Snow Blind by Richard Blanchard Page B

and label it “Dan’s Magnificent Seven” for now. I scroll down the alphabetically listed tracks. I touch A, the “Affectionate Punch” by the Associates appears first. Doing tracks alphabetically somehow seems fairer than choosing favoured albums and picking the best track. The letter A produces my first choice.
    Number 1. “Another Star” by Stevie Wonder.
    How apt is this, given the re-appearance of my ex-partner. Released in 1976 on Motown records, the cracking Latin drumbeat precedes an angelic voice that brings the band into heavenly action. Stevie screams his pain that he is blinded by love for another but they cannot see love for him; irony abounds. There is nothing worse than losing a love that remains in you. Having crashed bloodied and bruised at the bottom of a crater somewhere; you can get back onto your feet but each attempt to climb out results in you slipping back into the hole. I remember using this song when Juliet had left, caterwauling its lyrics whilst I had my headphones on. Its amazing how being jilted creates an appeal for so many songs previously discounted. I was convinced I loved her; she didn’t love me, the end. However that’s the point, when it is someone else’s choice there is no choice. It is an end without one. I thought Juliet loved someone else, but she now says she didn’t. I convinced myself it was hopeless. Maybe I am growing; I can acknowledge the size of the loss now. I lost that girl but I eventually found a son.
    The dark-haired stewardess Robert was chatting up hovers over me. Having failed to retail to the rest of the plane she presents me with a bottle of Moet et Chandon. I think of Freddie Mercury on his piano singing “Killer Queen” as I wave it away.
    She taps me on the knee. “It’s from Robert. There is a note.” She beams back at me, glancing over her shoulder to indicate the direction from whence it came. Juliet and I are as one again. We look with suspicion at the bottle.
    The note reads, “Enjoy the bubbly. Why not join the mile high club with Juliet. I just qualified for life membership with this stewardess. Robert”.
    â€œHe insists you open it.” She now has a glass in hand.
    I don’t know precisely when I remembered. Was it when I felt the shock of ice-cold bubbles in my groin? Was it Juliet’s yelp? It was probably when the cork rebounded from the plastic light fitting into my right eye. I must remember from now on, do not trust Robert. My ears pop with a little relief though, nature’s way of signalling our rapid descent.

C HAPTER 8
    Dan 18:55
    The back door of the mini-van slams brutally, confirming the enclosure of all our baggage. The “Mountain drop-offs” driver scrutinises a scruffily folded piece of A4 paper that confirms our impending transfer to Chamonix.
    â€œWhat the hell did you bring a guitar for?” Max understandably assumes my guitar case isn’t the replacement suitcase it actually is. An overhead roar and an unnatural metallic whiff in the air confirm the arrival of another planeload of ski junkies.
    â€œNo room in here Staggie!” Robert slams the sliding door shut, leaving the driver’s front bench seat as my only place of transportation. A gust of cold air questions the wisdom of me wearing my trusty purple velvet jacket in a ski resort.
    â€œHi, I’m Dan. When will we get to Chamonix?” I try to start up a travelling companionship.
    â€œMaybe eight, when it’s really dark.” The initial warmth of an Australasian accent reveals the clipped endings of a New Zealander by the end of his short sentence.
    â€œWe can get dinner at eightish, boys!” I shout towards the back to encourage my stags.
    â€œThat’s great Dan,” Juliet responds.
    â€œDickheads! A bar at eight, shagging by nine,” replies Robert.
    â€œWhat a crew. These guys will be sloshed on the piste tomorrow,” I say chummily.