But there was no smile on her face, no hint of any lingering pleasure. For the first time, Beth looked at Corinne and saw the dark void inside her – a frightening emptiness. She had a way of making you feel cold, shutting herself off from you. Beth thought about their morning together in the river, limbs flashing wet under the hot sun. The closeness that had been between them inaccessible now. Beth scrambled for a way to claw it back, went to thank her for what she’d done, but just then, Corinne’s gaze landed on the puppies and she swept down and scooped two of them up in her arms.

‘Hey, take a picture,’ she instructed, nodding to her phone. ‘I want to Instagram this.’

Beth did as she was asked, and when she held the phone up and opened the camera function, Corinne fixed her with the full wattage of her sunny gaze and Beth was momentarily startled. How swiftly she’d turned her mood around, snapping on her bright smile like a varnished mask reflecting the light. And Beth thought how later the picture would appear on Instagram – the happy grin, the soft, wrinkled faces of the pups – and there would be nothing of the rancid smell, the squalor, the sex act demanded as payment. All that they’d see and remember of this day was the innocent felicity of new-born pups.

Mark drove them home. Even before they’d left the restaurant, it was clear that Guy was too drunk to get behind the wheel. Silence filled the car as they made their way through the darkened countryside, the road unwinding into the distance, a silvery thread in the moonlight.

Guy was dozing in the passenger seat. In the back, the women observed a thoughtful silence. It seemed to Mark as if the memory of that troubled girl was alive in the air with them. He kept thinking of her photograph on the mantelpiece, the sunlit hair, the clear-eyed gaze into the camera. Something about the account had caused him disquiet, made him think of his own children, their vulnerabilities. Before leaving the restaurant, as Abi settled the bill, he’d taken the opportunity to call Eva. Her phone had gone straight to voicemail, so he’d left a message, and then sent her a text for good measure, just to check everything was okay. Even now, he was glancing at his own phone on the dashboard, watchful for a notification, some response to put his mind at ease.

‘Slow down,’ Abi murmured, a warning in her voice, and he realized that his foot was to the floor.

‘Sorry.’