She surveys me for a moment with her lips pressed together. She really is terrifying. Kudos to my brother for being able to handle her.

‘Good,’ she says finally. ‘And you’re right, it’s between the two of you. It’s just—’ She hesitates, looking uncharacteristically lost for words. ‘Don’t judge people by their roles, Brendan, okay? Yes, you’re paying her for sex, but she’s not just some whore. She seems really strong, and she is, but she’s also more vulnerable than she looks. Just—do me a favour and look after her, okay? She’s worth it.’

There’s something about the intensity in her voice and her face that’s sobering. It’s almost like she’s trying to warn me. But Athena’s super protective of Marlowe; I know that much. So maybe she’s just looking out for her friend.

‘I will,’ I say quietly. ‘I know she is.’

My mother and sister can mainline chardonnay like nobody’s business, so I’m making myself useful opening another bottle of Meursault when the folks show up. Mum enters in a cloud of that pungent eighties Dolce and Gabbana perfume she always wears. I swear you can practically see the leopard print and big hair wafting off that stuff.

‘Look at my gorgeous, strapping son,’ she says proudly, as she always does. It’s as if my gym-honed body is the modern-day equivalent of being a well-built farmer’s lad. I dunno. I won’t attempt to guess what goes on inside that brain of hers, opting instead to pour her a generous glass of her favourite wine.

She’s all excited because they’ve taken a box for the night. I honestly don’t get the appeal of boxes. They’re all the way on the side of the theatre and they face the wrong fucking way. Seriously, they’re like the theatrical equivalent of the Emperor’s new clothes. Who wants to sit through three hours of Les fucking Mis only to emerge with a crick in their neck?

Not me.

Mum releases me to go fawn over Athena. I won’t lie; things got pretty hairy there a few weeks ago when a former board member of mine—total wanker—outed her as a hooker in front of the entire family at a fancy charity gala. Never has the fear of having to perform CPR on my parents felt so real. Honestly, I thought they’d pass out from the shame of it. It made Gabe leaving the priesthood seem as innocuous as missing Mass on a Sunday.