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28.

Willy enjoyed stalking too, so that was his excuse for not coming to Klosters that year. Hepreferred to stay behind at Granny’s estate in Norfolk, twenty thousand acres we both adored:

Sandringham.

Rather shoot partridges, he told Pa.

A lie. Pa didn’t know it was a lie, but I did. The real reason Willy was staying at home wasthat he couldn’t face the Wall.

Before skiing at Klosters we’d always have to walk to a designated spot at the foot of themountain and stand before seventy or so photographers, arranged in three or four ascending tiers—the Wall. They’d point their lenses and shout our names and shoot us while we squinted andfidgeted and listened to Pa answer their daft questions. The Wall was the price we paid for ahassle-free hour on the slopes. Only if we went before the Wall would they briefly leave us inpeace.

Pa disliked the Wall—he was famous for disliking it—but Willy and I despised it.

Hence, Willy was at home, taking it out on the partridges. I’d have stayed with him, if I could,but I wasn’t old enough to assert myself like that.

In Willy’s absence, Pa and I had to face the Wall ourselves, which made it that much moreunpleasant. I stuck close to Pa’s side while the cameras whirred and clicked. Memories of theSpice Girls. Memories of Mummy, who also despised Klosters.

This is why she’s hiding, I thought. This right here. This shit.

Mummy had other reasons besides the Wall for hating Klosters. When I was three, Pa and afriend were involved in a gruesome accident on the slopes there. A massive avalanche overtookthem. Pa narrowly escaped, but the friend didn’t. Buried under that wall of snow, the friend’s finalbreaths must have been snow-filled gasps. Mummy often spoke of him with tears in her eyes.

After the Wall, I tried to put my mind to having fun. I loved skiing and I was good at it. Butonce Mummy was in my thoughts, I was buried under my own private avalanche of emotions.

And questions. Is it wrong to enjoy a place that Mummy despises? Am I being mean to her if Ihave fun today on these slopes? Am I a bad son for feeling excited to get on the chairlift alone withPa? Will Mummy understand that I miss her and Willy but also enjoy having Pa briefly to myself?

How would I explain any of this to her when she returned?

Some time after that trip to Klosters I shared my theory with Willy, about Mummy being inhiding. He admitted that he’d once entertained a similar theory. But, ultimately, he’d discarded it.

She’s gone, Harold. She’s not coming back.

No, no, no, I wouldn’t hear such a thing. Willy, she always said she wanted to just disappear!

You heard her!

Yes, she did. But, Harold, she’d never do this to us!

I’d had the very same thought, I told him. But she wouldn’t die either, Willy! She’d never dothat to us either!

Fair point, Harold.