‘Was there someone else involved?’ Dr. Rhys Evans asked my mother, a gossipy glint in her eye. Everyone assumed there was someone else. And there usually is, isn’t there, Dr. R? It takes a third person to really motivate us, to kick us up the derrière. What had motivated Leah? I can only think of how unhappy she must have been to inflict this on the family. She was unhappy, we all knew that, but it was kind of accepted, almost a joke: one New Year’s Eve her resolution had been to start walking with a spring in her step; she thought it might help to cheer herself up. I had never known her any different. I was sure there wasn’t anyone else involved. That’s what I liked about Leah: she wanted a clean life, no mess. She wanted to make a change in her life so she had done so.

On the way up to the bathroom later, where I’d left Ness to blub in bubbles, I’d popped in to Annie’s room to find her and Polly sprawled on the bed as they watched something funny on YouTube. I gave Polly a hug. She smelt of chocolate. After a moment or two she said, ‘I can’t see the screen, Connie,’ so I let go.

Ness lay motionless in the bath with her head turned to one side, one hand lying across her breast, like a wounded St. Sebastian. It was an inappropriate time to take advantage of, I know, but Ness had always been strangely coy about showing her body; and despite the fact that we had been on many holidays together and lain on numerous beaches, this was the first time I had actually seen her form in all its naked glory. And it was glorious, complete with stretch marks and wayward hairs. Karl was bored of me always going on about her perfection and kept pointing out to me that she was like a boy, straight up and down and had no arse, nothing to grab hold of. (But I thought that was good – blimey, we women really get mixed messages. And when did he last grab hold of me anyway? He’s all talk. In actual fact, we had never really had that grabbing hold of kind of sex; we indulged in pleasant perfunctory intercourse once a month, much like you do, Dr. R. Or hey, let’s go crazy, perhaps a two-night flurry. By the way, I’d recently asked my mother how often she and my father made love and she’d said, ‘Oh, hardly ever these days, darling, about once a fortnight.’ WTF?!)

‘How’s Poll?’ Ness had asked, turning to face me, the bags under her eyes a pretty greeny-brown.

‘Watching YouTube. Evie and Josh are still out.’ (Evie and Josh were now officially boyfriend and girlfriend – weird, slightly incestuous, but nice.)