Brent grumbles, but Heather hands out cards, pens, and envelopes. I look at Curtis again, but he sweeps past me out of the room.

“What are we supposed to write?” Brent asks.

“Something juicy that no one else knows,” Heather says.

My throat goes dry. I drain my beer, but it’s the kind of dryness that no amount of alcohol will wash away. I know because I tried it when I left here ten years ago.

I chew the end of the pen, straining to think of something funny to reveal, and hear Curtis’s voice in the corridor. He has his phone to his ear. Typical Curtis—makes us give our phones up, then uses his. Is he talking to his girlfriend? He sees me watching and shuts the door.

I look down at my card, but I’m too cold and hungry to think straight. In the end I just write: I have a cat called Stalefish.

Brent has disappeared. I slip my secret into an envelope and post it in the slot at the top of the box. Where did Curtis get this thing? Apart from being white, it’s completely out of keeping with the rest of the room. The flimsy plywood sides have been badly glued together and given a dodgy paint job, and it looks like something my granddad would make.

I need the toilet. The ladies’ is the first door down the corridor. The water comes out the tap so cold you’d think the pipes would freeze.

Back in the function room, Brent has produced a large bag of potato chips. I take a handful.

I nod at Brent’s snowboard jacket. “Does Burton still give you stuff or did you have to buy that?”

He crunches chips. “I get a discount.”

“All right for you. I had to buy myself a whole new kit for this trip.” I lick salt from my fingers. I gave all my snowboard gear away ten years ago to a kid who lived across the street. She deserved it more than me.

Curtis has returned from his call and resumed his post at the window, back turned. What’s he looking at? There’s nothing to see.

Dale comes in with another handful of beers. Brent and I swipe a bottle each.

“Ready to play?” Heather says.

“Just a sec,” Curtis says, and ducks out once more.

Heather looks like she’s about to combust. I hide my smile. It’s as though Curtis did it just to piss her off.

“See any staff?” I ask Dale.

“No,” he says. “I reckon we’re on our own up here.”

“Looks that way,” Brent agrees.

“But there was hot food in the kitchen,” I remind them.

“Yeah, I saw,” Dale says. “I guess they figured we could help ourselves. Send someone up the lift in the morning to make us breakfast, maybe.”