She followed him through the beautiful apartment. It was all grey contemporary sofas and yellow curtains, mid-century lights and framed lithographs. The kitchen was an ode to minimalism with marble counters and white glossy units, not an appliance or even a handle in sight; Clover supposed it was as good a system as any for keeping the kids out.

‘Is it the snowboarder?’ he asked her, pressing a door and revealing a glasses cabinet.

‘Yes. And also no,’ Clover sighed. ‘I guess I just needed to . . . breathe.’

Tom glanced back at her as he reached for a bottle of merlot. ‘I’m glad to hear it. You not breathing would be an issue for me.’

‘Ha.’ Her smile faded again. ‘Although . . . I almost skied over a cliff yesterday.’

She saw him pale like a cartoon character. ‘What?’

‘I’d just heard about Mikey and . . . I was upset and I missed a turn and ended up off-piste and . . .’ She swallowed.

‘How close was it?’

‘. . . Within metres.’

He put the bottle down on the counter, his palms splayed flat, his arms locked. ‘Christ. Clo! . . . I can’t believe you stopped in time.’

‘I didn’t, that’s the thing. I didn’t even see it until after I was down.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t understand . . . How did you stop, then?’

‘Kit stopped me. He . . . tackled me.’

‘He tackled you?’

‘He was on a snowboard and he tackled me.’

‘He tackled you, on a snowboard?’

‘Yes.’

‘. . . And he’s okay?’

‘He’s fine. We were just both a bit shaken up. We got pretty cold waiting for the helicopter.’

‘Helicopter? You had to be helicoptered off?’

She nodded, remembering how Kit had helped her into the harness that had been lowered to them, and clipped her in. She remembered the feeling of becoming weightless, spinning away from him, his upturned face below her feet as she was winched to safety.

‘. . . Christ, you do need that drink!’ Tom began peeling back the wrapper. ‘And you owe him a drink, that’s for sure.’

She gave a wry smile as he started pulling on the cork. ‘Trust me, he wouldn’t accept it from me.’

It gave with a satisfying pop.

‘Why not?’ He poured her a large glass. Very large. Then one for himself too.

‘We don’t exactly get on. We’ve got a bit of a hate–hate thing going on.’ She saw his blank look. ‘He’s responsible for Cory’s accident. It’s because of him Cory’s dead.’

‘Oh, right.’ He looked puzzled. ‘. . . But he also saved your life.’ He held his glass out to her. ‘And I’ll drink to that!’

‘Huh?’ She stared back at him.

‘Well, he might be why Cory’s dead – but he’s also why you’re alive.’ He shrugged and took a deep glug. ‘That’s worth cutting him slack, surely? At the very least, you’ve got to buy the guy a drink!’