I put my free hand to my hair and felt its wetness, too. ‘I should get changed,’ I said, trying out the words carefully. ‘Grace’ll be home soon.’

Meena scoffed. ‘Grace? Ronu’s on his way.’ She looked at me for a reaction. ‘Your husband?’ she said, raising her eyebrows and pointing at me with a red-lacquered nail. ‘He’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’d have come over later, but Daddy and I are going to a bridge night. It’s been in the diary forever – everyone’s so busy – trying to get a night we can all make is almost impossible.’ She tossed her hair. ‘Anyway, we thought you’d probably want time alone together…’ her voice trailed off as she peered at me. ‘Abigail, is everything okay? You really don’t look well.’

I closed my eyes and shook my head, feeling my brain ricochet back and forth in my skull. ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Just have a shower and… some make-up.’

Meena shivered again. ‘Is the boiler working?’

She hustled to the utility cupboard under the stairs, then came back shaking her head. ‘The heating’s on. Why is it so cold?’ Then she gasped and slapped a hand to her forehead. ‘Arey! It’s the energy. Of course it’s the energy!’

She extended her arms, palms, turned up and closed her eyes, her face a blank canvas. I watched as her eyelids and the muscles around her eyes flickered, then she opened her eyes again and sighed loudly. ‘This is bad, Abigail. Very bad.’ She paused for effect then carried on. ‘I know you think this is all nonsense – silly old Meena and all that – don’t think I don’t know how you laugh at me behind my back. But you must believe me. I feel something. And it’s stronger…’ She nodded. ‘Yes, we need to do something more. Smudging will be a start.’

She sighed again, as if she had the entire world to organize, then she picked up the bags. ‘First let me get these in the fridge for Ronu before everything spoils. I’ve got all his favourites. The chicken, and even the lamb! It should last you a couple of days.’ She bustled into the kitchen and opened the fridge. From inside, I caught a glimpse of the black-and-yellow wine boxes lined up on the two middle shelves.

‘Goodness, Abigail,’ she said, turning to look back at me just as I dropped the vodka bottle from my mouth and hid it awkwardly behind my back. ‘What do you eat? There’s nothing in here. No wonder you’re so thin.’

‘Takeaways,’ I said, waving my hand vaguely at the front door. ‘Deliveries.’ The ‘el’ didn’t sound. I took another swig of vodka.