Page 23 of Snowed In with You

‘Tell me how you know about anxiety disorders,’ said Nate.

Lucy looked away, wondering how much to tell him about Leo. A few hours ago she’d successfully deflected the conversation, but an entire mountain had shifted between them since then. They’d gone from being colleagues who barely knew each other, to two people who were sharing an avalanche experience. By any standards, they were definitely no longer strangers.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t seem like a very anxious person,’ said Nate with a shrug. ‘Apart from earlier on the bus, when you looked like you were making plans for your own funeral.’

‘I was,’ said Lucy, smiling weakly. ‘I was wondering who might say nice things about me during the service.’

‘Lots of people, I should think. But if you’re not sure, you could write your own eulogy in advance. I’m sure you’d do an amazing job.’

Lucy said nothing, registering the compliment. She realised with surprise that in some ways she wanted to talk about it, because Nate of all people would probably understand. But equally this was something she never talked about, even to Jonno. It was hard to know where to start.

‘Hey,’ said Nate, his warm hands suddenly on hers.

Lucy looked up, suddenly aware that her cheeks were wet with tears. So much for maintaining composure. She searched for a deflection, but all the potential lies felt bitter on her tongue. ‘I don’t have anxiety,’ she said, taking a deep breath as she gently extracted her hand. ‘But I know someone who did. My brother Leo . . . my twin brother, actually.’

Nate’s eyes widened, the way people’s always did when they found out. ‘Wow, your brother is your twin?’

‘Mmm,’ said Lucy, dabbing at the pizza crumbs on the table so she didn’t have to look at him. Was she really going to talk about this? With Nate Lambert, of all people. Apparently so. ‘He died eleven years ago. Today, actually.’ The words rushed out so fast, she wondered for a moment if Nate had heard them.

‘Shit,’ he gasped, visibly shocked. ‘Lucy. I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Lucy, even though it was very, very far from being OK. ‘He’d have thoroughly approved of this.’

Nate smiled, visibly relieved that he hadn’t put his foot in it. ‘Which bit?’

‘All of it, probably,’ she said, feeling the warmth return to her fingers. ‘The wine, the food, the board games, the drama.’

‘How old was he?’ asked Nate.

‘Twenty-one,’ said Lucy. ‘He’d have seen all this as a big adventure.’ And so would I, once upon a time, she thought to herself.

‘Fuck, that’s so young,’ said Nate. ‘How did he . . . if you don’t mind me asking?’

Lucy took a deep breath. ‘Can we not talk about that? I’m not being rude, but it’s a long story and today is . . . a difficult one for me.’

‘Of course.’ Nate held up his hands. ‘I’m really sorry.’ He looked at her and smiled, and it communicated warmth and solidarity and understanding. Nate wasn’t dumb; he’d probably filled in the gaps in this story already. But she appreciated him backing off nonetheless.

‘Don’t be,’ said Lucy. ‘But what I will say is that Leo suffered from anxiety since we were kids, and I learned to recognise the signs. Sometimes it was low level, other times full-blown panic attacks.’

‘And you were the one who could talk him down.’

‘Yes.’ There was an awkward silence as pain knifed through Lucy’s chest. Apart from that one time when it really mattered.

They were quiet for a moment, and Lucy wasn’t sure where to take the conversation next. Telling him about Leo had crossed a line into a strange kind of intimacy – Jonno was the only other person at the agency who knew she’d lost a brother, but any questions had been shut down very early in their friendship. She glanced at Nate, wondering what was going through his head after the avalanche. If Leo had been anything to go by, it could be anything from racing thoughts of impending doom to flashing lights and sirens.

They both looked up as the woman with the guitar propped herself on a bar stool and strummed a few chords to tune up, then launched into a song. Lucy listened to the first verse, then started to laugh, hoping she could distract Nate from the motorway pile-up happening in his brain. ‘Jesus, really?’

‘What it is?’ asked Nate, looking around for whatever new disaster the mountain was throwing in their direction.

‘She’s singing “Tragedy”. By the Bee Gees. Or Steps, if you’re our generation.’

‘Christ,’ said Nate, rubbing his pale face with his hands. ‘Is this appropriate right now?’

‘I would say . . . definitely not,’ smirked Lucy, picking up the wine bottle and shaking the last few drops into her glass. Right now, sobering up felt like the worst idea ever. The woman delivered the chorus in a breathy voice at funereal pace, like the acoustic John Lewis advert version of a Bee Gees classic literally nobody asked for.

‘This situation is too much,’ said Nate to nobody in particular, his voice wavering and his fists clenching into white knuckles. He closed his eyes as his breathing came faster. ‘I don’t . . . I can’t.’