Freddie picks up the hint she’s dropped.

‘Lila, shall I dash to the bar and grab the four of us a drink? There’s time, right?’

‘Sure,’ I reply, reassuring him with a smile.

I’m sure that most of the questions he asks me are not as they appear at face value. I don’t think he’s asking my permission to go to the bar, I think he’s asking if I mind if he buys Daniel and Eva a drink. I don’t actually mind – or, at least, acting as if I don’t mind makes it seem as if I don’t mind, which makes me look better than if I did mind… What a ridiculous mess of a thought.

‘Oh, my gosh, I’ll come with you,’ she says, bouncing on the spot, almost popping out of the sides of her halter-neck top.

‘Okay, sure.’ Freddie laughs, averting his eyes.

Eva quickly fiddles with her straps before following him to the bar. For every one of Freddie’s steps, Eva takes about four to keep up with him.

‘Try not to shag him,’ I say quietly, solely for Daniel’s benefit. I turn to face him. ‘I’m sure it’s like muscle memory for that girl.’

‘Christ, leave her alone, Lila,’ Daniel snaps at me. ‘In fact, leave us both alone.’

It makes me feel sick to my stomach, having to play nice with them. If it weren’t for the prize money, I would be doing my best to keep as far away from them as possible.

‘Are you kidding me? I didn’t invite you here. I didn’t ask to hang around with you. Eva is the one following me around like a pigeon, eyeing up my chips. She’s all over Freddie and you’re an idiot if you can’t see that.’

Am I an idiot, for not realising something was going on with Daniel and Eva? I honestly didn’t even think they liked each other all that much. I suppose that was a marked effort, to throw me off.

‘You’re paranoid,’ he tells me.

‘Is it any wonder?’ I ask. ‘After what you did to me? And if Eva thinks you’re not going to do the same to her, well, she’s an idiot too.’

‘You’re just as bad as I am,’ Daniel snaps.

‘Oh, this ought to be good,’ I utter. I can feel a surge of the sassiness that accompanies my temper surging through my veins. My fight or flight reflex always tends to favour ‘fight’ although my weapon of choice is always my wit. Well, I call it wit, but my zingy one-liners can quickly turn into the kind of chat you’d expect from an angry teenager in a park who has had one too many alcopops. ‘How am I as bad as either of you?’

‘You moved on – on the day of our wedding.’

I roll my eyes theatrically. The hypocrisy is overwhelming.

‘You moved on before our wedding day,’ I remind him. ‘You were cheating on me in the run-up to our wedding – and on our wedding day – and then you’ve got the gall to show up here with her, on our honeymoon! When you realised I was here, why not just go home, instead of continuing your weird little fling right under my nose, rubbing it in my face?’