‘Have you?’ said Rachel, her voice like a knife. Normally she liked to drop the odd T and scuff her vowels, making sure the expensive education she’d endured would go unnoticed. It drove me mad, myself the product of a grammar school followed by an unfeasible amount of hard work.

‘It was an instinct,’ said Amber, unruffled. ‘I like to help. If I can.’

‘Right.’

I looked between them, my whole body thrumming with tension. I had too much riding on this. It was a dangerous place to be.

‘Darling, why don’t you sit down?’ I said, both of us hearing the honey I’d injected into my tone. ‘I can make some more coffee.’

She looked at me, unsmiling, but at least she backed into the armchair near the television. It seemed to swallow her up whole.

‘Thanks. Can I have the strong one?’

‘Of course. Anything more for you?’ I asked Amber, but she demurred, still smiling her buddha smile in Rachel’s direction. I took a last look between them before backing out of the room, relief engulfing me as soon as I hit the kitchen. Would it be so wrong to just stay here, flicking through Vanity Fair and imagining my life was entirely different?

I could hear both their voices as I walked slowly back down the hallway, each step an individual act. My pace became glacial. Rachel was – was she laughing? Amber was still on the sofa, but she’d scooted down to the other end, breaching the gap between the two of them. Rachel was sitting properly now, her back straight and her body angled forward, no longer using the leather armchair as her personal cave. I stood there a second, the silver tray in my hands. For a brief second I felt like a nervy waitress at a posh function, paid by the hour to shut up and smile.

‘Coffee is served!’ I trilled, and suddenly the air felt heavy again. I wished I’d stayed where I was, looking at pictures of a sad-eyed Angelina Jolie and speculating about how much her artfully photographed LA mansion was actually worth.

‘Thanks, Mum, you’re amazing!’ said Rachel, with a brief smile that was pathetically gratifying.

‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’ I asked Amber, lowering myself into the armchair opposite Rachel’s.

With Amber holding court on the sofa, we already formed a perfect triangle: it would take time for the sacred geometry she’d created to cut me to the quick.

She slowly turned her head towards me, her large eyes like a sad lemur in a cage at the zoo. ‘Just sit. Join us. Rachel’s been giving me a little bit of background about the past few months.’