THE NEXT AFTERNOON when Sam comes home, she is screaming at their son. Tom is wailing, some half-eaten food on his high chair, the rest on the floor. “I’m calling Mum,” he says, going to pick up Tom. “She can take him for the day tomorrow.”

Alice arrives with Terry the next morning, and Cate hands Tom over. It is a cold, clear day, the sun low in the sky. They exchange few words. She thinks she can see the relief on her son’s face. When they have gone, she closes the door and cries. When the crying has stopped, she goes upstairs to the bathroom, pulls out the bag of pills, and sits on the floor with them between her legs. In her pocket her phone rings. Dea. It rings and rings, then stops. The buzz of a message is loud in the silence of the house. She lifts the phone and listens.

I’ve got a bonfire that needs tending. What are you doing right now?

Cate lifts her head to the window, sees the thin sun, calls back.

The community garden is surprisingly close, just on the other side of the river. There are a couple of other figures dotted there, bent to the cold earth, but she sees Dea immediately, standing alone on a plot halfway down. A small fire going, a pile of bracken and leaves beside it.

“Wow,” says Dea as Cate approaches. “You look terrible.”

Dea is dressed in faded canvas dungarees, a parka, her beanie on her head, and a large mug in her hands.

“Thanks.”

“Is this still the aftermath of the other night?”

Cate shrugs. A couple of old camp chairs sit around the fire. At the back of the plot stands a rickety-looking shed with potted marigolds in front of the door.

“This is nice.”

“Yeah, well, I like to keep my end up.” Dea looks down at herself. “Lesbian garden-holder. Dungarees. I’m ticking a lot of boxes right now.”

Cate raises the ghost of a smile. “Where’s Nora?”

“With Zoe. Her family is over already for Christmas. They’re great, but they’re loud. And the house is small. Where’s Tom?”

“With Alice.”

“Well,” says Dea. “It was a great dinner party. Thanks.”

“Please.”

“No, really, it’s the most excitement I’ve had for a while. I particularly liked the line about the breaking soldiers.” Dea raises her mug. “And that guy Mark. I liked seeing you stick it to him.”

“I’m glad you had a good time.”

“You want tea?”

“Sure.”

“Throw some brambles on the fire,” Dea calls as she heads to the shed. “They’re extremely satisfying to burn.”

Cate eyes the pile, then goes and lifts a prickly armful, throws them on the flames, watching them twist and buckle in the heat. Dea comes back out with a mug of tea. “Lemon balm,” she says, handing it over.

“Thanks.”