But did I? Did I know him? I know he never backed down about skiing – it was the highlight of his year, and when possible, he’d even go twice. Was this an integral part of him that I never knew, clearly never showed him a blind bit of interest in, and now, I’ll never know? Had I only seen Jack’s basic colours? Had the entire fucking rainbow still been out there to be discovered?

Perhaps by people who weren’t like me. People more like him.

‘I know you needed to get away,’ Beth says, gently, still holding her arm out for me like I’m an invalid, ‘but maybe going off to Thailand wasn’t the brightest idea, so coming home’s always good to touch base, figure out your next step—’

‘Oh, what’s with all the self-help clichés, Beth?’

‘What’s with acting like a fucking child?’

‘I’m sorry. Can we just do this?’

‘Fine.’ Beth takes my remaining pole from me and leans forward to suss out the slope, her possible route down. ‘I’ll go slow. I’m not going straight down, that’s not how you ski. Side to side – see? Look at those girls there, see how they’re going towards one side, then almost up the mountain and then they slowly turn with their legs in that upside-down V? Yeah?’

‘Simple. Let’s do it.’

‘And remember, babes, keep your legs wide. The wider they go, the slower you’ll go.’

I salute, and almost fall flat on my arse.

‘Steady,’ Beth says, and off she goes into the snow, like Elsa in Frozen.

And I follow. I really do. She’s true to her word, going slow and side to side. I dig deep, keep my toes pointed inwards, my legs wide. It aches; a tiring pain. I’m using muscles my body wasn’t aware it had. And now, shit. It’s time to turn. Beth makes a grand half circle around from left to right. She makes it look like a dance. All I have to do is copy; tread on her exact tracks.

My skis cross at the toes.

I see it happening, powerless to stop. Once they’re crossed, I’m stuck. My arms start flailing around – for help; for balance; fuck knows – and I go flying down the slope at a speed I feel like I’ve only experienced inside a moving vehicle. I hit the floor and my skis are both gone, lost somewhere further up. I come to a bumbling, messy stop in the middle of the piste.

I sit on the slope and hang my head. Beth has skied to my side, still poised.

‘I’m so useless,’ I cry. ‘At everything.’

‘No, you’re not, Chlo. You’re a teacher, for fuck’s sake.’

‘No, I’m a failed actress who ended up in a call centre, and a teacher by absolute default.’