They settled in Johnny’s room, where he’d set up the editing stations. Johnny kept glancing behind him as if to check they were still there, as the lack of conversation filled the room like smoke.

‘Everything all right?’

‘Yes.’ Clover looked at Matty. She was uncharacteristically quiet again and Clover knew she was nervous about telling him about Julian.

They pulled an armchair beside the bed and flopped down as he pressed playback, bringing up the raw footage from that morning: Kit riding up in the bubble, staring pensively out the window; Kit stepping out of the top station and glancing warily around at the milling crowds. He had his helmet and goggles on, but his helmet was branded with JOR in black shadow letters; people who wanted to find him would know what to look for. The superpipe lay in a state of pristine perfection at the top of the shot as he walked across the snow towards the competitors’ tent. A couple of guys walking across the frame stopped in front of him suddenly. They eyeballed him, then one of them spat at the ground by his feet.

Clover gasped. She saw Kit swallow, but not react. His face wasn’t visible but the corner of his jaw pulsed, just once. He waited for them to move on. Point made, they did, but other people had seen; Clover could see heads turn, whole groups pivoting to watch as he walked. Ari, who had been getting the spare boards from the gondola, caught him up and walked with him, shoulders back, his chin up in a defiant posture, daring anyone else to challenge them.

Johnny swung round, coming in tighter on Kit’s face as he went up to the competition marshals to register and get his bib. He pushed his goggles up so they could see his face, speaking quietly, his mouth pursed. He looked pale, with dark moons cradled beneath his eyes. Clover wondered whether he’d slept. ‘They’re just words she’s throwing around, right?’ He was playing it down as a flesh wound, but Clover could see Amy had wounded him more gravely than that.

Johnny sped the tape up to three times normal speed. Ari getting them coffees. Kit sitting alone in the tent, watching the giant screens. The other competitors coming in, slapping hands, ignoring him. The looks that came his way . . . Everyone had believed what they’d read. They believed he was a monster.

Clover felt sick. She felt a heat in her chest. This wasn’t right . . .

Kit getting up, doing some stretches. Picking up his board. A high-five with Ari, then he was gone . . . Ari watching on the screen, his fingers pressed anxiously to his mouth, his elbows on his knees. He looked sick too . . .