Sasha closed her eyes, feeling very tired, but then a peal of laughter lifted up from the terrace below, and it broke the spell. So she got up and unpacked the bag, carefully hanging the three dresses she had brought, and Kev’s shirt and trousers, and placed the toiletries in the bathroom. Then she undressed and stepped in the shower. The steaming jet of water was hot and powerful, and she lifted her face to the nozzle, which was as wide as a dinner plate. She enjoyed the thunder of the spray on her shoulders, let it burn into her muscles and ease away the tension of the week – the deaths of Andrew Dean and Tony Gardner, Connie’s hook-up with Vaughn, her own worries about leaving Angel at home – and then turned off the shower, took one of the many soft white towels folded on the heated rail and wrapped herself in it.

Condensation fogged the mirror and she wiped it away. To her own surprise, she carefully applied make-up and realized she wasn’t going to stay in the room. It was pointless being here in this hotel alone, but she was determined not to let it spoil her night.

She tried to phone Kev again as she got ready – again: no answer – so instead she called Angel. ‘Everything okay there?’

‘Yes,’ said her daughter quickly. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Making myself beans on toast,’ said Angel. ‘Do you want to know every little thing I’m going to do tonight? If you want, I’ll text you when I go to the loo.’

‘No need to be sarky,’ said Sasha. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were fine on your—’

‘You don’t have to constantly check up on me.’ Angel’s voice was shrill with annoyance. ‘Are you and Dad there yet?’

‘Your dad is…’ Sasha considered her words carefully; she didn’t want Angel to be disappointed that Kev may not even get there. ‘He’s delayed and I’m waiting for him.’

‘Well, have fun and, really, you don’t need to keep phoning. I’m going to watch that new series on Netflix now.’

‘Night, then. Love you.’

Sasha lifted the remote to switch on the TV, and after furiously pressing buttons, eventually managed to find a way to escape the hotel menu and get to the actual TV guide. She hopped up and down the channels until she found one with wall-to-wall music videos from the nineties – Sinéad O’Connor sang balefully into the camera – and then she opened the champagne and poured a glass. At the wardrobe, she chose one of the dresses, the scarlet one with the hem above the knee, and low heels, and put them on. She found the clutch Angel had packed, a glittery thing she had purchased in a moment of madness, and threw in her debit card and phone.