She sprang out of the bath, displacing a surprising amount of water onto the white tiles: she might have been in there for a long time, but his voice had ruined the peace of it in an instant. She walked naked to open the door. Without his glasses Phillip continued to look younger and a little less in charge. He blinked at her. She could see him adjust his weight to mask his hardness. Unsuccessfully. She could always get him, just by standing in front of him like this.

‘Did you want something, Phillip?’

‘I was wondering if you are still obsessed with your ex-boyfriend’s stunt or if maybe you will one day come to bed.’

It was the way he spoke, of course, there was always that satirical edge, but still: the coldness of it made her catch her breath. ‘So, you want me to just go to sleep and when we wake up we’ll find out if he’s dead? Cool.’

‘Look, he isn’t going to die, he isn’t going to be dead.’ Phillip was studiedly not-looking at her bare thighs, his Kryptonite. Michaela watched the water running off her legs and feet, leaving little rockpools on the floorboards where they met the bathroom tiles. Good. Bollocks to him and his ‘the floor is the most precious part of a property’. ‘But even – even regardless …’

She backed into the bathroom again, sat on the edge of the bath: feet wide, legs apart. She’d make him suffer. ‘Regardless of whether my friend is dead …’

‘Your friend. Yes. At best, your friend. You are not even meant to be in touch with …’

‘I’m not in touch with him! I’ve heard from him tonight because he might be about to, or has, killed himself!’ She was tripping over the sentence construction and, no, sitting wasn’t right. She brought herself back up to her full height, arms folded across her breasts.

‘But you’re not with him any more.’ Phillip frowned his kingly disappointment frown. ‘You are with me. It isn’t your fault if he decides to do – whatever he does is not your fault.’

‘It’s someone’s fault.’

‘It’s his. That’s all.’

‘It isn’t that simple, Phillip.’ Michaela glimpsed herself in the mirror. It was a shame she looked so good naked; he didn’t really deserve this. But it wasn’t like he was enjoying it. He never enjoyed a genuine challenge. ‘Am I only allowed to care if certain people live or die, not others? Do I have to … apply for permission?’