Somehow I expected Curtis to look the same as the last time I saw him. Collapsed with grief. A broken man. But of course he doesn’t. He’s had ten years to get over it. Or tuck it all away inside him.

Curtis’s hug is brief. “Good to see you, Milla.”

“You, too.” I always struggled to look him in the eye because he was so damned good-looking—still is—but I find it even harder now.

Curtis and Brent grip hands, Curtis’s skin pale against Brent’s. They’ve brought their snowboards; no surprises there. We could hardly go up the mountain without them. Like me, they wear jeans, but I’m amused to see shirt collars below their snowboard jackets.

“Hope I wasn’t expected to dress up,” I say.

Curtis looks me up and down. “You’ll do.”

I swallow. His eyes are as blue as ever, but they remind me of someone I don’t want to think of. There’s none of the warmth I used to feel from him either. For him I dragged myself back to the place I swore I’d never return. I’m already regretting it.

“Who else is coming?” Brent says.

Why’s he looking at me?

“No idea,” I say.

Curtis laughs. “Don’t you know?”

Footsteps. Here comes Heather. And who’s that? Dale? No way—are they still together?

Dale’s previously wild hair is stylishly cut, his piercings removed. His trendy skate shoes don’t even look skated in. I guess he’s been Heathered. At least she let him bring his snowboard.

Heather’s wearing a dress—a sparkly black one—with tights and knee-high boots. Must be bloody freezing, even with the Puffa jacket over it. A whiff of hairspray from her long, dark locks as she hugs me.

“Great to see you, Milla.” She must have had a few drinks before she got here, because she almost sounds like she means it. Her boots have a three-inch heel, bringing her to an inch taller than me, which is probably why she’s wearing them.

She flashes a ring.

“You guys got married?” I say. “Congratulations.”

“Three years now.” Her Geordie accent is thicker than ever.

Brent and Curtis slap Dale’s back.

“Took your time askin’, hey, bro?” Brent says. His London accent seems stronger, too.

“Actually, I asked him,” Heather snaps.

The door of the cable car grinds open. A lift attendant shuffles up behind us, black resort cap pulled low. He checks off our names on a clipboard and gestures for us to enter.

The others file past.

“Is that everyone?” I say, playing for time.

The liftie seems to think so. There’s something familiar about him.

Everyone else is aboard now. Reluctantly, I join them.

“Who else would there be anyway?” Curtis says.