‘Look over there,’ she points to a line of kids gliding at a nice pace down the slope in single formation, following the zigzag trails of the instructor. ‘None of those beginners have poles. It’s all in the knees. Imagine you’ve got little headlights on your knees – keep them facing the direction you’re going in.’

‘Right.’

‘And keep your legs wide, point your toes in, make an upside-down V,’ she holds her legs up and demonstrates. I give it a go, but she says, ‘No, never cross your skis.’

Seriously, and people pay the earth to do this as a holiday?

The lift ascends slowly, giving me time to rehearse my ‘V’, think about my knees. Kids as young as four or five whizz past down the slope. If they can do this, so can I. Surely.

‘In a real resort,’ Beth says, ‘the lifts are magical. The view; the clean air.’

‘I can only imagine.’

‘No need to be a sarky bitch, Chlo.’

‘No need to rub it in.’

The chairlift exit is creeping up and I watch the family in front raise the safety bar and ski off, around the lift, stopping at the top of the slope. They make it look so bloody easy. A lot of people seem to wait at the top, some chatting or fixing their gloves, some psyching themselves up for the down. There are a lot of people shuffling around on snowboards.

‘Okay,’ Beth says, raising the safety bar, ‘after three. One, two …’

‘THREE!’ I blurt, exerting all my energy into standing but keeping my knees bent, and I’m doing it, I’m off! I’m going forward, fast – so fast, too fast, still going, going, going, how the fuck do I stop—

I crash into a gang of teenagers.

I’m face down in the snow and have no desire to turn face up. Ever.

I hear a cacophony of ‘Fucking watch it!’ and ‘No worries!’ – both ends of the skiing spectrum unleashing their feelings. Beth’s on her knees, whispering into my ear.

‘Let’s go and have a cocktail. Me cousin can get us on the guest list for a new member’s bar off Castle Street—’

‘Beth. No. I need to do this!’

‘But you’re miserable.’

‘You reckon?’

‘Yeah! This isn’t you, Chloe. You weren’t even the teeniest bit excited to try. You’re just doing it for the sake of it and torturing yourself. Look, would Jack really want to put you through this all because he likes it?’

‘Loves it. He loves it, pal. I mean, loved it.’

I haul myself up onto all fours and use Beth once again as a crutch to get into my skis.

‘Jack would’ve understood if you didn’t wanna ski.’

‘Don’t talk to me about Jack, Beth. Don’t you ever talk to me about Jack.’

‘Whoa, babes—’

‘No, you don’t know him. You didn’t know him. Fuck.’