Curtis turns back to Dale. “Cliffs all over the place. If she slides, she could pull one of us clean off the mountain. Keep it as a last resort. First we need to exhaust every other avenue.”

“Like what?” I say.

“Like breaking into the lift operator booth. If we can get the bubble running, we’re halfway down. If not, there might be a radio or some kind of emergency button. We need to check around outside, see what’s out there. Might be a radio in the tow lift shack.”

“Whoever did this must be some kind of psycho,” Heather says shakily.

Curtis pauses a beat. “Has anyone seen or heard anything to suggest there’s someone other than the five of us up here?”

His eyes meet mine briefly as he scans the room, and I notice how he worded that. He didn’t mention the perfume or the hair, but I think that’s what he’s getting at.

The others are shaking their heads.

Curtis hasn’t suggested splitting up. Why? He could ride down with me and Brent, say, leaving Heather here with Dale until the resort staff start the lifts running. Is it the possibility of his sister’s presence that’s stopping him?

“Right,” Curtis says. “Eat up, then we’ll get to work.” He gives Dale a pointed look. “Unless anyone’s got a better suggestion.”

Dale raises his hand to his head in an ironic salute.

And Curtis strides out of the kitchen.

Heather glances at Brent and once again I wonder what went on in that laundry cupboard.

Dale says something in her ear; she nods and nuzzles his jaw. Their marriage may not be perfect, but he’s still there for her. What’s it like to have that? To have someone who always has your back? I don’t know because I’ve never had it. Through choice, but even so. Sometimes I wonder if I’m missing out.

I turn away and pour myself a bowl of Chocapic. Haven’t had it since that winter. The others pass the box around and we carry our bowls into the restaurant, where chairs are overturned and the floor is strewn with broken glass from last night’s fight.

There’s an awkward silence as we eat. Heather is trying to catch Brent’s eye.

Don’t do that, Heather, or Dale will see.

Out the window the sun blazes down on the glacier, the glare so bright I have to shield my eyes to look at it. A few hundred meters up the slope are the remains of various jumps, presumably from the summer camp Burton runs here every August.

Sadness fills me. In a different life we would be out there enjoying ourselves—instead of stuck in here suspecting terrible things about each other.

I need to get it through my head that this is not the nostalgic reunion I had hoped it would be.