She liked the feeling of her legs hanging as they soared up and away from the ground. The sun kept playing peek-a-boo with the clouds and she watched as their shadows scudded across the vast, unpisted snow plains. She looked down, searching for animal tracks in the off-piste sections, marvelling at the grotesquely beautiful ice swellings in sudden crevasses. The Ice Camp, on the plateau just down from the snowpark, was full of skiers making the most of the fleeting sunshine and lying back in deckchairs, their faces angled to the sky. They wouldn’t have long, Clover thought, looking at the horizon; heavy clouds were coming in from the east. Yet more snow was on the way. This would be a short afternoon’s work, and that suited her fine.

‘Happy to follow me?’ Johnny asked as they disembarked at the top, gliding down the exit ramp.

‘Always.’ She adjusted the wrist straps of her poles and checked the chinstrap on her helmet – or ‘brain bucket’, as she had heard Logan calling them in Saas-Fee.

They shushed languidly down some blue runs, staying clear of the ski school groups who could be . . . unpredictable with their turns. Johnny made it look easy, boarding with equipment bags over his shoulder even though a fall onto his back would be painful – not to mention costly.

Within ten minutes, even taking their time, they could see the snowpark below them, black dots flying off white jumps, sometimes successfully, other times not. Clover gave a weary exhale. She could already anticipate the smirking look of victory in Kit’s eyes – he had not only made her confess her most shameful secret, but had taken it and used it against her. Try as she might, she could never beat him. Nothing worked.

‘Come on, while the light’s decent,’ Johnny said, as if reading her mind.

They stopped at their usual spot just above the pipe, Johnny reading the activity and light situation. The park felt even busier once they were in it. Young kids and teenagers were throwing themselves over kickers and rails that parents knew better than to attempt and Clover discerned at once that the atmosphere had changed during their absence – it felt more playful, joyous. Only the pipe remained much as it had – the dimensions of the superpipe were too advanced for pedestrian riders – but a crowd had gathered to watch those who could take it on.

‘Could be good for some extra talking heads?’ Johnny said, seeing the number of teenagers watching on. ‘The next generation – do they like him or no?’

Clover nodded reluctantly, skiing over to them and flatly making enquiries as Johnny unpacked his camera and tripod bags. She rounded up a few who were keen to see themselves on camera but their reactions were disappointingly positive: he’s a legend; rad; a dude . . . The only one she remotely liked was Kit being called ‘a bit old’.