‘What’s up?’ I said. ‘Beth didn’t sound good.’

Mel looked away from me. She blinked, checked her mobile, put it back in her pocket.

‘Mel, what is it?’

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the way she always did when she was agitated or stressed.

‘She wants to come over. It’s about Ben.’

13

If there was one word to describe Beth Delaney on a normal day, it would be serene. She had a calmness, a quiet elegance about her that never seemed to waver. I couldn’t recall a single time when I’d seen a ripple of anxiety disturb the perfection.

Until today.

Today her eyes were shadowed dark from lack of sleep and she looked brittle, like fine china that might shatter at the slightest touch. Tall and willowy, dressed in a cream roll-neck and grey trousers that accentuated her long legs; dark hair falling to her shoulders, only the subtlest of make-up to disguise the fact that she was working hard to hold herself together.

I had met her maybe half a dozen times over the past year, at dinner parties and barbecues, since she and Ben had left Manchester and bought the big house in Hampstead. She was beautiful, for sure, but never wanted to talk about herself and I had never managed to break down her reserve to find out anything meaningful beyond. So even after a year I knew little about her, beyond the basics. She and Ben had a daughter, Alice, a very level-headed fourteen-year-old who had babysat for William a few times. Mel knew her from school and had stayed in touch through university, before jobs and careers took them to different parts of the country. Their friendship from school had stayed strong despite – or maybe because of – the differences between them: Mel the extrovert, the leader, the sporty alpha female; Beth the clever, kind, quiet counterpoint, but just as much an achiever in her own way. They had stayed in contact in the years since, and when she and Ben moved to London, Mel insisted we have them round to dinner and help them get settled in. Ben had invited me to join his fortnightly poker game, where I had gone once, lost £75 in two hours, and decided poker wasn’t the game for me.

We sat in the conservatory at the back of our house, the three of us. A freshly made cup of apple and elderflower caffeine-free tea infusion sat steaming, untouched, on the table in front of Beth. She didn’t drink regular tea or coffee. No caffeine. No meat, no dairy, no sugar, no non-organic either.

She looked as if she was going to begin to speak, then closed her eyes, took a deep breath, let it out. Then another. She seemed to be meditating.

Mel put a comforting hand on her arm.

‘It’s all right, Bee. It’s going to be all right. Just take your time.’

Beth glanced at me for a second, dropping her gaze as if she was embarrassed.