‘Fat,’ Rachel had said to her, when Tully had used the word ‘voluptuous’ to describe her. ‘You don’t have to whisper it or use some euphemism like “generous” or “plus-sized” or “Botticelli-like”. “Fat” doesn’t mean disgusting, slothful, or lazy ... that’s just the meaning society attaches to it.’

Tully had been mortified. She didn’t think Rachel was disgusting or lazy or slothful. She thought Rachel was beautiful. She merely couldn’t use the word ‘fat’ at full volume. It felt wrong somehow. Like being asked to say ‘fuck’ in church. That, she suspected, was Rachel’s point though, and, she had to admit, it was a good one. Why couldn’t she say the word?

‘Stephen has shown me about a million photos of Miles and Locky,’ Heather was saying. ‘I know people say all kids are cute, but I have to say, they are particularly adorable.’

‘They are, aren’t they?’ Tully said, her ears pricking up at the sound of her sons’ names. It was a smart move on Heather’s part; only a serial killer could fail to warm to someone who called their children adorable. Tully found herself reaching for her phone and pulling up a photo she’d snapped of them that morning, eating Weet-Bix at the kitchen counter, a pair of beaming, blue-eyed angels. A second later Locky dumped his bowl of cereal over Miles’s head, and Miles lost his mind because the texture made him feel like he had slugs in his hair, and slugs were on Miles’s most recent list of phobias.

Heather took the phone and gushed appreciatively. ‘They’re two and five?’

‘Nearly three and five,’ Tully said. There was supposed to be a birthday party coming up, but given that parties had also appeared on Miles’s list of phobias, it was anyone’s guess whether that would happen.

‘So, Heather, why don’t you tell me about yourself?’ Tully said, when conversation about the boys dried up. She pasted on a smile which faded when Dad gave her an odd look. Sometimes, when she wasn’t concentrating, Tully had been known to smile a bit too hard. Apparently everyone didn’t have Heather’s skill for smiling just the right amount.

‘Well,’ Heather said, ‘I’m sure Stephen told you I’m an interior designer.’

Stephen had. In fact, Heather had been the one responsible for the redesign of Mum and Dad’s house. Tully didn’t know all the details about how Heather had progressed from employee to girlfriend, but it wasn’t difficult to piece together. Clearly Heather arrived at Mum and Dad’s very nice, very expensive house, took one look at Mum and saw an opening. Yes, Dad was old, but he was wealthy and a doctor. All you needed was a daddy issue or two and Stephen was a lamb to the slaughter.

‘I’m also a keen gardener,’ Heather continued, reaching for her water glass.

Her teeth belonged in a movie-star’s mouth, Tully noticed. Almost certainly veneers. Tully glanced at Dad’s teeth. Not movie-star teeth, but surprisingly white. It prompted a recollection of a tooth-whitening kit Tully had spotted in his bathroom last time she’d visited. She’d meant to ask him about it, but she’d been distracted when she noticed his grout desperately needed a clean. She’d ended up giving him a rundown of the best grout cleaners to use and then just cleaning it herself to make sure it was done properly. As a result, she’d forgotten all about the whitening kit. Until now.