She stepped into the bath and slowly let the water consume her, grateful for such simple pleasures, the fact that she was able to wash away the day, unlike . . . well, unlike many of the people she saw. She hated that place. She always left with a headache. It was too warm; they didn’t open any of the windows. She closed her eyes and slowly dropped deeper into the water, leaving just her face exposed, blocking out the rest of the world, letting her body float up to the surface, cross-legged. She took some deep breaths. She must start those classes again on Saturday morning; she could really feel her back tensing up. She opened her eyes. She stared at the crack across the ceiling. It was no good; she couldn’t escape it. She could still feel those unblinking, bloodshot eyes watching her every move; the way they followed her across the room, taking everything in, assessing her, continually silently commenting. This was ridiculous. Emma was the assessor, the commentator, the evaluator. But if Connie wanted to play these games, so be it: Emma would be forced to play them too.

Later, downstairs, soft-skinned and perfumed, Emma ate her Charlie Bigham’s lasagne slowly and methodically while she knocked back the rest of the Sancerre. She spent the evening looking over various court reports and papers for an upcoming mental health tribunal. Every now and then she’d change the Spotify playlist, alternating between Babybird and Joy Division. When she’d finished, she couldn’t help herself. Just one more time, she said to herself, and clicked on Connie’s document.

‘Hi, darling, you’re still up?’

Emma jumped. She hadn’t even heard the latch. She looked at the clock on her computer. It was nearly midnight. Si was soaking wet and dishevelled.

‘Good evening?’ she asked, closing her computer, turning her chair. There was something loose and attractive about him like this. He kissed her on the forehead, like one might a child. He reeked of beer.

‘Yeah, I’m starving,’ he said, putting his bag down and opening the fridge. ‘You smell good,’ he added, but she could tell he meant nothing by it.

‘Who was there? You can have the rest of the lasagne. Put it in the microwave.’

‘Usual crowd. Oh, and Adrian brought his new girlfriend along.’

‘I thought it was just the boys,’ she said. ‘What was she like?’

‘Really nice girl . . . too nice for him. What have you been up to?’

‘Oh, just work. What was her name?’