‘Heard you went to Budapest last weekend?’ my mum quizzes Beth. She barely waits for the answers. ‘He’s lovely, your Fergus. Minted, too, eh?’ and she winks in her rear-view mirror to Beth, sat in the back oozing expensive scent. ‘Now, you’re not gonna be luring our Chloe back to London, are you, love?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Sue,’ Beth says. ‘Loving your hair colour, by the way.’

‘Oh, I did it meself this morning. It’s called “Poppy Rust”. Keeps me young. And you look stunning, Beth. Have you lost weight?’

Beth beams. ‘Not by choice.’

‘Lucky you,’ my mum scoffs, and gives me a once-over. I’m not wearing any of my new Matalan clothes. I probably look like an ageing backpacker. ‘I wish you’d give our Chloe some tips – you know, with our Kit’s wedding coming up.’

I happen to be the trimmest I’ve been for a long time, thanks to the strange eating habits – and at times, non-eating habits – I’ve established since Jack died; but yeah, she has a point. I’m not toned, and I definitely look a mess next to Beth. I always have.

‘Is Fergus at your mum’s then?’ my mum continues. ‘Lurking in the shadows as usual?’

‘Golf, somewhere in Surrey,’ Beth says, flicking her warm caramel locks behind her shoulder. ‘Middle-aged before his time, Sue.’

‘It was a lovely wedding you had, Beth. Love a fella in a kilt.’

I’m bored of this. If my dad was driving we’d be listening to his CDs – The Who and Aerosmith – or he’d talk about football, something I’ve lost touch with over the years. He used to take me to home games when I was little, and him and our Kit still go together. The new season kicks off this weekend. Still, I appreciate the lift. We’re dropped off like teens going to the local disco, my mum waving and watching us go. She’s not picking us up, though. Beth has insisted we go into town later; she’s booked a restaurant.

‘There’s children everywhere,’ I say, my first impression of the indoor ski slope.

‘Oh, babes,’ Beth says, ‘it’s Saturday afternoon. What did you expect?’

I don’t reply. And I definitely don’t mention the funky smell in the air. A blend of bodies – particularly feet – and socks, and wet rubber floor mats. It’s Beth though. She can read my mind.

‘Do you honestly think I’d be able to ski if I’d started off somewhere like this?’

‘It’s cool,’ I lie. Try. ‘Honestly, this is gonna be great. And hey, you get to piss yourself laughing at me falling on me arse, don’t you? Come on, when was the last time we did an actual activity together?’

‘We’ve never done an “activity” together. We aren’t “activity” people.’

‘We’ve been to the pictures.’