Max had jumped up, keen to start getting ready, and Chloe had arrived, beautiful in a simple green dress, always so tasteful and understated. Zadie felt overdone, like she was compensating for something. She had asked Chloe to do up the buttons on her dress, trying to drink enough champagne to drown the nasty voice in her head telling her that she was trying too hard, that everyone was going to laugh at her for going over the top.

On the way down to the dining room, he had called her back, leaving Chloe to go down by herself. ‘Come with me,’ he had smiled, taking her back to their bedroom, where he took out a square leather box.

‘Don’t worry.’ He laughed, clearly having caught her expression. ‘It’s not what you think.’

He opened the box and on the velvet cushion was the ring from his bedroom. Even more rudely beautiful than she remembered.

‘It would be mad for me to propose now, I know that,’ he said, sliding it on to her finger. ‘But I thought maybe you might like to wear it tonight. Eventually, I’m hoping you’ll wear it for ever.’

Zadie kissed him full on the lips, then held out her hand to admire the ring against her fingers. Her hand looked so grown-up. ‘I can’t wait,’ she said. And to her own surprise, she meant it. She really couldn’t wait. She wanted Max. Just Max. No one else.

‘Maybe twenty-one will be a fresh start,’ she said, watching Max shrug on his dinner jacket.

‘That sounds perfect. No more fighting. Just you and me, against the world. I love how you’ve been lately, how you’ve finally started to grow up. I’m proud of you. You’ve really changed.’

A chill came over her. So that was what this was. A reward for changing. A gift given because she had been a ‘good girl’. All those evenings sitting on the sofa, watching TV, waiting for him to come home from practice so she could make him a chicken salad and listen to him talk about sport. He didn’t want her. At least, not any real version of her. He wanted the person she had been pretending to be for the last few weeks.

‘Shall we go down?’

She followed him to the stairs before her resolve gave in.

‘I’ve forgotten my lipstick,’ she lied. ‘You go down. Don’t keep your audience waiting. I’ll be there in a moment.’

She went back to the room, going through her bag, looking for the hip flask she had packed for emergencies. She couldn’t find it. Where the fuck had it gone? A noise by the door made her look up. Standing there was Rav, a vial in his hand.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Want to share?’