“Stand up.”

She had pushed the chair back and stood up, her legs had been trembling.

“Turn around.”

He bent her forward over the dressing table, the glass edge cutting into her abdomen. He’d held her neck very tightly.

“Please,” she’d managed to gasp out. “I can’t breathe properly—”

If he heard, he didn’t loosen his hold; he’d pushed up her nightgown, entered her, and taken his time. She had blacked out, coming to on the floor later. The bruises were worse than usual the next day; she still needs a scarf. Eve is lucky, far luckier than she knows.

“It’s down the side of the basket,” Eric tells his wife, calmly, settling a cotton hat on Ash’s head and smearing cream on the tender little arms and shoulders. The red mark left by the bee sting has almost disappeared. “Ash and I are going for a swim. Coming, Blake?” He swings Ash up on his shoulders, Blake scrambles to his feet, and they run across the hot sand to the edge of the sea. Melissa watches them race each other, Blake shouting and Ash screaming with laughter. Paul would have done the same if he were here; no, he would have done even more. He would have found the wine and poured it out. He would have built an elaborate sandcastle for the boys and taken the girls for a swim, made flattering comments about how pretty they were in their swimsuits and the beautiful color their skin was turning in the sun. He’s charming with children, utterly charming. They fall in love with him, as women do, as she did. When they were first married he used to carry her into the sea. He taught her the backstroke and how to fish from a boat; moments that shine in her memory, like jewels in the darkness.

Eve places the contents of the picnic basket onto the stripy blanket: bread, glistening black olives, a cheese-and-spinach pie, cucumber and lettuce, flat yellow peaches, a lemon cake. “The children will be starving,” she says, catching Melissa’s stare. “They always are, by the sea.”

“Where have they gone?” Melissa asks, tearing her gaze from the pie. The pastry looks crisp and shiny; she can imagine how it would taste in her mouth. She has hardly exercised since she arrived apart from a few early-morning lengths in the pool before anyone else is up. She can’t afford to eat anything for lunch.

“Swimming.” Eve unearths the plates and glasses. Eric and Blake are sitting in the shallows with Ash but no one else is in the water.

“There’s no sign of them out there.”

“Behind us, then. Damn, the wine isn’t here, it’s the only thing I asked Eric to pack.”

“He’s protecting my health.” Martin is lying on his back beside Eve, his voice muffled by the book on his face. “He knows I drink too much.”

There’s an imprint of four bodies on the sand behind them. The girls’ heads had been close together, their bodies fanning out. Izzy made the largest shape, then Poppy, Charley, and Sorrel—eleven, nine, and six—smaller imprints, ghost petals of a flower. Behind the beach is an impenetrable line of bamboo, stretching for miles.