‘I am so sorry for your loss, Monsieur Cassiobury,’ he says, his English grammatically perfect but so heavily accented it sounds almost as if he must be doing it deliberately. He shakes my hand in a way that is almost like a clasp, his other hand on the back of mine as he looks directly into my eyes. It feels too intimate and I don’t know what to say. It’s all happened so quickly, this being the bereaved brother thing.

‘Thank you. Your colleagues here at the resort have all been so kind. I am so very grateful for all your help.’

He finally lets go of my hand, thankfully, and gives a little shrug. ‘It is the least we can do. Your brother was taken by the mountains and we wish to pay our respects. When one of us is lost, we all feel it.’

Us. We were never an us; Will, me, and the resort. We only visited once. It occurs to me that this sentiment has become a theme since my arrival, and I briefly wonder if all this hero’s welcome is to try to prevent me apportioning blame, suing, or similar. The world is so much more litigious than it was two decades ago.

But no. I have no intention of suing, opening the whole thing up again, putting myself under unwanted scrutiny. It would seem my late parents accepted the decision of the investigation at the time, that no one was at fault. As for me, I barely paid any attention to it. As soon as I was out of hospital and well enough to travel, that’s what I did, taking as many drugs as I could to forget about it all, enjoying extreme adventures for a while as I didn’t care whether I lived or died.

As far as anyone here is concerned, it was an accident. These people love the mountains and are genuinely sorry for me. Sad that something so awful happened in their resort, the place that some of them think of as home. I need to do my death tour, be gracious, confirm it’s Will they found, and get out of here as quickly as possible.

‘Monsieur? Is that OK for you?’ the resort guy is asking.

‘Sorry. I was miles away. What was it you said?’

‘That is fine. I know it must be a distressing day for you. I said that first we will take you to where your brother was found, then up to the lift where – well, the lift you took that day. I don’t know if you remember but the run, it’s off-piste and interdit, that is to say forbidden, on a day like today, so we would advise not going any further. But if you are very definite that you would prefer to see it and you are a confident skier perhaps we can arrange a guide if the weather is better later—’