That evening, Adrian and Irene were intending to go to the party that Karen always had before Christmas, and where she served up champagne cocktails – a lump of sugar soaked in bitters, a generous dash of brandy, sparkling wine – that made everyone garrulously drunk before the end of the first glass, and foolishly drunk by the end of the second.

Adrian was downstairs with the babysitter, writing out the phone number where she could call in an emergency; it wasn’t far away; they could get back in a matter of minutes. Irene was upstairs getting changed. She tried on a short black dress that was for someone younger than her, a red dress that looked all wrong, though she used to love herself in it, and an old velvet one that had a white-ish stain down the front – toothpaste? porridge? – so had to be discarded. In the end, she put on the silky flared black trousers that she always wore and over them an ivory-coloured sleeveless top with tiny embroidered flowers on it. Adrian had given it to her on her last birthday but she hadn’t had the opportunity to wear it. She examined herself in the mirror, thinking it didn’t look quite right somehow, it made her look scraggy and bleached-out; then, hearing Adrian call her impatiently to hurry, they were running late, shrugged. She hooked earrings through her lobes and put on red lipstick that made her mouth look like a gash in her pale face. For a moment, she stared at herself in distaste, then she scrubbed her lips bare again.

‘Coming! Sorry sorry sorry,’ she called again as she hurried into the bathroom. There she found Aggie, sitting in her knickers and socks on the damp bath mat with Adrian’s razor in her hand. She was breathing heavily, but otherwise was silent. Blood was streaming down her cheek, gushing into her open mouth and dribbling down her neck, onto her soft white shoulders. Without a word, Irene dropped to her knees beside her daughter and pulled the razor out of her grip. She put her hand beneath Aggie’s chin and leant forward to inspect the damage, scrabbling behind her for tissues as she did so. There were several nicks on her upper lip and a wide scrape all the way down one cheek. Irene mopped the blood gently with the tissues, cooing something meaningless, and only when Aggie saw the sodden scarlet tissues did she start to shriek wildly.

‘Hush, you’re all right. You’re all right.’

‘I’m bleeding, Mummy, I’m bleeding and bleeding.’

‘It’ll stop soon. Hold still.’

‘I’m all bloody and broke. Mummy. Mummy.’

Still holding tissues to Aggie’s cheek, Irene cradled her. Blood soaked into her new top. She heard the television coming from the living room, the sound of Adrian’s footsteps as he took the stairs two at a time, calling her name.

‘Irene, we’re incredibly … What the hell?’