“We can’t bury this!” Tiger’s voice is horrified. “Topher, what are you suggesting? That we pretend we never saw this?”

“I’m just saying—” Topher’s voice is desperate; he runs his hands through his tow-colored hair again, looking half crazed now. “I’m just saying, what good would it do to drag all of this out? Eva’s dead. Liz is dead. Norland is dead. No one can get brought to justice. All we can do is hurt Arnaud and Radisson.”

“And Snoop,” Tiger says accusingly. “That’s what you really mean, isn’t it? This isn’t about Arnaud, this is about protecting your position.” Her usually tranquil voice has grown high with anger and distress. “What about Liz?”

“Liz is a murderer!” Topher cries.

“She’s a victim!”

“She’s a fucking psychopath,” Carl puts in, matter-of-factly. “Was, I mean.”

There is silence, while we all consider this.

Because here’s the thing. They are all right. Liz was a victim. And just like she said, she never wanted any of this. She was just a poor, confused kid, in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I can’t forget that second, extra push. And I can’t forget little, trusting Ani. Perhaps Liz was both.

ERIN

Snoop ID: LITTLEMY

Listening to: The Verve / Bitter Sweet Symphony

Snoopers: 43

Snoopscribers: 164

It’s still not resolved when dinner breaks up, and I climb awkwardly up the steep stairs to my room, leaving the voices of the others still raised in angry discussion and circular argument. It’s a relief in fact to stick my headphones in and slump back on the bed with my ankle raised, thinking of nothing but the music in my head.

I barely hear the knock at the door, but something makes me pull out one earbud, and it comes again, a brisk rap-rap.

With a sigh, I swing my legs off the bed and hobble to the floor.

It’s Danny. And he’s holding a crutch.

“You left this, mate.”

“Oh, of course.” I smack my hand to my forehead. “I’m such an idiot. Thanks.” He hands it over and there’s a moment’s awkward silence. “Do you want to come in?” I ask, waving a hand at my slightly meager room. “I know it’s not exactly the Ritz, but I’m not sure I can face sitting with the others downstairs.”

Slightly to my surprise, Danny shakes his head.

“Nah. I’m… well, I’m actually gonna go out. For a drink.”

“With who?” I’m surprised. I’m even more surprised when Danny blushes.

“Eric. Landlady’s son. He runs the bar up the road, you know, the one with the brass counter on the corner, the Petit Coin? Said… you know. ‘Come in for a drink after supper.’ ”

“Danny!” I can’t stop a smile spreading across my face. “That’s awesome. Is he… ?”

Danny raises one eyebrow, drawing out the silence, making me blush, and then he puts me out of my discomfort.

“If you mean, does he like piña coladas, sources say yes.”

“Ha. Well. Go you.”

“You sure? I mean, you could come…” He trails off, but I’m laughing and shaking my head.

“No. No, thanks. No piña coladas for me, I’m going to have an early night.”

“Okay. Good plan, Batman.” He pauses, but he still doesn’t leave. He just stands there, frowning down at his feet, tracing a pattern on the lurid carpet with his toe. “Fucking weird, wasn’t it?”

“All the stuff with the film? Yeah. What do you think they’ll do?”

“Fuck knows. I’ve been wondering if we should go to the police ourselves, but I dunno if there’s much point.”

I’ve been wondering the same thing, but I don’t have any answers either, and in the end I just shrug.

Danny turns as if he’s about to go, and I’m just about to close the door when he swings back as if he’s thought better of something. He leans in, and I think he’s going to whisper something in my ear, but instead, rather sweetly, and to my surprise, he gives me a kiss. His lips are full and soft against my cheekbone.

“Love you, mate,” he says. I put my arms around him, and squeeze.

“Love you too, Danny. Now go. You’ve got piña coladas waiting.”

ERIN

Snoop ID: LITTLEMY

Listening to: Carole King / Tapestry

Snoopers: 28

Snoopscribers: 345

It’s just over three weeks later, and I’m sitting by the fire in the chalet, staring out of the tall window that overlooks the valley, listening to music and not thinking about anything in particular.

It’s still strange being in the chalet without working. Both Danny and I are still employed, technically, but I don’t know how much longer that can go on. After Perce-Neige was declared an official crime scene, its photo smeared all over the newspapers in half a dozen countries, it became very clear that even if the avalanche damage was repaired, it wasn’t going to be possible to use it for a holiday destination for this season at least.

The remaining bookings for the year have been either cancelled, or hastily reallocated to the other properties owned by the skiing company, and now Danny and I are simply waiting to find out what will happen, pacing the empty rooms, looking at the place where Ani last sat, seeing Elliot’s ghost, spooning stew into his mouth, hearing the click-click-click of Eva’s heels on the parquet, and the slam of Liz’s bedroom door.

I can’t stay in this place. I know that now. But I can’t keep running.

The smells from the kitchen are making my stomach rumble, and I’m just thinking about heaving myself out of my chair and clumping through to ask Danny what time he will be serving up, when my Snoop stream goes dead. For a minute I’m not sure what’s happened. I wasn’t snooping on anyone else, so the feed shouldn’t cut out like that. It was my music.

I open up my phone to check on the app, but that’s when I notice. There’s an email notification. And it’s from Kate. The subject line is Some difficult news. My stomach gives a lurching jolt.

“Danny,” I shout, over the sound of pots and pans from the kitchen. There’s no reply, and I am about to get up and walk through to show him the notification when he appears in the doorway, holding his own phone.

“Did you get it too?” he asks, and I nod my head.

“Yeah. I think we’re both cc’d in. What does it say?”

“Open it and find out.”

My gut is churning as I open the email and scan down the contents. Difficult decision… not practical to reopen… eventual sale… sick pay… generous redundancy packages… four weeks’ notice.

“They’re closing the chalet.” I look up at Danny.

He nods solemnly.

“Yup. That’s about the size of it. Have to say, I’m not exactly surprised, what plonker’s gonna want to stay in a place where four guests got killed? I mean, it’s not exactly home sweet home, is it, even if you take the banjaxed swimming pool out of the equation. What are you gonna do?”

“What am I going to do?” I stare back at him. It’s stupid, because I’ve had three weeks to figure this out, but I’m no closer to deciding. Would I come back to work? Did I want to? Now it’s not even a question.