And the people. If she hadn’t been here before, she would have lost hours just watching the people. Men in dresses, women in britches, people dressed as nothing but themselves, laughing, kissing, singing, wigs lost on the floor and skirts tied up to dance barefoot, couples like her and Camille, like Al and Léon, people with skin darker than Guil and paler than the un-sunkissed insides of Camille’s thighs.

She understood why Al didn’t want to leave here. But there was something in the pure, giddy freedom that made Ada lock up. She wondered if it was jealousy.

At the edge of the booth she paused. Al didn’t look well. Dark smudges marred his eyes, the skin at his temples and across the delicate bones of his wrists was pale and papery thin.

Léon looked up, and jogged Al with an elbow.

‘Time’s up. Nanny’s here for you.’

Al blinked, and glanced at her.

‘Oh. It’s you.’

When no other comment seemed forthcoming, Ada pushed a wine-soaked shirt off the plush bench and sat down.

‘Look,’ said Léon, ignoring her, ‘are you going to stop moping and dance with me?’

Al took a swig of absinthe. ‘No, thanks, I want my toes intact.’

‘I’m bored.’

‘Then go pick up some simpering admirer and keep yourself busy.’

Léon wriggled out from under Al’s arm and shoved him away. ‘Well, sod you.’

Ada waited until Léon had stalked away from the booth before clearing her throat.

‘What do you want?’

‘We were worried about you. I was worried.’ Her voice was softer than she’d been expecting. ‘The deadline is tomorrow, we need to stick together.’

‘How thoughtful of you. Sparing a moment for the dissolute wastrel. Don’t worry, you can leave me to rot here.’

‘I’m not going to do that.’

‘Why?’ he barked, face suddenly twisting into a snarl. ‘Why the hell not? What good am I to you anyway?’

Ada leaned back, shocked. ‘You’re my friend.’

‘Am I? Really?’

‘Yes, Al, of course.’

He dug his thumbnail in around a splinter, gouging it out from the grain. ‘You’re nice, Ada. That’s what you do. Doesn’t mean I’m going to believe you.’

A hot flare of irritation spread under her skin. ‘Oh, I’m nice, am I? That’s all I am?’

‘Doesn’t that about sum it up? What else are you there for? Cam’s the one who runs the show, Guil’s got a soldier’s training so he’s twice as good as us at anything. Cam wants me around as her tame aristocrat with a bulging contacts book. You – well, what’s left? You’re the nice one. That, and cracking dugs for Cam to seek solace in at the end of a tough day being a total bitch to everyone.’