But then an idea came to her. She would see Chris again: she would sleep with him, and this time, for the first time ever, she wouldn’t lie. No, she promised herself, she wouldn’t make a single noise unless it escaped her lips of its own accord. She had no idea what would happen if she did this – just a sudden desire to do something different, to break the cycle of faking orgasm after orgasm with man after man.

‘Okay,’ she told him. ‘Three weeks on Saturday. I’ll see you then.’

* * *

On the last night of their holiday, the Witrands went to a pub in a nearby village. Sophie slurped her way through a pound of mussels, impressing both her parents.

Everyone but Harriet had finished their main courses. James was in the loo; Mrs Witrand was monitoring Harriet’s progress with her scampi; and Sophie and her father were using a shoelace to try out ‘Grog’s Index of Basic Knots’, which was printed on the back of the menu.

Harriet let her knife and fork fall noisily to her plate. ‘Now can I have some ice cream?’

‘Don’t talk with your mouth full, please. We said half. You had ten to start with. So you’ve got one more to go.’ Mrs Witrand turned a sun-reddened shoulder to her youngest daughter. ‘Francis? James has been an awfully long time. Do you think you should go and check on him?’

But before Mr Witrand could answer, James was back.

‘Mum, mum, there’s a machine in the toilets selling lollipops, they’re only one pound for three, can we get, I mean please can we get some?’ He positioned himself next to his mother’s chair, his head angled upwards. ‘Pleeease?’ he said again, twisting his features into a comical parody of an angelic child: eyelashes fluttering, grin peeled back to reveal gappy front teeth.

Mrs Witrand was flustered. ‘Darling, I don’t think those are lollipops. Just go and have another little look, okay?’

Sophie wondered why her mother was whispering; then, suddenly understanding, she let out a snirt of laughter.

‘Soph, Soph, what’s so funny?’ Harriet wanted to know.

Mrs Witrand frowned at Sophie. ‘Nothing. Nothing’s funny.’

‘Can we have ice cream and a lollipop? Look—’ Harriet opened her mouth to demonstrate its emptiness, bar a few white flecks of scampi on her tongue.

‘James made a mistake, there aren’t any lollipops.’

‘There are, there are!’ James was back, his voice loud with the excitement of being right. ‘I checked and there really are, they’ve got three flavours, strawberry chocolate and banana, and they say they’re extra long lasting.’

Someone at a nearby table snickered.

‘Francis.’ Mrs Witrand’s voice was ominously neutral. ‘I thought you said you’d talked to him.

‘Well—’

‘I’m taking the children to the car. We’ll wait for you there while you pay.’

‘So we’re not getting ice cream?’