The Two Week Wait Read Online Free

knock you off course.
    *  *  *
    Down, swish, down, swish , down, swish ; Cath is gaining confidence, becoming more stable on her skis, able to go faster. The instructor is ahead of her;
she’s following in his tracks, her first blue run. Here’s the scary bit – the steep gradient she has been dreading. From the cable car she’s seen more proficient skiers fall
foul of it. They’re early in the season and even though they’ve chosen a resort at a particularly high altitude, it’s not snowed in days, so it’s icy in patches. But she
hasn’t the time to get really nervous; she’s in the present, eyes on Claude, carving the same sweeping curves as best she can.
    Along, turn, bend the knees, swoosh; along . . . and swoooooooooosh! She pulls up beside him with a spray of powder, triumphant.
    He lifts his goggles and beams at her. ‘Well done, Cathy!’
    Her name isn’t Cathy, it’s Cath, but she lets it pass because he’s young and good-looking and it sounds extremely charming with a Gallic accent.
    She beams back.
    ‘Much less snowplough and more skis parallel. You are getting so much better!’
    Her grin broadens.
    ‘Now, once more up in the lift and we do it again.’
    Damn. She thought that was it for the day and wanted to finish on a personal best. Next time she’s bound to fall. Dutifully, she staggers after him, skis skidding diagonally like a clumsy
duck, and joins the queue to return up the mountain.
    Rich was right, she realizes as she edges forward in line, it’s taking her out of herself, learning to ski. She’s been so focused, so determined to master at least the basics, she
hasn’t had time to worry or analyse anything else, and that’s been such a change, a joy. For the first time in ages her nervousness has been excitement, not fear, and her muscles have
ached as the result of exercise rather than chemo. She’d not been at all sure beforehand; she’d had moments of believing the holiday was just a ruse for Rich, a skier since childhood,
to indulge his own passions. But her husband isn’t so self-centred, and he is aware how fragile she’s been.
    Later, she and Rich are sitting on a wooden bench by their locker, struggling to remove their boots, when Cath has an urge to say, ‘Thank you for making me come.’
    ‘No worries,’ says Rich. But he remains focused on clasps and Velcro – she doesn’t think he’s taken it in. She wants him to know he understood what was good for her
better than she understood herself.
    She places a damp gloved hand over his. ‘No, I mean it. I appreciate your persuading me. I’m having such a good time. I feel much better, really I do.’
    ‘That’s great,’ he says, swapping his hand so it’s over hers, and squeezing it.

3
    The party seems well under way; Lou can hear voices as she and Sofia lock their bicycles to the drainpipe of Karen’s 1930s semi. Lou rings the bell: it ding-dongs like
the ‘Avon Calling’ ads of her youth.
    ‘Get that, will you, someone?’ she hears Karen call.
    Anna opens the door. She’s dressed in a slim-fitting black shift dress that emphasizes her height and figure. Her makeup is perfect, dramatic as always, her bob sleek. Although Lou has
washed her hair and has her favourite T-shirt on, she feels hot from cycling and scruffy next to Anna.
    ‘Lou! Sofia!’ Anna kisses each on the cheek vigorously. ‘Before we go in’ – she leans in to Lou – ‘tell me. How was the doctor?’ Lou had confided
her concerns on the phone the night before.
    ‘He couldn’t really say much,’ says Lou. ‘But let’s get a drink and I’ll tell you.’
    They squeeze past a cluster of grown-ups standing in the hall, chatting. One is Karen. She’s in a chiffon blouse and surprisingly trendy jeans. Lou can tell she’s made an effort to
look her best – it’s strange to see her wearing lipstick. ‘Hello, hello,’ she says when she sees them. ‘Glad you could make it.’ She turns to the people she has
been