Curtis is looking across the room at Dale and Heather. “M Anderson, something like that. Gmail account.”

“I don’t have a Gmail account. My invite was from C Sparks. Gmail, too.”

I spent so long wording my reply. Should I mention Saskia? Should I offer condolences? I considered phoning him. There wasn’t a number on the invitation but there were several on his website. In the end I chickened out. Awkward conversations are easier in person.

Great idea! I wrote. I’ll be there. So good to hear from you. What have you been up to?

His reply pinged back. Glad you can come. See you soon.

I was disappointed but put it down to his being busy. And male. What guy ever writes more than he has to?

I drain my beer. Unlike Brent, Curtis has aged well. He’s clean-shaven, the cleft in his chin clearly visible, and he must have been overseas recently, because he has a faint tan. His dark blond hair is a little longer than it used to be, but it suits him. He wears a navy Sparks-brand jacket with white piping down the sleeves. Photos on social media show his whole family wears the brand these days.

Or rather, what’s left of his family.

“Did you keep in touch with any of these guys?” Curtis says.

“No,” I say.

“Not even Brent?”

Is he asking out of curiosity or something more? “No.”

There are so many things I want to ask him. How much time he gets on snow. Where he’s living. If he’s seeing anyone. I search his face for a trace of the old warmth, or even just a sign he doesn’t hate me.

But Curtis is all business. “How about anyone else from that winter?”

“No.” I ended up jumping in my car and driving off, leaving the storm behind me. I deleted them from my Facebook. My phone. My life. I feel bad about that now, but I wanted to clear the slate. “But I’m pretty visible online. I’m a personal trainer and I have a blog and a website.”

If he’s looked me up, he doesn’t reveal it. “Right.”

“I imagine it’s the same with you?”

“Yep.”

Curtis is apparently as talented in business as he was at snowboarding, because Sparks Snowboarding, the outerwear company he set up seven or eight years ago, has really taken off. And I love what he’s doing with it. Running freestyle snowboard camps in Switzerland every summer, coaching underprivileged kids alongside up-and-coming young stars, and campaigning about climate change, trying to safeguard the glaciers so that future generations can enjoy them.

Across the room, Dale’s voice raises, though he lowers it when he sees us looking. Heather shakes her head, her body language defensive. I don’t like what I’m seeing. If he lays one finger on her, I’m going over there.