Will doesn’t say a word as we collect our skis and boots from the dingy underground room which has a concrete floor with broken rubber matting and reeks of smelly feet. Ski boots must be the most uncomfortable things in the world and it takes ages to get them on. Will is ready much faster than me and sits on the wooden bench staring straight ahead as I continue to wrestle my feet into my boots.

‘You OK?’ I ask as I finally manage to jam my heel down into the boot and start trying to work out what to do with the various buckles and straps. ‘You’re very quiet.’

He turns to look at me and smiles. ‘Yeah. Sorry. My brother just winds me up sometimes.’

I puff out my cheeks. ‘He seems OK to me – quite funny in his way. I wouldn’t really know not having any siblings,’ I add, not wanting Will to think I am taking Adam’s side, ‘but everyone seems to get wound up by their brothers and sisters.’

Will shrugs. ‘I guess. He always has to have the last word on everything. Just loves to put me down. Always has done, probably always will do. And …’

He tails off.

‘What?’ I prompt.

‘I resent him putting me down in front of you. There’s no need for him to do that.’

He looks away from me and bends down, pretending to fiddle with a buckle on his boot. I can see he’s gone red.

I touch his knee. ‘You don’t need to worry about that. I promise I won’t take any notice of anything he says about you.’ I give his knee a pat. ‘Now let’s get outside so I can make a fool of myself on these slopes.’

I’m already exhausted and have dropped my skis several times by the time we arrive at the base of a small fenced-off area of slope. We’ve walked no more than a hundred metres but I am boiling hot and can feel sweat pooling under my armpits and trickling down my skin under my many layers. I knew I’d put too many clothes on.

‘Right. Here we are. The magic carpet,’ Will says, indicating a conveyor belt running a short distance up the hill. It doesn’t look very magic or anything like a carpet. Tiny kids wrapped up like Michelin men are getting on, followed by the occasional man in red. I guess they are the instructors.

‘What’s magic about it?’ I ask, and then force a smile to try to cover my grumpiness. ‘Everyone else getting on it seems to be under five – are you sure I won’t break it? Am I allowed to use it?’

He smiles. ‘Yes, it’s fine. I wanted you to get your ski legs on this before I inflict a drag on you.’

I feel a stab of panic. That sounds scary. ‘What’s that?’