‘Is that how it is for you?’ Cathy says. ‘We just – get on with it?’

‘Cath,’ Joe says softly. ‘It’s just a fucking pizza.’

‘Fine,’ Cathy says, sipping her wine, wondering why she’s the only one with a guilty conscience.

They talk of other things while they wait, sitting overlooking Frannie’s garden. The business, the various ongoing cases – Joe and Cathy do a deep dive on a Labrador with recurrent giardia until Frannie tells them to stop. They don’t talk about the holiday, or the body. Two glasses of wine down, Cathy has to admit, she finds it better. Maybe Frannie’s right. Maybe dwelling on it does just make it worse.

Their pizza arrives, and Frannie heads to the door. Cathy hears Evan’s voice before she can really consider if that’s right.

She looks at Joe, opening another bottle of wine. He inclines his head. ‘He delivers,’ Joe says.

‘Does he? Why?’

‘Money,’ Joe says flatly.

‘For what?’

Joe fiddles with the cork. ‘He pays loads of child maintenance.’

‘Wow. God. Now I feel bad.’

‘I don’t,’ Joe says tensely. Cathy’s eyes track across his fingers, still fiddling with the top of the wine bottle, and she can’t help but wonder if he knew Evan was on shift tonight.

‘Maybe we should pay him more,’ she says.

‘He earns a fine salary. Up to him if he wants to leave his marriage and kid.’

‘Joe. You’re so mean sometimes.’

‘I’m not mean. I just say what we’re all thinking,’ Joe says. Cathy can’t resist going into the hallway to help Frannie. And to see Evan.

‘… if you wanted to,’ Evan says. ‘After this?’

‘Not really,’ Frannie says lightly, imbuing her voice with laughter.

‘Right,’ Evan says, holding out the pizza boxes to her. ‘Well, then. You paid on the app, right?’

‘For the pizzas, or the proposition?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Evan says, while Frannie takes the boxes, still laughing.

‘Did he just ask you out?’ Cathy says, as Frannie closes the door.

‘Yeah, again,’ she says dismissively, in that way that only beautiful people can afford to. Cathy feels a stab of jealousy. How does she do it? Frannie would never go on a singular date. She would never be ghosted: they would always want more.

‘Evan?’ Joe says, as they walk into the kitchen and start arranging the pizzas boxes on Frannie’s giant table. ‘What’d he do?’

‘Just asked me out, over a fucking pizza delivery,’ Frannie says. ‘Here are the pizzas, also, are you down to fuck?’

‘That’s disgusting,’ Joe says, but he’s laughing as he roots in Frannie’s fridge for mayonnaise. Cathy knows that is what he is looking for without his having to say. ‘Should have ordered a hot dog,’ he adds, his voice muffled as he searches.

‘I can’t believe he has a second job,’ Cathy says.

‘I might complain that the pizzas are cold.’

‘Don’t,’ Cathy says, reaching for Joe’s arm. ‘He’s obviously – I don’t know. Going through some stuff.’