Mia stood in front of the only full-length mirror in the bungalow. It was propped against the wall in her mum’s bedroom, positioned so awkwardly that she was always afraid it might fall and break. As she stared at her reflection, her mind was on something completely different from the party that night. It was on Sarah Clifton and what her sudden departure from Morris & Wood meant. It was on Harry Wood and his sparklingly clean reputation. But most of all it was on the fact that she still hadn’t achieved what she wanted. That, almost eight months later, the reason she had given up her promising career at The Venue was slipping out of her reach and she was no longer sure what to do about it.

Mia hadn’t noticed Jess appearing in her bedroom doorway until she caught a glimpse of her sister in the far edge of the mirror.

‘You look nice,’ Jess told her.

‘Thank you.’ Mia screwed her nose up and finally took in her appearance. ‘I’m not sure, though.’ She was wearing a long, pleated leopard-print skirt that skimmed her ankles and a black chiffon vest-top, which she tugged nervously out from her waistband. Her glittery sandals sparkled on her feet, and a pretty gold chain hung around her ankle. ‘I don’t know whether it’s supposed to be dressy or casual,’ she said. ‘Harry’s invitation didn’t say.’

‘What are the other women in the office wearing?’ Jess asked.

Mia shrugged as she turned from side to side, letting her skirt swish against her legs, wondering if she was going to be warm enough. She had been told that often the Woods’ parties spread into the garden, beside the pool with its neat border of shrubbery.

‘Well, I think you look lovely,’ Jess said and when Mia caught her sister’s reflection in the mirror behind her, she saw the glimmer of a smile on her lips, even though her eyes were sunken and rimmed with black shadows.

Mia wondered what was really running through Jess’s head right now. Maybe it was nothing more than her little sister looking pretty and dressed up for a party at Harry Wood’s house – the man their mum still talked about as if he’d opened a drugs den next door, rather than built an office on Lymington Quay.

Maybe Jess was looking at her and thinking none of this was fair, when she was sitting in faded navy jogging bottoms and an oversized sweatshirt, with nothing lined up for the evening except an ITV crime drama.

‘Are you getting a taxi?’ Jess asked.

‘You sound like Mum,’ Mia replied, then frowned and added, ‘Of course I am.’ They both knew she would never get behind a wheel if she’d been drinking. They both knew all too well the heartbreak and devastation that could cause.

‘Is the woman going? The one whose job you have?’