutter. ‘He hardly seems like a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I mean, there is a sadness to him, but if you were going to compare the two, I’d say Sebastien is the more unstable.’

‘That’s what they were complaining about – the new workers couldn’t understand why he’s even here when he seems so bad-tempered all the time, so Lucy—’

‘Lucy?’

‘You know the girl with the curly hair on Reception?’

‘Yes, yes … ’

‘She was explaining to them that there had been an accident … ’

In hushed tones, Annique tells me that about a year ago Jacques’ best friend had come to visit and they had decided to take the snowmobiles out for the day. The guys had played together since they were little kids, always loved to race, but at one point his friend – whose name was Rémy – skidded way out of control, slammed into a tree and—

‘No!’ I blurt.

Annique nods. ‘He literally died in Jacques’ arms.’

‘Oh my god,’ I close my eyes, blanching at the tragedy. I can’t even imagine how that would feel, watching your dearest friend take their last breath with you clinging on, willing them to stay, begging them not to go … I feel a great weight upon my chest.

And then I think of the sympathy cards. And how Jacques was so emphatic, cautioning me about the dangers of snowmobiling. I sigh. No wonder Sebastien told me I couldn’t ‘save’ him – how could you save anyone from that depth of grief?

‘But did he really think that Jacques would want to take his own life as a result?’

‘Well. There was a second accident.’

‘
A second?
’

‘This time it was Jacques. Something to do with falling inside a frozen lake … Everyone at the farm was certain he didn’t mean to harm himself, but Sebastien was equally convinced his brother would never make an error like that; he knew the land too well … ’ She shrugs her shoulders. ‘Either way. Sebastien quit his job—’

‘His dream job.’

She nods. ‘Came running here and now he’ll barely let Jacques out of his sight.’

‘And nothing Jacques can say will persuade him otherwise.’

‘No.’

‘Wow. That’s quite some sacrifice. I mean, considering Jacques is okay.’ And then I pause. ‘He is okay, isn’t he?’

She hesitates.

‘What?’

‘There’s more.’

‘More?’ I gasp.

‘More hot chocolate?’ Annique suddenly switches tack.

‘Huh?’

I look around and see Gilles heading our way. He’s bleary-eyed and oblivious to what he is interrupting.

We all reconvene to the kitchenette but I soon withdraw from the conversation. I’m pretending to be writing notes but in reality I am just squiggling on a page.

I keep looking at my watch. The team will be back from the ride in twenty minutes or so. I’d like to know the rest of the story before then so I don’t put my foot in anything. I don’t know how Jacques can even run these circuits, every day passing the place where he lost his friend. Or perhaps they had gone off track. Flying through uncharted territory. Whooping one minute and then …

I shudder.

And I thought I had it bad with Andrew disappearing from my life. It’s nothing compared to this.

‘Krista … ’

‘Hmm?’ I look up at Gilles.

‘Are you feeling all right?’ He looks concerned.

‘I was just thinking of something sad.’

‘Don’t worry, the puppies will cheer you up,’ he says.

But he’s wrong …

Of course there is an initial rush of rapture – how could there not be? – at the fluffy, round-bellied bundles tumbling and tripping and stapling their little puppy teeth into trouser hems and dangling scarves, flossing with loose hair strands. But now my heart is panging so badly for both Jacques and Sebastien, I just want to bury my face in the dogs’ wispy fur and have a good cry.