This wasn’t the first time Maggie had called, although Cory didn’t know I knew. She’d come last week as well.

I’d gone to the bathroom to reread Stella’s note, and when I emerged—quietly, because I’d heard a knock at the front door and a murmur of voices in the hall—I tiptoed onto the gallery and leaned over the bannisters. Cory’s voice was barely audible, which made Maggie’s seem all the more strident.

“Is Freya around?” she asked. I could feel fresh air on my skin, and hear it in the echo of her voice—Cory must have managed to keep her outside on the doorstep.

“No. She’s in London, visiting her dad.” It was hard for him to sound anything but shifty when his delivery was so quick and quiet.

“Hmm,” said Maggie.

I was dying to rush downstairs and prove her right. Perhaps I should have done; it would have been one way of turning the tables. But I knew, by then, the kind of revenge I wanted—knew it precisely, detail on detail—and it required me to be patient.

“In that case,” Maggie said, “could you give me her mobile number? I did promise her I’d stay in touch.”

I waited for Cory to tell her I’d lost my phone, and to explain that I hadn’t replaced it yet, but he said, “Yes, of course. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

Maggie rustled through her handbag—searching for her own phone, I suppose, or pen and paper.

“Ready?” And when she said yes, Cory reeled off my number.

“Sorry not to invite you in,” he said. “I’m just . . .”

“Not at all.” Her tone was as sweet as his, with the same sour undertone.

Cory began to close the door.

“How’s your mum?” She lobbed that one through the gap, just as he thought he was safe.

“My mother’s well. Thank you for asking.”

The door shut with a clack.

“Ah,” Maggie said now, as I came downstairs. “You’re back from London, then?”

Cory turned to look at me, and I could swear he was frightened. His shoulders weren’t so straight and square as usual.

“Hi Maggie.”

If I hadn’t already seen my reflection in the mirror I’d have known, by the way she looked at me, what a spectacle I made. A few hours more and I’d be able to explain everything—Oh Maggie, this isn’t my dress, and this isn’t me, and whoever you think I’ve become, I haven’t—but I didn’t dare breathe a word until my revenge was in the bag. I sidled up to Cory and took his hand.

“Yes,” I said, in answer to her question. “I’ve been back a few days now.”