Jenna raises her glass to her lips, only to find that it’s empty. She doesn’t know what to think, nor how to feel. What Kate said was vile and what Tom did was worse. If Kate doesn’t want to take it further there’s nothing she can do to convince her. But it doesn’t sit well, keeping it quiet.

‘We all make mistakes,’ Kate continues. ‘I imagine you have too. Things you have done or said that you wish you could change? That you want to forget?’

Jenna glances at her. ‘Of course I do.’

‘Well then.’ Kate’s expression hardens. ‘As Buddha said, “a person is destroyed by holding judgements about others”. Wise words to live by, don’t you think?’

Jenna hurries along the winding alleyway from Tom’s chalet to the other guest bedrooms. She only left Kate a few seconds ago and regret is already gnawing away at her. It goes against everything she believes in, keeping quiet about a man hitting a woman. A slap was still a slap, regardless of how hard it was delivered. Kate had twisted what had happened. She’d made out she was as responsible as Tom, absorbed some of the blame. Jenna’s anger builds as she reaches the end of the alleyway – with Tom, with Kate, with the situation, with herself. She trusted Tom. She flew eighteen hundred miles because she thought he could fix her but he’s not the man she thought he was. He’s another man pretending to be someone he’s not.

As she bursts out of the walkway she stops abruptly. Damian’s standing a few feet away, watching her with his eyebrows raised. He’s naked from the waist up, a towel tucked tightly around his waist, his hair slicked back.

‘Have you tried out the pools yet? They’re great, particularly …’ He pauses. ‘You all right? You look stressed.’

‘Tom hit Kate.’ The words rush out of her before she can stop them.

‘What the fuck?’

‘Don’t.’ She grabs at his forearm as he tries to move past her. ‘Tom’s not there. He ran off.’

‘He’d better fucking run because—’

‘Don’t. Please. Kate doesn’t want anyone to know. She made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone.’

‘You told me.’

She glances round, nervous she’ll find Tom or Kate standing at the other end of the alleyway. ‘Can we … can we talk about this somewhere quieter?’

Damian doesn’t reply. He’s staring over the top of her head towards Tom’s chalet.

‘Please. Let’s talk about this first.’

‘Fine.’ He runs his hands over his arms, smoothing down the goosebumps that have appeared on his skin.

‘You’re freezing,’ Jenna says. ‘You need to get warm.’

He smirks. ‘You could help me.’ And there he is, the Damian of the plane, suddenly reactivated as though all he needed was for Jenna to press the right button.