Clover frowned as she waited for his next trick. And then the next. Was she imagining it? She glanced at Tipper and saw how he was standing – as erect as if frozen. The crowd’s murmurs confirmed it for her too.

Johnny’s mouth was hanging open again as he positioned the drone. ‘You’ve gotta be kidding,’ he breathed.

Clover looked back at the pipe. At Tipper’s rigid stance.

‘Isn’t he copying Schultz?’ she asked Johnny. ‘He’s doing exactly what Schultz just did?’

‘Yeah. But he won’t do the last trick. There’s no way he’s experienced enough yet—’

But he did. For his last aerial, Foley took off. She watched as his body exploded upwards like a rocket, doing exactly what he asked it to do . . . twisting, arching, reaching . . .

Clover’s hands flew to her mouth.

He landed perfectly on the airbag at the end, not even trying to land it. But it was abundantly clear that if he had gone for the hard landing, he’d have made it. It had been stroke perfect, his point clear – he had just matched Mikey Schultz, trick for trick. He had shown his cards.

Beau and Ari were standing at the sides, bear-hugging each other and roaring delightedly in each other’s faces. Even Tipper was moving more freely, pacing in small figures of eight and clapping quietly.

But no one else moved. All along the pipe, on both sides, the spectators were perfectly still, utterly quiet; arms hung limply in silent protest. Clover watched on, clearly able to see from this elevated position the passive-aggressive vibe coming from a community that was famous for its bromances. There was no camaraderie here, not for Kit Foley. Among snowboarding’s band of brothers, he was a lone wolf.

Chapter Nine

She was back on her spot on the sofa by the time they returned a couple of hours later. Beau was clutching a magnum of champagne and singing at the top of his voice, one arm draped around Ari’s shoulder.

‘Come on, mate,’ Ari said, staggering with him over to the sofa opposite Clover and unceremoniously dropping him on it. ‘He’s pissed outta his head,’ he chuckled to her, in case she didn’t recognize what she was seeing.

Kit was right behind them and sat beside his brother’s slumped form. He slapped his shoulder affectionately. ‘You okay, buddy?’

Beau gave him a gappy grin. Seemingly he had drunk most of the magnum himself.

‘Don’t puke, all right?’

‘A’ight,’ Beau nodded, closing his eyes.

‘Celebrating something?’ Clover asked lightly, setting her laptop off her legs and onto the seat cushions. She looked at the three men’s assorted ranges of happiness. Ari, animated. Beau, paralytic. Kit, while hardly falling-down drunk, nonetheless in a better mood than she had ever seen if he was allowing himself to not only remain in her presence, but actively sit across from her.