Snow Blind by Richard Blanchard

country would have joined heralding another paranoid outburst of British immigration hysteria, with dire warnings that the country will topple into the sea with the influx of millions of immigrants. Maybe they could just put some stripes on it and copy the Yanks. My country is the real outlier of Europe, so maybe our star should be printed on the back. As Europe prepares to lunch I think I can distinctly see a line separating the drinkdriven British against the perceived grace and sophistication of all other Europeans.
    My focus drops to the crowds milling around the ski shop and restaurant, busying themselves with their joint purpose, to get up and down these slopes in as much of a hurry as their ability will let them. I feel I have found the epicentre of European Union, a place where potentially cross snow boarders can happily cross borders! I inwardly chuckle. The collective memory that Han’s granddad shot Tim’s has been groomed out of people’s prejudice after years of snow-induced integration. They should place the European parliament here; the whole thing would be a lot more productive.
    My union is exactly nine days away now. I will be married into the Italian mob. I don’t suspect my father-in-law is connected but they are undoubtedly capable of breaking my legs if their daughter is crossed. I am glad to be out from under the white-hot glare of wedding planning which I only serve to hinder. I am truly guilty that it all falls onto Sophia but I am incapable. She is a great girl, it is right that I am settling down now we have Bepe; he will solidify us. I also know she is angry about what happened yesterday with him, I will have to fix it before we walk up the mock aisle at the Golf Club.
    For a moment I regret taking my right glove off, the cold immediately attacks the warmth my hand emanates. I see another navy blue jacket in the distance but it is too slim to contain Chris’s bulk. He is twenty minutes late now, where can he be? I fish for my iPhone but am interrupted by Chris’s cursing.
    â€œBloody rubbish, I could only turn one way. I crashed into this girl in the ski school twice. The rest of them fell like dominoes. I have had enough for today.” Chris huffs and pants his way through this brutalist appraisal of his morning.
    â€œLet’s go for lunch, everyone is in the restaurant, I think.”
    â€œCan’t say I like your mates, they’re a bunch of tossers.” He is glad to get this off his chest, but it just gives me a management problem. We make our way across packed ice, through ski racks, over to the gaily-flagged restaurant entrance. I can see my stags on two separated tables outside.
    â€œJohnny and Juliet are good people.” I strive to differentiate the wheat from the chaff.
    â€œAye, maybe, but none of them are my kind of folk.”
    â€œStick with me brother,” I plead.
    Robert and Juliet are sat alone and stop dead in their conversational tracks. Their mouths drape open as their brains revisit the contents of the last minute’s conversation. Both look uneasy, their previous discussion obviously isn’t something they wanted me to hear. What were they saying? It could have been an incident from years ago or yesterday. They have both stopped for too long; I know it was about me.
    â€œThanks for undoing my boots mate!” Robert just grins at me, happy with his latest subterfuge.
    â€œYou are a twat Robert. I am off to get food.” Chris has patently had enough of his quiet man status.
    I take one of the two remaining seats on their bench next to Robert. The frenetic multi-lingual ski hubbub increases as we move into the afternoon. Robert and Juliet are suddenly united in their determination to finish their meals and go.
    â€œIt’s good to see my two old college mates together again,” I try to bring them union but both pairs of eyes avert to their left.
    â€œWhat did you think of Aldo’s class?” Juliet