He headed inside, miming a drink as he left to imply that he’d order me one, affirming our laddish allegiance, while I stopped to say hello to Sofia. Being Ecuadorian, from steamy Guayaquil, she hated the cold, and I saw at least three collars around her neck beneath the coat on top. Her head looked like the bud of a flower, poking out from a ring of collared petals. Even rugged up, one arm was wrapped across her waist to hug herself warm. I knew I was better accustomed to cold than she was, having plunged myself into various ice baths over the years (fun fact: apparently low temperatures increase male fertility), but I didn’t wish to linger in conversation, the cold was burrowing into me.

She offered her cigarette to me, though she knew I didn’t smoke; it’s just something she always liked to do. I waved away the smoke.

‘Good start,’ she said, mocking.

‘Make friends early, I always say.’

‘Glad you’re finally here. I was waiting for you to rescue me – I knew you’d distract everyone. Here.’ She handed me a small, square piece of cardboard, which had a grid printed on it. Inside each box was a short phrase, relating to different family members: Marcelo shouts at a Waiter; Lucy tries to SELL you anything. I spotted my name – Ernest ruins something – in the middle left column.

‘Bingo?’ I asked, reading the heading: Reunion Bingo.

‘Thought it would be fun. Just made them for you and me.’ She held her card up; I could see it had a cross already on it. ‘Everyone else is too sour.’ She wrinkled her nose.

I snatched the card from her. It had different statements to mine, as well as a couple of generic events. The grammar was all over the place, random caps for emphasis, absurd parentheses, no full stops. Some were more tongue-in-cheek than others. I could be relied on to be tardy, just as Marcelo could be relied on to chew out hospitality staff, but the bottom right square said: Avalanche. I looked back at mine; the same spot said: Broken Bone (OR Someone Dies) with an incongruous smiley face. The square that Sofia had already crossed through read: Ernest is late.

‘Not fair.’ I gave it back to her.

‘You better catch up. Shall we?’

I nodded. Sofia finished her smoke and flicked the butt off the porch into the snow. But against the sparse, fresh white, it was glaringly out of place. She gave me a forlorn look and then trudged off the porch, bent down and picked it up, pocketing it.

‘You know,’ she said, leading me inside, ‘you’ll have to play nice if you want to make it out of this weekend alive.’

I swear to God she actually said that. And she even winked at me. As if she’s the one telling the damn story.

CHAPTER 3