‘Here,’ she says. He’s standing in front of the mirror, fiddling with the front of his hair, and he turns and takes it from her.

‘Sure you’re okay driving?’ he asks, then takes a sip. ‘Mmm, perfect, thank you.’

‘Yeah, not in the right frame of mind for drinking,’ she replies. She’s lying. She’s just in the mood for sitting back and downing glass after glass of a cool white, but tonight is not the time. She needs to be alert; she needs everything to go right.

She notices him looking at her over the rim of the glass. He has a look in his eye, one she’s seen before but ignored. Slight hesitancy. Worry. He looks away.

‘What have we got on this weekend?’ he asks. His tone seems light, but she detects an air of forced casualness.

‘Nothing, why?’

He pauses. ‘No reason.’

She leans up and kisses him, pressing her body against his. He feels unwieldy at first, reluctant, then eases. She tastes the whiskey, the cool of the ice cubes on his tongue.

She feels an urge to do more with him, but the sadness hits her and she pulls away. ‘Drink up, before the ice cubes melt and it gets too watered-down. You know how much you hate that,’ she adds, then walks downstairs to antibac the kitchen again.

It’s getting late, Amy realises as she pushes the door open to the pub. The party is in full flow, music blaring, conversation loud, some people already drunk enough to dance. Kal has gone all out for his fortieth, renting the whole place. Balloons in silver and red pull to the ceiling on their strings; a large banner on the back wall shouts Happy Birthday Kal in huge letters. She wonders who put all this together – not his girlfriend, that’s for sure: a dainty twenty-something-year-old, the latest in Kal’s long line of pretty but useless women. She spots her now, giggling with a group by the bar, all in tiny skintight dresses, leaving nothing to the imagination.

She looks around the room and sees Kal, who turns and waves. She heads over.

Kal was the best man at their wedding, Jonathan’s friend since university. Tall, dark, with a physique honed from early mornings at CrossFit and protein shakes, she’s always liked him. Fancied him a bit too much, if the truth be known.

He’s drunk, she can tell. His hand slightly forceful at her waist, his eyes unfocused as he goes in to peck her on the cheek. They misjudge the distance and she kisses a corner of his mouth, thinking inappropriate thoughts as she gets a waft of his expensive aftershave.

‘Jonny about?’ he shouts over the noise.

She flutters a hand dismissively. ‘I was parking the car. He’s gone already, off socialising. You know Jonathan.’