Cate watches her take a call from Declan, who is filming somewhere in Scotland.

“I’m going to go and see him,” says Lissa. “I need a break.”

Lissa leaves on Friday afternoon. She takes the plane from City Airport to Edinburgh, where Declan has sent a car to pick her up. She sits in the back of the car and watches the city slide by. It is gray and raining. They drive out, up into the countryside, until they reach a castle on large grounds. Behind it there is a large loch. There is no cell reception. She is relieved.

Cate comes home from work at half past five, locks up her bike, climbs the stone steps, and lets herself into the house. There is no one else there. She feels the harsh, grainy texture of her loneliness.

The landline rings. A rare event. It rings and rings and rings and stops. Then it rings again and perhaps it is an emergency, so Cate goes to answer it; a woman’s voice, hectoring, asking for Lissa, who Cate informs her isn’t there. “Where is she?” says the woman, who speaks to Cate like she is shit on her shoe. “I don’t know,” says Cate truthfully. “Somewhere in Scotland, I think.”

“Well, her cell’s not working,” says the woman. “Tell her,” she says, “tell her she needs to come back to London. He wants to see her. Again. Monday morning. First thing. Tell her to come back as soon as she can.”

Cate puts down the phone. She honestly does not know where Lissa is. She could find out. She could make it an emergency. She could call Sarah, Lissa’s mother, who would probably know. She could go into Lissa’s room and search the chaos of her desk for a piece of paper that may or may not contain the name of a hotel. Her diary. Her computer. Cate knows the password. It may be in there. She could do any or all of these things, but she does nothing.

On Sunday night, she is sleeping when Lissa arrives in the house. It is after midnight. She barely wakes, she goes back to sleep.

On Monday morning Cate gets up and showers and dresses and leaves for work.

When Cate comes home that afternoon, Lissa is sitting at the kitchen table, a ball of damp tissues in her hand. “Did you get a call from my agent?”

“Who?”

“My agent. She said she called here on Friday. That he wanted to see me for the audition. It was this morning, first thing.” She begins to cry. “I was asleep. I missed it. It’s gone.”

“Can’t you get in touch? Get him to see you again?”

“Don’t you get it?” Lissa hisses. “It’s gone to someone else. It’s fucking gone.”

Lissa spends the next day in bed with the curtains closed. Cate knocks on her door, but she does not answer.