She flipped him off. It seemed to amuse him, which was too bad; she’d been hoping to really make him angry enough to do something he could get arrested for.

She picked up the hot pie and was walking back with it when she spotted the creepy Professor Davis sitting at an outdoor café, enjoying a coffee with a girl young enough – again – to be his daughter. She looked captivated, too. Starry-eyed and naïve, and willing to believe that Professor Davis was that missing daddy figure in her life that would solve all her problems.

Claire couldn’t resist.

She changed course.

Dr Davis and his new conquest were so into each other – or at least, she was breathlessly into him, and he was enjoying it – that it took at least a full minute for either of them to notice Claire when she paused at their table. Dr Davis even pushed his coffee cup toward her, as if she was the waiter, before looking up in annoyance, then confusion, and then – gratifyingly – worry. He straightened up in his chair, and she smiled at him.

What would Eve do?

It was easy enough to channel her best friend’s talent for snarky destruction.

‘You’re not returning my calls, Patrick,’ Claire said, in her best injured, pouting voice. ‘I thought you were going to come by to talk about our problems.’

‘Claire,’ he said, which was an obvious and rookie mistake; it meant he knew who she was, and she saw the chagrin settle over his face as he realised it. He turned toward the girl he was with, no doubt to protest his innocence.

Claire didn’t give him the chance. ‘I ran into your wife at the mall and she says she is not going to give you a divorce, so what am I supposed to do about the babies? Just you wait. I’m going to make sure you step up and be a good father to our twins! You promised!’

She didn’t wait to see the results of the bomb she’d thrown; she just held her head high and walked on with the pizza and didn’t look back. She didn’t have to. The scrape of the girl’s wrought-iron chair legs on pavement, and Patrick’s injured, wounded protests were as good as any picture. It might not matter, and probably wouldn’t; she’d torpedoed one date, but he’d have another one tomorrow, or the next day.

Still. It felt good to have a little payback for Liz.

Claire was humming under her breath as she jogged up the steps, reaching for her keys … but she stopped dead when she saw that the door was already open. Not just open … left open by inches, and swinging gently in the breeze.

‘Liz?’ Claire stepped inside, heart pounding, and dumped the pizza box on the floor as she turned on the overhead light in the entry hall. The cheap yellow bulb flooded it with harsh light, but what it told Claire was that nobody had broken in here … instead, all the locks had been neatly clicked back, including the deadbolt. Liz had opened the door. ‘Liz!’