‘With him? An unemployed thief? After everything we’ve given you and all the privilege you’ve had, you’re running off with a gutter-rat.’

I thought of the bracelet in the pocket of my jeans which lay in a heap beside the pool. ‘He’s not a—’

But Edie shouted over me. ‘God, you’re a hateful bitch. I never want to see you again. Please feel free to drink yourself to death and when you do I won’t care. You’re a selfish, spoilt cow and I hate you.’

She turned herself into Jago’s arms as he came to her side.

Eleanor looked wildly around. Her eyes seemed to find me, travelled the length of my semi-naked body, before lurching forwards on to her hands. I watched her fingers scrape the ground, then one hand patted the stones, feeling for the knife. When she found it her fingers closed around the handle, tightening as she lifted her head. Then she looked straight at Edie. Pointed the knife. Raised her other hand and turned it to expose the translucent skin on her inner arm, blue veins running just beneath her creamy skin. She hovered the knife above it.

‘Why wait for the alcohol to do it?’ she whispered.

I watched in horror as she pressed the blade against her skin.

‘Eleanor!’ cried Max. He took a step towards her with his hand outstretched. My skin cooled quickly where his had touched me. ‘Eleanor?’ Another step. ‘Put the knife down.’

‘Mum, no!’ Edie was white with fear. ‘Don’t. It’s not funny. Put the knife down. Please! I don’t hate you. Stop it! I love you. I do!’

And Eleanor pushed the knife harder still against her skin until I saw a line of blood appear on her skin.

Edie screamed.

‘No!’ my brother shouted as he ran over to Eleanor. ‘Don’t!’

Jago lunged at her, grabbing the hand which held the knife, swiping it away from her exposed wrist. Eleanor pulled herself to her feet. The two of them seemed to be dancing. The noise on the terrace was replaced with a low hum, a ringing in my ears, and I felt myself floating out of my body as I had done whilst talking to Max beside the barbecue, when we’d first properly met. It was as if I was watching the scene from the rock, sitting beside my father, binoculars pressed to my eyes.

It was quite beautiful as they moved, embracing each other, their arms entwined, at least it was, until I saw her face twisted into a grotesque mask, eyes widening, mouth torn in a silent scream, and his which mirrored it. And then my brother staggered backwards. His arms opened wide. His head tipped as he looked down. As I followed his gaze I was catapulted back to the terrace. Noise and commotion hit me suddenly as if a television had been switched onto full volume.