He put a fraternal arm around Clover’s shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s go find the apartment. And we should probably do a shop on the way too for some milk and bread . . . There’s no one to look after us here, more’s the pity.’

Clover realized her feet were moving, that she was actually going through the motions of being . . . fine. She looked like every other twenty-something here, but none of them could have done something as stupid as her. Who . . . who else could go against their own nature like that? The shock still sat within her body like a leprechaun, leaping about and making her startle as flashbacks played on a loop: his hands, his breath. I hate you too.

She looked up at the Swiss alps; they were rougher-cut than their Austrian neighbours, taller too. She could see the soaring beauty of the place but she couldn’t feel much. She kept going over it in her mind, trying to find the schism, the exact moment when she had lost herself – but she couldn’t. The two of them had seemed to fall towards one another like they were gliding on rails, coming from opposite directions and crashing violently, unstoppably. Her body kept shuddering involuntarily, goosebumps prickling her skin as she suddenly remembered that first feel of his leg in the water, his tongue in her mouth, his hands lifting her up . . .

Johnny’s arm squeezed around her shoulder. ‘Stop hating yourself,’ he murmured, reading her mind. ‘We’ve all slept with people we shouldn’t.’

Matty’s head whipped up. ‘Have we?’ she asked. ‘Who was yours? . . . Johnny?’

Two hours later, they were settled. The fridge had been stocked with the basics – OJ, milk, cheese, ham, vodka – and they had made up their own beds. But the mood had distinctly flatlined, Fin and Carlotta already sorely missed.

Their expulsion from the garden of Eden was sharply felt. Matty kept staring in dismay at the orange pine kitchen and pale blue Eighties tiles in the bathroom. The lino floor was curling in the corners and the mountain watercolour prints on the walls looked like they’d come from a charity store. The bed linen was pale primrose bobbled polyester and had given Matty such a charge of static that her fine hair was standing on end.

‘What? It was the best we could get with a few hours’ notice,’ Johnny said.

That wasn’t strictly true. There had been other lets available, but this one was all Clover could afford. The prices in this town had been eye-watering and she’d had to come up with something about Liam rebalancing their expenses budget to advertising instead. The original plan had been for them to stay with Kit and the team here too, but he had deliberately walked out on her. Them. Her . . . She wouldn’t go cap in hand, asking for their address.