I thought of whatever had happened with Rachel, and I realized something – Vera craved my friendship as much as I did hers. If I could only hang on to the two of them, to nights like this, to my fresh start, I felt that it would somehow all be okay …

‘Oh my god, Lucy, what happened to your cheek?’

‘Huh?’ I froze, hand dropping to my side.

My fingers were printed with beige-orange Dermablend. ‘Oh, I –’

‘It’s purple. Did that just happen?’ Vera asked.

John’s eyebrows knit together in concern.

‘No … I …’ I stammered. ‘I mean, I don’t know exactly what happened, like exactly how I got it …’

She understood before he did. Because she was a woman, just like me. And if you had a huge-ass bruise on your face, and you didn’t deliver a believable excuse right away, it could only mean one thing.

‘I know that sounds bad,’ I said. ‘Shit, I’ve had too much weed. It’s not like it sounds. Really.’

John leaned forward. I think that’s when he got it, too.

Vera put her hand on my leg. This was my moment to shrug her off. Oh my god, you didn’t think … did you? Jesus Christ, don’t be so dramatic. I was actually drunk in a bar, ran right into the table, if you can believe it. Brooklyn nights, am I right? But I had a feeling I was already a beat behind. As if all the wine and the weed were messing with my story.

‘It’s not like that,’ I managed, but in their faces, I could already see it: my pain, my shame reflected.

‘I should go,’ I said, pushing away my wine and quickly standing, then grasping the post of the gazebo as the world began to spin.

‘Are you okay?’ Vera asked.

‘Yes, it’s just, it’s getting late,’ I said, trying to find my balance, to steady the quavering of my voice.

Against my protests, Vera insisted on walking me home – just to be safe – and back at my cottage, Dusty pawed at her ankles, desperate for affection, as I stumbled to the kitchen, opening the door to let him out.

Vera poured me a tall glass of water. ‘Drink it,’ she said.

I shook my head weakly. ‘All this, it’s not what you think.’

‘Okay,’ Vera said, though I could tell she didn’t believe me. ‘Fine. But you still need to drink some water.’

When the glass was finished and Dusty was back, she led me to my bedroom and turned the quilt down.

‘I just had too much,’ I said as I slid out of my jeans and crawled into bed. Vera disappeared, returning with my glass, refilled. My water fairy.

‘Thank you,’ I said. And then, ‘Sorry.’