‘He is, or he was, very proud of his garden, even though he hadn’t been living in the house for years. It was written into all the tenancy agreements he drew up when the place was rented out that the garden had to be looked after, and he always arranged for a neighbour to let him know if it wasn’t happening.’ Tess rolls the empty glass between her palms.

‘Go on . . .’

‘I got the five-litre canister of weedkiller out of the shed and poured it, almost neat, into the watering can, and I wrote something on his ever-so-perfect front lawn, where all the neighbours would see it.’

‘What did you write?’

‘Nothing sweary or rude.’

Georgia raises an eyebrow.

‘I wrote “LIAR”, because he had been lying to me for months. Maybe for years.’

Georgia lifts the whisky bottle, pours two more drinks, and tops them up with water. She raises her glass. ‘Magnificent.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Magnificent. I would have done the same if I had half your imagination.’

‘It was a crazy thing to do. And it left me with all sorts of problems. I can’t bear to use a smartphone. Our relationship was bracketed by loving text messages and funny things we had seen and taken a picture of and sent to each other, and calls from far-away places and apps for booking flights and finding nice places to eat. I know I eventually caved in to your suggestion and bought that really basic one, but I still don’t use it unless I have to. And my business was toast because I didn’t have the energy to be creative any more. I used to organise things, mostly for business people. They would message me and ask me to arrange for flowers for their mum twice a month or buy birthday presents. One family got me to buy children’s party gifts on Amazon and have them sent gift-wrapped so their child could take them to whatever event they’d been invited to. I booked travel, hotels, arranged cleaners, organised dog walkers. I was like an online housekeeper and personal assistant and substitute wife all rolled into one. And now look at me! It took me a considerable amount of effort just to film your attic. You should have seen my hands shaking.’

‘But you managed it, and it was a great help to me that you did.’

‘I was completely broken.’ The silence stretches into the nooks and crannies of the kitchen, filling every tiny space. Eventually Tess finds her voice again. ‘After I did the weedkiller thing, I thought I’d be fine. But I wasn’t. It’s been six months, but he’s in my head almost every day, and I’m still pretty wrecked. I’m just better at hiding it now.’ Tess looks down at her left hand. ‘Maybe I’ll always feel like this.’ She takes another sip of whisky and rubs her ring finger, unable to continue.