She doesn’t know what to say to this. She feels like laughing because the situation is just so bizarre. She’s here alone with her friend’s husband and they’ll be spending the whole night together. Even though everyone is aware of what they are doing, it still somehow feels illicit.

‘What’s so funny?’ Greg asks.

She hasn’t even realised that she’s laughing. ‘Nothing. Just ignore me.’

He looks around. ‘It’s peaceful here. It doesn’t feel the same as my house.’

‘Well, they’re two different houses, aren’t they?’ Again, she wants to laugh, but she has no idea why.

‘Ha, yes, you’re right. But it’s more than that. Here it’s calm. Quiet, but in a nice way. My house is just… empty.’

‘Oh, I find that hard to believe with someone as lively as Sienna living in it. I’ve never met anyone so…’ She searches for the right word. ‘Full of life?’

‘Vivacious?’ Greg says. ‘Yes, she’s certainly that.’

‘So how can your house feel empty?’

He ignores her question. ‘I think another drink is in order. I’ve got this.’ He reaches down to the rucksack he’s brought with him and pulls out a bottle of wine.

‘I thought you had pyjamas in that bag,’ Abby says, chuckling again. Even in her drunken state she’s aware that she’s acting like a schoolgirl.

‘It’s all about priorities,’ Greg says, smiling and holding the bottle towards her. ‘Do you want to pour it or shall I?’

When she comes back from the kitchen, Greg is looking at the photos on the mantelpiece. ‘Here you go,’ Abby says, handing him a glass. ‘Shall we sit?’ She doesn’t want him asking who’s in the photos, doesn’t want to think about her mum. She’s still grieving, and it only takes the mention of her mother to set her off again. ‘You’re right, actually,’ she says, quickly.

Greg smiles. ‘Well, I usually am, but what exactly am I right about?’

‘About this house being peaceful. It really is. I can’t explain why, but I do feel calm here. At least since Sienna worked her magic.’

‘Houses are like people,’ Greg says, holding up his glass and staring at it. ‘They all have a story to tell. And maybe happy things happened in here.’

She thinks about the previous owners – a middle-aged couple with three children – she forgets their names. Carolina and Doug, was it? Something like that. Or was it Stephanie and Mike? She can’t remember. They’d seemed happy enough every time she and Rob viewed the house. They’d sold so they could move to Ireland to be closer to the wife’s – whatever her name was – parents.

‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ she tells Greg.