Howling Like A Rabid Wolf

The greatest advantage of ascending the twisty mountain road tae Tignes in the dark wis that Ah couldn’t see how far Ah’d fall if the coach crashed aff the side. A couple of weeks before Ah would quite happily have jumped. Ah should’ve cancelled the holiday when we split up. How wis Ah tae know she’d sell her ticket tae the biggest roaster in the scheme? She got a full refund. Ah got a potential week of hell wae a cultural vacuum whose idea of fine wine was Buckfast. Ah wished he’d quieten doon a bit, Ah could feel a migraine coming on.

“Hoy Johnboy! Ur you ignorin me? Moan sit wae yir uncle Tommy. Ah need a hand tae finish this .”

“Ah’m trying tae get a sleep here.”

“AW CHECK THAT OOT MAN!”

Ah wis saved by a spectacular oasis of light. The 180 metre high Barrage de Tignes with painting of triple Olympic champion and local legend Jean Claude Killy. The view fae the top of the dam wis not for the faint of heart. From our elevated position on the coach the huge mural wis out of sight as we crossed, but instead of detracting fae the experience, this enhanced the feeling of floating weightless fae one mountain tae the other. We all gazed doon intae nothing as the pitch-black valley swallowed everything below the top few hundred feet.

Having booked the holiday through a snowboarding shop so we could get a group discount, me and Tommy found ourselves sharing an apartment with an energetic young couple fae Ayrshire. They spent most of their free time exploring each other in their luxurious double bed in the well-furnished spacious bedroom. At least they weren’t too noisy, unlike Tommy. At first Ah couldn’t wait tae bed time, thinking that would be the only time he’d shut up. But as we slept on our respective sofa beds in the lounge Ah wis sure his snoring would start an avalanche.

After a few days Tommy and me began tae bond rather well. What he lacked in cultural appreciation wis more than compensated by his courage, if not technique, on a board. Ah’d always known he liked speed. He delivered pizzas around the town at 100mph in his wee souped-up Vauxhall Corsa. Ah’m sure naebody ever complained of cold food when he delivered it. Ah’m also pretty sure naebody would complain about anything. He wis a big lad wae a short temper.

On the slopes wae a snowboard strapped tae his feet there wis no slowing him doon. His no-nonsense approach soon earned him the name Straight-Line Tam. The gradient of the slope wis irrelevant. If there happened tae be a wee kicker or huge jump in his path, so whit. Over he went, flying through the air feet first, more like an Olympic long-jumper than an X-Games snowboarder. But he never seemed tae hurt himself. While the rest of us whinged aboot knocks and strains picked up after falling awkwardly at 5mph, Tommy whizzed past at God knows whit speed, howling like a rabid wolf.

On the Wednesday it wis ma turn tae make dinner from the À La Carte menu. Boiling pasta’n’sauce and buttering bread might no be on a par wae the local delicacies served in the restaurants, but Tommy didn’t fancy a Pot Noodle, so it would have tae dae. As Ah served our nouvelle cuisine dish Tommy applied the finishing touches tae the joint we’d have for afters.

Five mouthfuls intae the feast and Ah sensed something wisnae right. For the first time all week Ah wis clearing ma plate faster than Tommy. Perhaps Ah wis hungrier than him tonight. Perhaps he wis taking his time so the small, but delicious, meal lasted a bit longer. But seeing as first finished got tae light the joint Ah knew something wis on his mind.

“Whit ur ye lookin at me lit at fur?” he asked.

“Nothing. Are ye alright?”

“Aye…am joost a wee bit tired…stop fuckin starin at me!”

Ah sat staring at him, trying tae hide the fact Ah wis staring at him.

The next wave of warning signs materialised intae beads of sweat. Small, insignificant little beads at first, but quickly evolving intae droplets heavy enough for gravity tae drag them doon his face.

“It’s…lit…a…bloody…sauna…in…here,” he said, sounding like a Buzz Lightyear in need of new batteries.

“We’re a mile above sea-level at a ski-resort in January. Ah can assure ye, the temperature is far fae equatorial.”

He shook his head, showering his pasta in fresh sweat.

Leaving Buzz at the table, Ah knocked rather loudly on the young couple’s bedroom door, hoping they could share the burden of worrying about Tommy’s deteriorating health.

“Eh, sorry tae disturb ye, Jamie, but Ah think we’ve got a bit of a situation developing oot here.”

“Whit dae ye mean…situation?” He poked his head oot the door and scanned up and doon the hall.

“Hurry up an shut at door,” shouted Irene. “It’s bloody freezing!”

“It’s Tommy,” Ah said, casually as possible. “Ah think he’s having some sort of fit.”

“A fit?” asked Jamie, face lighting up. “Whit kind a fit? An eppy?”

“Eh, naw, Ah don’t think so. He mentioned something the other day about being diabetic. Might be something tae dae wae that.”

“Oh…Ah don’t ken anything aboot at.”

“Whit’s up?” shouted Irene, hurrying tae the door and tightening her bathrobe. “Who’s epileptic?”

“Naebody,” said Jamie. “Tommy’s diabetic, no epileptic.”

“Oh, Ah see,” said Irene, trying tae hide her disappointment. “Whit does at mean then?”

“Don’t really know,” Ah said, while Jamie shrugged his shoulders.

“Gie us five minutes and we’ll come oot and have a look at him,” said Irene, tugging Jamie’s arm back intae the room.

Back in the dining room Tommy wis leaking sweat over the table and floor at an alarming rate. With his Diabetes kit in hand Ah guessed he wis trying tae measure the sugar level in his blood. He turned tae look at me, eyes rolling. He tried tae speak, but no words arrived. He slumped forward and, with a thump, the side of his face landed in the three-quarters-full plate of pasta.

“Ah need some help oot here!” Ah screamed, but naebody came running. The rabbits were still getting dressed. Ah tried tae wake Tommy wae various shakes and shoogles. Irene eventually arrived, lifted his face fae the pasta and gave it a wipe.

“He’s unconscious,” Ah said, as Jamie ran up wearing only shorts and t-shirt.

We all looked at each other with blank expressions. We were so far out our depth we were in danger of drowning in Tommy’s sweat. The feeling of absolute hopelessness wis so tangible we could’ve been telepathic. He wis dying in front of us and, as Ah tried tae think of something meaningful tae do or say, all Ah kept thinking aboot wis the view fae the top of the dam.

It wis Irene who introduced logic. “You wait here, Johnboy. Me an Jamie’ll go an fetch a doctor or somethin in the toon.”

And wae that they were gone.

Ah couldn’t help but think they just wanted tae get the fuck out of there and leave me tae deal wae it. And who could blame them? Who wants tae deal wae that at anytime never mind on holiday when yir sharing an apartment wae a couple of strangers?

Ah gave Tommy another shoogle. “Wake up for Christ’s sake. Don’t die on me. Yir dinner’s getting cold.”

Ah could feel a migraine coming on. How dae ye transport a deid body back tae Scotland? Whit aboot his girlfriend and family? Who wis going tae tell them? Ma heid wis scrambled wae stuff that wis all completely useless as far as reviving Tommy wis concerned.

If Ah couldn’t help Tommy, Ah might as well dae something tae help myself cope wae the situation. Ah sat back doon at the table across fae Tommy and meticulously prepared a line of Peruvian Flake, large enough tae be worthy of such an occasion. Savouring the taste as it shot up ma nose and slid doon ma throat, ma eyes were drawn tae the joint Tommy rolled for after dinner.
Within seconds, cannabis smoke-circles floated over Tommy’s head like little halos, and Ah wondered whit St Peter would make of him.

“Fine joint you’ve built here, Tommy. No too much tobacco, plenty of dope, and no rolled too tight; a quality smoke. Cheers mate.”

It wis that good, Ah finished it before Ah got up tae check his pulse again. It wis still there, but weaker. His breathing wis shallow and his rivers of sweat were no longer in spate.

My pulse wis fleeing as hope raced downhill faster than Jean Claude Killy, so Ah sat back doon and focused on a bit of pasta stuck in Tommy’s hair. As Ah wondered how Irene managed tae miss it when she gave him a wipe it started tae move, which surprised me, but probably no as much as it should’ve. Ah smiled at it before noticing Tommy wis trying tae lift his heid and staring at me like some sort of zombie, pointing a finger in ma direction.

“C…c…coke,” he said. “C…c…coke.” His eyes shut again.

It took me a minute tae realise he wis pointing at ma can of Coca-Cola and no ma lump of goodness, which Ah’d managed tae keep secret fae him all week.

“C…c…coke…sh…sh…sugar,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.

Ah wondered if having a drink of ma coke wis his last request, like soldiers dying on the battlefield gasping for a drink of water. Ah took a last gulp of it myself before getting on ma feet. Ah didnae want tae be putting ma mouth near it once he’d had his dying lips round it. That would be too weird. Ah moved around his side of the table and felt like Gunga Din as Ah lifted his head and poured ma can intae his mouth. Some of it spilled out the sides but Ah could see his throat moving as he swallowed most of it.

He scared the shit oot me by immediately sitting upright and smiling at me. “Ah nearly went intae a hypo er.”

“Whit dae ye mean…nearly? You’ve been lying there unconscious for about forty minutes.”

“Aye right,” he said, pushing me away. “Get tae fuck.”

“Ah wouldn’t kid ye about something like that, Tommy. Ye fuckin freaked me out man.”

He shook his head, laughed, then noticed his clothes needed wrung out and there wis a reservoir under his seat.

“Irene and Jamie are away tae fetch a doctor. We thought ye were in a coma.”

“A whit? Ah wisnae in a bloody coma. A wis joost tired. Ah kin faw asleep at the drap ay a hat. Ah dae that sometimes. A bloody coma? Look…Ah’m awright noo!”

And so he wis. Tae me, it wis a miracle. Tae Tommy and the world of science and medicine, he’d just let his sugar levels drop dangerously low by snowboarding all day without any insulin or enough tae eat. His body shut down as an early warning system. After a short, deep sleep, the ultra-high sugar content of the coke brought him back to normal in an instant. If Ah ever witnessed it again Ah wis tae give him a Mars bar or can of Coke and he’d automatically reboot.

“Hoy Lazarus. Whit’s it like tae rise fae the deid?”

“Whoosh!” he replied, before finishing the last dribbles from the coke and chucking the empty can at ma heid. “Never mind that anywey, fly man. Where’s the joint Ah built?”

As we celebrated the joys of life wae a freshly rolled, a siren carrying through the night air reminded me of Jamie and Irene. “That might be for you, Lazarus.”

“Fuck that,” he said. “Ah’m away fur a bath.”

Ah sat wearing a grin wider than ma face. The combination of narcotics and circumstances beyond ma imagination had conspired tae provide a memorable evening of drama. There wis no mention of such apre-ski entertainment in the brochure.

“Are you alright in there?” Ah shouted tae Tommy, who wis now locked in the bathroom relaxing in his bath. “Ye better leave that door open in case Ah need tae rescue ye again.”

“Fuck off,” came the normal, healthy reply.

A bang on the door put a halt tae ma giggling. Next thing Ah know, five French paramedics were storming past me in their haste tae find a critical casualty in a coma.

“It’s alright, troops,” Ah said. “He’s okay now. False alarm.”

They were having none of that, and demanded to see the patient…wherever he wis. Ah pointed tae the bathroom door, from behind which, a variety of unintelligible songs were escaping.

With a glaiket smile engraved on ma well-stoned face, Ah retired tae ma comfy chair at the far end of the lounge and prepared for a French version of E.R. Ah’d already identified the George Clooney of the cast. At around six feet, he wis the tallest. Being in his mid-twenties made him the oldest. And his uniform, with its multitude of coloured badges, positively oozed charisma and experience. Plus, he had the walkie-talkie.

The others were all teenagers, possessing only one or two badges. They looked like a bunch of boy scouts keen tae impress their leader. Perhaps another wee badge wis at stake.

The patient appeared wearing only a towel, dripping bathwater over the carpet, instead of sweat. Two of the youngsters grabbed an arm each and ushered him tae the nearest chair. One of the others plopped a thermometer in Tommy’s mouth, and the last one tried, unsuccessfully, tae extract a blood sample fae his thumb. That failure provided an opportunity for the others tae test their thumb-pricking skills, which in turn, led tae arguments among themselves, in French of course, as tae whose turn it wis.

Tommy sat bemused and more than a bit pissed aff, but soon gathered whit wis going on and used his initiative. He pricked his own thumb and let them all have a sample: a badge for all perhaps.
He stared at me wae a ‘get these clowns outta here’ look on his face, but Ah just ignored him, sat there munching ma popcorn and enjoyed the show.

George Clooney swaggered back in fae outside on the veranda, where he’d been talking tae his superiors on the walkie-talkie, probably getting some much-needed advice about diabetes and hypos.

“Can you explain to me what happened, Monsieur Tommy? I can see you are sweating and shivering.”

“Aye, nae bother. Ah’m only shiverin cos you’ve got that fuckin door open and Ah’m sittin here wae a towel roon me, and Ah’m no sweatin noo either, that’s bath water. Ah wis joost knackered earlier fae a hard day’s boardin. Ah wisnae in any coma or nuhhin. It wisnae even a real hypo. It wis mer ay a wee shut doon fur a rest. Know whit Ah’m talkin aboot? Well, anywey, wance Johnboy poured hauf a can a coke doon ma throat Ah joost went whoosh an that wis me awright again. Ah’m fine. Look.”

Smiling from ear tae ear he danced a quick jig, glanced over at me with a ‘that ought tae clear up the situation once and for all’ look on his face, before returning his attention tae George. “Ur ye satisfied noo that there’s fuckin nuhhin wrang wae me? Ah’m fit as a fuckin Scouser fiddling the social.”

“I’m sorry, Monsieur Tommy,” said George, scratching his head, looking more confused than before he asked. “Can you tell me again, but speak slowly, and in English this time?”

“Fuck sake! That wis English!” snapped Tommy, before shaking his head in dismay and returning tae his bath.

Next day, me and ma new best mate Tommy received official warnings fae the Gendarme for snowboarding down the resort’s main road…and howling like a pair of rabid wolves.