The only bright spot was that Matty had managed to get hold of the fight footage. It had been widely shared in the public domain, and whoever had taken it clearly had no intention of claiming copyright. But there was precious little else to be happy about; they had zero source material of weight, just some angry locals for B-roll filler, and now they had lost a key week of interview opportunities in Switzerland. They had yet to have a single sit-down taping with even Ari or Beau. Clover had been trying to establish trust with them first, but time was fast slipping away and no one was growing any closer.

Johnny and Matty had gone up to the snowpark after lunch to get some more material from the other local snowboarders. Clover was still pressing them hard to find out – now that the dust had settled a little – how Foley was regarded in light of the fight, and in view of the fact that his face was supposed to represent their town and sport on the world tour.

Johnny had gone out reluctantly, in a gloom of frustration, and Clover knew that whatever they came back with today, it wasn’t going to bring any meat, any heart to this film. There was a gaping great hole at the centre of it – there were too many delays and too much tiptoeing around a hostile subject. There were only a few people whose opinions actually mattered and every time she thought she was inching closer, something happened to repel them again. But she couldn’t go in too early. Regardless of the ticking clock, she knew she had to wait. She might only get one shot with each of them – Tipper, Ari, Beau, and of course Foley himself. There couldn’t be multiple takes; to do reshoots and to repeat questions would be to give them time to rehearse and finesse their answers – the worst thing that could happen. She needed them firing off their instincts, she needed them to be raw and unguarded and shooting from the hip.

Clover looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She had never – literally never – looked worse in her entire life. The swelling around her eye socket had now dissipated and the bruise had faded to a ghoulish yellow that was almost imperceptible in low light, but she looked drawn and worn down. At least she would be able to cover the shadows with make-up now, she thought, pressing the area gently with the pads of her fingers. Then she could get outside again and escape this gilded cage. Just to go for a walk, a coffee . . .