Several people cheered and shouted praise as he let the airbag settle around him. Whatever he’d just done, it appeared to be a big deal and he seemed pleased with it.

Clover looked back up the chute, waiting to see, finally, what Kit Foley could actually do. It had been one thing watching him on her laptop for months on end, getting to recognize his signature style on water. He was known for his aggression, those powerful clipped turns, his effortless 360s, superb balance . . . But the mountain – all rock, snow and ice – was a different beast. Was he the competitor here that he had been out there? Back then?

He was standing on the top lip, seemingly ready to go, but there was something even in his stillness that was intense; he was inanimate, but not inert. Even under his baggy layers, she could still tell his body was coiled and primed. He stared ahead in unseeing concentration, oblivious seemingly to the fact others were waiting, before he suddenly dropped in, tipping down the nose of the board. His body assumed the warrior-like pose she knew so well – knees bent, arms out for balance – as he went down the sheer drop. It wasn’t just the height and gradient that made the pipe so challenging, but the buffed slipperiness of the surface, the snow almost polished to a shine. There was no stopping once on it; as with a rollercoaster, the rider had to commit to the ride.

He took the first line modestly, executing a whiplash sharp turn and coming back down and over to the next side. This time he caught air – a lot of it. He landed well and Clover caught some people nodding in admiration as he went into the third pitch. He took off, grabbing his board with one arm and stretching his body in a backward arc as he hit peak altitude. Then he was coming back down again, his arms wide and squatting low to absorb the impact from the jump as he looked ahead towards his final ascent . . .

‘Ooooof!’ Johnny looked away, a collective sucking of teeth whistling audibly down the chute. Foley was on his back and sliding down the ice. He kept his legs in the air, protectively, as he began to slow, spinning in small revolutions. ‘Shame,’ Johnny said, clapping him supportively.

It had looked like a nasty fall to Clover but Foley popped up on his feet as soon as he could get his board down safely and arced his way to the bottom of the pipe. He snaked right past them without giving any sign of having seen or recognized them. Another blank. Another bird. Clover hoped he had seen them. She hoped he realized they’d seen him fall. She hoped he had hurt himself.