I flopped down in a wicker chair, which would leave long welts on the backs of my bare legs. ‘What time are we eating?’

Abby shot me a little look; I’d pay for this later. ‘Madison has a routine for us first.’

David came out with two beers, and he handed one to me, which I saw Ruth notice. I smiled up into his face. I didn’t know what I was doing – I was dizzy with myself, with disobedience. Carson was upstairs, his baby monitor on the kitchen counter. Madison was in the kitchen, I could hear her muttering to herself as she got ready.

‘Are you all watching?’ she called out to us as we arranged ourselves on the terrace.

David sat down, angled his chair towards the edge of the pool. ‘We’re watching.’

‘Mommy?’ called Madison.

Abby was still fiddling with the dishes on the table. David reached over and forced her into a seat, his touch not tender.

‘We’re ready,’ he called. ‘Come on, honey, we don’t have all night.’

There was a pause, then Madison burst out, toes pointed, hands on hips, huge fixed smile. She launched into her routine, high kicks to show off her frilly pants, arms twirling about her small compact body, voice high and reedy as she sang about the Good Ship Lollipop. I had seen her perform before, of course, but something about it was excruciating, maybe Ruth’s raised eyebrows and incredulous look. Oh God, sit down, I wanted to shout. I wanted to bundle her away and put her in proper clothes for a five-year-old, cotton pants and jeans and a sweatshirt with cartoons on it. Abby was watching her intently, moving along, hands twitching as she unconsciously followed the routine she had drilled her daughter in.

Finally, it was over, with a flourish. Abby clapped enthusiastically. David and I followed, half-heartedly.

‘Did you like it, Auntie Ruth!’ said Madison, flushed with effort.

Ruth picked up her glass and sipped. ‘Honestly, Madison,’ she said, ‘it’s not nice to show your panties off in public. Didn’t your mommy ever tell you that?’

Madison looked crushed, darting glances between her aunt and her mother, whose face had gone white, then plum. ‘Was it not good?’

‘It was very good, sweetheart,’ said David, picking up the salad tongs. ‘Now, who’s hungry?’

‘She practised this for weeks,’ said Abby, in a low growl. Like well-trained dogs, Madison and I froze at her tone. My stomach contracted and I suddenly lost my appetite.

Ruth made a grunt and reached for a plate. ‘You shouldn’t push her into it, Abigail,’ she said. ‘It’s not nice for a little girl her age. There are bad men, you know, who look for girls like that.’

A moment of shocked silence.

I caught David’s eye, his face as panicked as mine. Abby opened her mouth, as if to say something back, then slowly rose and went inside.