The constitution of the company that owned The Lodge was, like the Russian Duma or various People’s Committees, a democratic autocracy. Of its three shares, only Leonie’s had voting rights. Kelly had inherited her share of The Lodge twenty years earlier from her father Noel Chidgey, but, under the terms of his will, was prevented from monetising it without Leonie’s approval. Six months ago, after cheating on Gordon, when she would have loved to sell her share and start up somewhere else, Kelly had asked Leonie for that approval, but Leonie had refused. So Kelly moved into The Lodge with Ben. Her restricted financial condition might force her to wear, as she called, a ‘fixed chagrin’, but Kelly, who hated the house she had grown up in nearly as much as she hated her stepmother, had no intention of staying in The Lodge long-term. The Lodge was merely a stepping stone on her path to escape. She would find a way around Leonie. She had rejoined the workforce, managing an aromatic candle emporium in the tourist hub of Capri (‘Seven miles from the city, a million miles from care’, but, if you asked Bluebirders, too fucking close, thanks very much), to make ends meet while waiting for that happy day when some change in circumstance, such as Ben finishing school, or Leonie falling from a cruise ship or suffering a fatal pedicure mishap, freed her from the hideous tumbling-down house and this miserable beach.

‘I have,’ Gordon said. ‘But I’m not like you.’

‘Employable.’

He lowered his head.

‘You’re not that useless, Gordon. There must be something out there that isn’t customer-facing.’