She put another golf ball onto the scuffed blue tee, steadied herself, then whacked it again. Abby repeated the move twice more, then she turned, letting out a contented sigh as she took off her single golf glove and walked over to Jordan. Abby slumped into the sofa’s plump cushions, far more relaxed than when Jordan had first met her ten days ago. This was her safe space. Jordan was impressed she’d let her in so quickly.

“So does Marcus come here with you, too?”

Abby nodded, not turning her head from the vista ahead. “Yes. Although he’s humouring me, I know that.”

“He doesn’t play golf?”

“He does, but only for business reasons. He gets a lot of his business on the golf course, as is the way of the world. But if he didn’t have to go out on a golf course again, he wouldn’t.”

“Do you play golf, too?”

“On occasion. But this is easier to fit into my life. Just coming to a bay, getting a bucket of balls, and hitting them down the course. It’s therapeutic. It can be social. But I can also do it on my own. Some people go to the gym, some people meditate. I come here.” Abby paused. “Are you going to give it a go?” She raised an eyebrow at Jordan, before standing up and holding out a hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how. I promise the clubs don’t bite. And neither do I.”

Jordan gulped, knowing she couldn’t get out of this. She took Abby’s hand and jumped up, ignoring the roll of her stomach as their fingers touched.

Abby gave her a seven iron, holding its head in her hand. “See this?” Her fingers traversed the thick iron wedge. “The head is more angled, which means you’re more likely to hit the ball and drive it into the air.”

Jordan nodded. “Airborne is what I’m after.” She took the club in her hands and swung her hips the way she’d seen Abby do.

Even that wasn’t easy.

“Interlock your hands together like this.” Abby grabbed a nearby club and showed Jordan. “Little finger in between the opposite index and middle finger.”

Jordan frowned, then slipped her little finger inside her thumb.

Abby shook her head. “No, your pinkie in between your index and middle.” She leaned in and rearranged Jordan’s pinkie. A waft of her floral perfume sailed through Jordan’s airwaves, before Abby stepped back.

“Now watch the ball, not the club. Swing it up behind your head, and follow through by rotating your top half. Keep your hips still.”

Jordan cleared her mind of everything else. She focused on the small white ball, before looking down the driving range. Above her, balls flew out from the other driving bays. To her right, a man in a cap was muttering under his breath as he swung, and missed.