Didier says something I don’t understand in French to the lift operator who opens a small gate and lets us through, giving me a small, sympathetic nod as he does. We get into the bubble, which is nothing like the draughty, scratched-Perspex bubbles I remember from my skiing holidays. This is more like a limousine with tinted windows, faux-leather seats, and movement so smooth and silent it barely registers. I bet Didier is dying to point out its best features as he no doubt would to anyone else visiting the resort, but he maintains a respectful silence.

At the top we get out and stand outside the lift station. It is colder and windier up here and I feel the snow seeping into my shoes again. I take a discreet step back so I can stand on the black anti-slip matting of the lift station rather than in the snow.

‘So,’ Didier says, putting his finger to his lips as if in thought. ‘As far as we understand from the reports, you headed off in that direction.’ He points towards a sign which reads ‘hors piste’ and has a somewhat overdramatic and inappropriate picture, given the circumstances, of an upside-down stickman falling down a mountainside. There is an embarrassed silence as we no doubt all take in the sign and decide not to say anything.

‘As you know, the weather was not good and you sadly became separated from the guides. After that … well, we don’t know. You were found at first light the next day in a hole you had dug in the snow, hypothermic and unconscious and poor Will … from where he was found we think he must have fallen from the edge. It is not usually a very dangerous path, but it can be tricky to see in bad weather.’

Silence falls again. This is awful. My head suddenly feels hot. For a second I think I might be sick, but I swallow the intense wave of nausea down.

I have an almost irrepressible urge to scream or, at the very least, bellow at them that I don’t understand why they are making me do this as it isn’t going to help and it certainly isn’t going to bring Will back but instead I keep my voice steady and polite and simply say: ‘OK. Thank you. I’d like to go back down now please.’

Matt puts his hand on my arm again and I turn away, pretending I am moving to get back in the bubble but really I don’t want anyone touching me.

‘Of course,’ Didier says. ‘We go.’

‘And if you don’t mind, I don’t think I need to meet the pisteur. I don’t have any questions for him. This is all quite upsetting and I’ve already seen enough.’

Didier nods. ‘No problem. I understand. Perhaps we can have some lunch, and then we can take you to the hospital to identify the body.’