She had crossed over the leopard-print-carpeted drawing room, her blue puff-sleeve maxi dress billowing around her, and into the study where Nate was working with Charlotte. He tutored Charlotte in the mornings, working with other families in the afternoons. Alice worked in the morning and then swapped with Nate. She and Charlotte did things to ease her anxiety in the short window before her siblings returned home: cycling, swimming, skateboarding. Sometimes they cooked (always Korean, although Charlotte had recently shown an interest in a Norwegian singer and Alice was hopeful they might try some Scandinavian food next). Charlotte was learning Korean on an app and Ted had bought her some Korean comics, which she enjoyed translating. If Alice needed to work then Nate, or Lilly, stepped in. Ted had Friday afternoons with Charlotte before collecting Wilf and Phoebe from school and had them overnight. It wasn’t perfect but it was progress.

This morning, Charlotte had been learning maths by way of BTS sales (If BTS sold X records at £X, how much money would they make in Korean won?). Alice was relaying the curious incident of the mystery payment to Nate, when a WhatsApp notification pinged on to her screen:

When in Paris

Jules:

The shock was such that she spluttered mid-speech, half-choking. ‘What the…’ she said as Nate looked up curiously. ‘You okay?’ he laughed.

‘Yeah, I just got a WhatsApp from Jules,’ she said, lifting the phone screen for him to see.

It was weird to see her name there, like that. As if the last nine months hadn’t happened.

‘So open it?’ Nate said quizzically.

‘I don’t know.’ Alice bit her lip. ‘I feel like I should just delete it. What could she possibly have to say that will put things right?’

‘Just read it,’ he said, ever the voice of reason. ‘She was your friend for twenty years. That’s important.’

‘Hm,’ she said. ‘I guess.’

*

Nina was abroad, styling a food shoot in Milan for a leading women’s magazine. She was reliably informed by Carey that she was now a multi-hyphenate, which she liked the sound of. Her dark hair was newly cropped, back to how she wore it in her teenage days, but with one of her trademark scarves – a floral yellow print today – knotted over the top. She’d dressed carefully, a fine-knit halter-neck top beneath her black La City Pâtisserie apron, her arms bare but for her scattering of delicate fine-line tattoos and a single bracelet, a gift from the girls, because she knew today’s photographs would also be featured in her lifestyle book, With Nina, which was themed around seasonal entertaining. She had been delighted when she signed the contract but couldn’t miss the note of irony that she wasn’t able to share the moment with her oldest girlfriends. Her favourite Adele album was drifting through the room’s state-of-the-art speakers, while Luna, Flynn’s photographer sister, discreetly snapped away, when her phone pinged and she glanced at the alert.

When In Paris