‘Shh!’ she interrupted, picking out her words ultra-carefully. ‘I… have… to… sleep.’

‘Drink. Water,’ he repeated, moronically slowly. ‘Is there anybody I can call?’

Beyond care, desperate to shake him off and rinse away the reek, she clambered into the bath fully clothed and set the shower running, grateful for the sobering icy blast that came first, followed by the warmth, closing her eyes, hoping he’d go away if she ignored him.

Suddenly all she could think about was Kes. Her son, so small and trusting, his parents locked in battle, his mother trying to drown her sorrow one last time and scuppering everything. Mack was right; she’d slid straight back down to ground zero from where he had first picked her up.

Desperate to wash her putrid self-pity, she put her head under the full blast of the shower, reaching blindly for soap, grabbing a damp trouser leg.

A small bottle was pressed in her hand. ‘Shower gel.’

She emptied it over her head, her arms leaden, then slipped and slopped around like a dying salmon in the foamy stream.

‘Rub it in. Like this.’ Her scalp was momentarily raked by the stranger’s fingers that foamed it to soft peaks. Then he abandoned her, taking two handfuls of lather to wash the puppy in the sink. ‘It’s cruel to leave a dog this young alone; no wonder he’s chewed everything.’

She wanted to argue her case, but she had no defence, at least none she could say without slurring, and her heart went out to the puppy whose fate she’d made as uncertain as her own. He deserved better. She was mortified, pressing her face in her hands, eyelids burning, the slicing deluge forcing her away from the sleep she craved.

‘I gave him to my husband,’ she explained, her muffled words drowned by drunkenness and pelting water. ‘Then I realised I prefer the dog.’ It came out as total gobbledygook, but it hardly mattered.

Rubbing her soapy eyes with the balls of her palms, she realised he was no longer in the bathroom, blearily spotting his shape through the door, puppy wrapped in a white towel now.

The warmth of the water soothed her. It felt safe here in her white enamel boat. Hair rinsed after a fashion, she pushed in the plug to let the bath fill, lying beneath the waterfall, transported back to her tropical honeymoon, floating in the turquoise pool while the monsoon passed overhead and Mack slept in their room, knowing there was no going back.

The taps were abruptly turned off

‘Time to get dry, Ophelia,’ barked the Viking.

Pax tried to say, ‘I’m very grateful, but I wish you’d just go away,’ but even to her ears it was more, ‘Imgateful wushoo goway.’

He pulled the plug. ‘You need to get out of those wet clothes.’

She opened her eyes, squinting hazily up at a lot of facial hair and saying very carefully, ‘Haffnothinelstoware.’

‘Look in my bag. Leave those jeans in here and I’ll wring them out.’