Lina disappears up the stairs, silent as a shadow. Melissa throws the vodka bottle away; she fills a bucket and starts to wash the floor to remove the spilt alcohol, scrubbing hard as if to scrub away deeper stains that she can’t even see. She scrubs until her hands are raw. By the time she has finished she is trembling with fatigue, her feet are icy. She goes to bed, exhausted. A few seconds later, the cat leaps on to the pillow next to her. ‘You’re not allowed up here, little Venus,’ Melissa whispers, ‘but I won’t tell if you don’t.’

The cat curls, purring loudly, a small, comforting presence.

The face that stares back at her from the mirror the next morning is papery white, the lines in the skin like fine cracks. Too much sun on holiday, too much salt water. She rubs in cream, but it makes no difference. Her skin looks tired, unlike Grace’s which glows or Eve’s which seems lit from within, the skin of a woman with a lover. She puts the pot back on the shelf. That thing with Martin must be over. There’s been no more touching, no glances, no holding hands, unless – she smooths foundation down her neck – it has changed into something else, something more. They wouldn’t need to touch if they were sleeping together. Her thoughts jump and skitter like the cat when it’s scared. Eve wouldn’t do that surely, not to Grace. Everyone flirts; Paul more than most. It’s simpler not to know. Melissa applies mascara carefully. She won’t tell Grace, ever.

Izzy is sitting at the kitchen table writing in a notebook, the cat by her feet. The room looks as it usually does in the morning, the sun pooling on the shining floor. The smell of alcohol has vanished; last night’s incident has the quality of a nightmare, disturbing but a little unreal. Lina is piling fruit into the NutriBullet.

‘Okay?’ Melissa asks her quietly. ‘I hoped you’d take the day off today. You look tired, you could do with a rest.’

Lina shakes her head. She adds grated tamarind to the fruit and starts the machine. The noise fills the kitchen, drowning the possibility of speech. When she has finished making the smoothie, she tips it into two glasses and places one next to Izzy and the other at Melissa’s place on the table.

‘You drink it, Lina,’ Melissa offers. ‘It will do you good.’

Lina shakes her head, her hand on her stomach. ‘Sick,’ she whispers.

‘I’m not surprised. Go to bed then, sweetie. I’ll clear up breakfast.’

Lina nods and walks out of the kitchen.

‘I need to go to Eve’s this evening,’ Izzy says, sipping her smoothie.

‘But it’s Wednesday today.’