She leaves, descending the stairs at a run as the dog barks again. She closes the front door behind her and walks round the drive to the back. Further down the garden the children are still running around the bonfire, leaping and whooping. Blake is hollering at the top of his voice though she can’t make out the words. No one notices her at first as she walks towards them. Martin and Eve are leaning together. The thin blonde looks up first; the two men she saw by the barbecue are now sitting down but both turn and stare as she walks into the candlelight. They get to their feet, a chair is knocked over, the smooth-looking man is still chewing.

Melissa

An unfamiliar woman is striding barefoot towards them, not smiling but blazing, as though for battle, coming from or going towards. She’s easily the most beautiful woman Melissa has ever seen. The light from the barbecue licks along her limbs so her dark skin gleams as though wet. She walks the way models do, dipping on each side with every step. Her dress is red, her cheekbones glitter. She looks like a warrior, Melissa thinks, and finds herself wanting to cheer.

‘Gracie.’ Martin is the first to recover from surprise. ‘You got away after all.’

‘Welcome.’ Eric’s voice is gentle as he hands her a flute of champagne. It’s the voice Melissa’s heard him use to quieten the animals, and the woman, Grace, is like an exquisite animal, a fine racehorse perhaps, strung tight and trembling. She doesn’t reply. Eve deposits her son in Melissa’s lap, damp and surprisingly heavy. Melissa bends her head to his, she feels a rush of warmth; she can’t remember holding a child since Izzy was little.

‘Hi, stranger.’ Eve holds her arms out as Grace advances. Her kisses, one for each cheek, are unreturned. ‘You smell wonderful, strawberries! That’s so funny, it’s exactly like Poppy … but gosh, your dress is soaking wet!’

Grace steps back, she doesn’t reply. Melissa feels a pulse of admiration; she would have apologized, explained, made some awkward joke.

‘Let’s find you a towel.’ Eve gestures to the house. ‘There are heaps upstairs. Eric can—’

Grace frowns and shakes her head, the sort of woman who doesn’t like a fuss.

‘Well, at least take my wrap.’ Eve hands over a length of pink material from the back of her chair. ‘I’m so glad you made it after all,’ she continues easily. ‘You must be exhausted. There’s plenty to eat. Do sit down.’

She gestures to the chair next to Martin, but Grace sits by Melissa instead.

‘Hi, I’m Melly.’ She smiles, feeling chosen. ‘Izzy’s mother.’

Grace says nothing; she is watching Martin and has started to shiver despite the warmth of the evening.

‘Congratulations on the washing-machine repair.’ Martin raises his glass to his wife.