‘Sure. Absolutely.’ Winning mattered a lot more to him than to me, he could have his victory.

Unsure of what to do, I went home again and FaceTimed Claire, who was still in bed in the SugarLoaf Inn, a mess of smeared lipstick, dishevelled hair and wonky eyelashes.

‘Hey,’ I said cautiously. ‘You look…’

‘Yeah.’ She groaned. ‘A good time was had by all. What’s up? What about you and Luke?’

‘Well, nothing really. He’s still with Kallie—’

‘—but you did sleep with him?’ Claire all but shrieked. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t!’

‘Claire, calm down, take it easy! We did. But that’s it, that’s all. We’re done. In a good way.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, no, no, no, no, this is a disaster. What about Quin?’

‘It’s over.’

‘Christ.’

‘Yeah, but…’ I hadn’t believed it last night when I’d been up to my oxters in delusion, but this morning I’d been prepared.

‘Lookit, I’ve to go. Need to puke. Debrief in Mum’s around five. Be there. She’s rewriting her will.’

*

I slept for the rest of that day, then went to Mum and Dad’s. Not because I cared about my ‘inheritance’—Mum was forever rewriting her will, reallocating her gold-plated watches and miraculous medals. No one cared apart from her. But I liked the post-mortem of a party as much as the next person.

Throwing on some clothes, I tentatively probed my emotions—there was a mountain of shame for hurting Quin. And huge amounts of guilt about Kallie.

Quin having slept with Golden also burned, but in a peculiar second-hand fashion, as if a layer of cotton wool protected me. Perhaps the pain would come later.

The strangest feeling of all was about Luke. A calmness hummed in me, a sense of completion, as if a storm had blown itself out, revealing a world both peaceful and benign.

I rang Nola. Brusquely she ordered me to start writing my steps again. ‘Start step one tomorrow,’ she said. ‘An hour a day. Make it a priority.’

‘Okay.’ Then I left for my parents’ house.

In Mum’s Good Front Room the mood was subdued, all four of my sisters pale and quiet, curled on the couches, their clothing pyjamas or pyjamas-adjacent. Claire seemed to be wearing an actual duvet.

‘I’m sorry I bothered getting dressed,’ I said.

Mum, by far the most strung-out, was horribly, nervily jubilant. ‘Wasn’t it a great night?’ Underneath her left eye, a slight twitch was hopping.

‘A total triumph,’ I said. ‘I’ll just say hello to Dad.’

‘He’s watching the golf.’

In the TV room Dad and Angelo were happily side by side, facing the telly, each eating a bag of Monster Munch. Poor Dad, he was so happy on the rare occasions he had male company.

‘Everything okay here?’ I asked.

‘Gooch.’ Angelo winked.