‘Mount Juliet,’ Callum answered, pointedly articulating the words. ‘A round of golf for him, some pampering for her, a spot of horse-riding for the princess, a happy family dinner in the evenings.’ Beth thought he sounded bitter.

He leaned forward and took the ashtray from the table. There was a reefer in it, which he proceeded to spark up, reclining against the couch once more, the ashtray balanced on his tummy.

‘You didn’t go?’

‘Ah no. I couldn’t, could I? I had to work. And besides,’ he went on, in that strained, mocking voice, ‘can’t have the treats without earning them, can we? And God forbid another guest might ask what the young man is studying at university. Think of the shame.’

His eyes narrowed as he dragged at the joint, then offered it to her. ‘Don’t just stand there,’ he murmured. ‘You’re making me nervous.’

She came and sat on the other end of the couch, taking a quick drag then passing it back to him. The weed tasted earthy, and the room held the musty odours of old socks and pizza and her own damp clothes. Her feet were sore now, chafed and uncomfortable in her wet shoes. The whole room made her feel light-headed and nauseous. She pressed her head back against the headrest, closed her eyes for a moment.

‘I feel so strange,’ she admitted quietly, opening her eyes when she felt him get up from the couch.

Wordlessly, he left the room, returning minutes later with a towel.

‘Here,’ he said, tossing it to her. ‘Dry yourself with that.’

Struck by his consideration, she smiled weakly. ‘Mind if I take my shoes off?’

‘Knock yourself out.’

She felt strange because of the weed, because of the night’s events. But it was also true that the oddness was because of the house, and because of him. He was watching the television on mute, and there wasn’t any music playing, no voices drifting in from other rooms, no sound of laughter from Irene on the phone to one of her friends. The house was deathly quiet, lifeless, and she felt like the two of them were creatures washed up on to a rock, refugees from the outside world seeking solace together, some kind of peace.

She eased out of her wet jacket and towel-dried her hair. In all the years she’d been coming to the house, this was the first time she’d been alone in a room with Callum for any length of time. As Lisa’s older brother, he had always scorned their company, and they had mocked him and his jock friends, the two girls rolling their eyes at the ignorant jokes the boys told each other, their obsessive and inane conversations about sport, even the fuggy way they smelt. ‘The uncleans’, Lisa had called them, a sighing acceptance of the fact of their existence, their permanent place in her home.