“You know they have practically no money,” Eric continues. “Martin hasn’t sold a book for years.”

“Shh.” She glances at the pool. “He was a bestseller, a prizewinner. He works hard—”

“He’s living off his wife.”

“Oh?” Something new and hot wells up, burning her throat. She gestures at the pool, the house through the trees. “Where do you think all this comes from?” The words are out before she can stop them; they leave a quivering echo in the air.

“Your father.” His voice is very quiet now. “I work hard, harder than you ever have.”

They haven’t talked like this before, new territory. She steps back, unsure of her ground.

“I’m grateful, you know I am.”

“Do I?” He leans forward and kisses her on the lips, a brief kiss with no warmth. Over his shoulder she sees Martin looking at them from the pool.

“You taste distinctly of honey.” Eric wipes his lips.

“That’s what it was, the taste on Ash’s arm; no wonder he was stung. The honey was out on the table earlier. He must have helped himself.”

“Wicked child.” Eric rumples his son’s hair.

“I’m back,” Melissa calls from the drive, her pink caftan visible through the trees; she is weighed down with plastic bags on either side.

“Coming, Melly.” Eve slips her finger into Ash’s mouth, disconnecting him from the nipple. He makes a small noise of protest but his eyes begin to close again. She hands him to Eric. “He’ll sleep now,” she says.

Melissa has tipped a pile of scarlet tomatoes into a bowl on the kitchen table; she unpacks wine, lettuce, cucumber, and pots of yogurt. “Let me do lunch.”

The honey is still on the table. The lid has come loose; Eve screws it back on firmly. She wipes the pot and puts it back in the cupboard, high up out of harm’s way. Ash gets himself into far more scrapes than the girls ever did, or perhaps she’s more distracted these days. She wipes her face. It’s especially hot in Greece this year; hotter than ever. So many insects everywhere: flies, bees, wasps. Outside the cicadas are at screaming pitch, the sound fills the air. They get louder at this time of day. If you listen, it’s like thousands of tiny violins making that seesaw noise they use in films to signal unseen danger, fast approaching.

Melissa

“You forgot the wine,” Eve tells Eric as she unpacks the picnic. “What a shame.”

Melissa glances at her; she wouldn’t dream of reproving Paul. It would be far too dangerous. She forgot that last week when she’d corrected him about some flight detail in front of Izzy.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” he’d said later.

She had been brushing her hair in the mirror before bed when he came up close behind her. His voice had been quiet and very cold. “You made me look stupid in front of my daughter.”

“I’m sorry.” She had spoken quickly, though her mouth had dried up. “I didn’t mean to, I just thought—”