Melissa glances at her; she wouldn’t dream of reproving Paul. It would be far too dangerous. She forgot that last week when she’d corrected him about some flight detail in front of Izzy.

‘I wish you hadn’t done that,’ he’d said later.

She had been brushing her hair in the mirror before bed when he came up close behind her. His voice had been quiet and very cold. ‘You made me look stupid in front of my daughter.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She had spoken quickly though her mouth had dried. ‘I didn’t mean to, I just thought—’

‘Stand up.’

She had pushed the chair back and stood up, her legs had been trembling.

‘Turn around.’

He bent her forward over the dressing table, the glass edge cutting into her abdomen. He’d held her neck very tightly.

‘Please,’ she’d managed to gasp out. ‘I can’t breathe properly—’

If he heard he didn’t loosen his hold; he’d pushed up her nightgown, entered her and taken his time. She had blacked out, coming to on the floor later. The bruises were worse than usual the next day; she still needs a scarf. Eve is lucky, far luckier than she knows.

‘It’s down the side of the basket,’ Eric tells his wife, calmly, settling a cotton hat on Ash’s head and smearing cream on the tender little arms and shoulders. The red mark left by the bee sting has almost disappeared. ‘Ash and I are going for a swim. Coming, Blake?’ He swings Ash up on his shoulders, Blake scrambles to his feet and they run across the hot sand to the edge of the sea. Melissa watches them race each other, Blake shouting and Ash screaming with laughter. Paul would have done the same if he was here; no, he would have done even more. He would have found the wine and poured it out. He would have built an elaborate sandcastle for the boys and taken the girls for a swim, made flattering comments about how pretty they were in their swimsuits and the beautiful colour their skin was turning in the sun. He’s charming with children, utterly charming. They fall in love with him, as women do, as she did. When they were first married he used to carry her into the sea. He taught her back crawl and how to fish from a boat; moments which shine in her memory, like jewels in the darkness.

Eve places the contents of the picnic basket on to the stripy rug: bread, glistening black olives, a cheese-and-spinach pie, cucumber and lettuce, flat yellow peaches, a lemon cake. ‘The children will be starving,’ she says, catching Melissa’s stare. ‘They always are, by the sea.’