He had been so angry with Zadie at dinner; Chloe had seen it hidden behind his pseudo-calm expression. But surely Max wasn’t like that? Surely Max wasn’t the sort of man who would hurt his girlfriend because she was loud and annoying at dinner? Chloe thought back over the previous months, trying to work out whether she had ever had a sense of Max being violent towards Zadie, or towards anyone else. There wasn’t a single moment. She had often wondered why Max and Zadie were together, when they seemed to wind each other up and want such different things. But she had never, not for a second, worried that Max might mistreat Zadie. If she had speculated that one of them might be violent, it would have been Zadie, not Max. But there was no question that someone had hurt her.

Zadie moved her head. Was she nodding? Or shaking? ‘I just want to go to sleep,’ she said.

Chloe helped her to take off the white dress, unhooking each button as if she were doing the rosary. When the dress fell to the floor it revealed that her ribs were stained blue and purple. Chloe couldn’t help asking again, ‘What happened?’

‘He was so angry,’ she breathed as she pulled the covers tight around her shoulders, like a little girl who was afraid of the dark.

‘Zadie, I’m calling the police. He can’t get away with this.’ Chloe started searching for her phone and was surprised when she felt Zadie’s vice-like grip on her arm.

‘No,’ she said forcefully, her eyes welling up. ‘Please.’

It was the first time Chloe had seen her cry. She nodded, feeling helpless. She waited until Zadie’s breathing was perfectly even, knowing after so many nights sharing a bed that Zadie was easily woken initially. Then she slid in next to her, careful not to move or even touch her at all, and fell asleep.

29

Now

Chloe’s head spun, and then she was throwing up into a plant pot by the back door. A pretty blue-and-green one they had bought at a farmers’ market and planned to plant with lavender. The two men watched her, and when she had finished vomiting she sank down on to the step which led from the living room to the garden. Rav got up. Keeping a metre or so away from her, he passed her a glass. She drank the wine thirstily, hoping that the alcohol would numb her, even a little.

‘She said your name,’ she said, looking at Max. ‘She said your name, that night.’

Max shrugged. ‘Maybe she wanted to talk to me. She was drunk. She’d had a huge shock. Not sure that was really enough to condemn me on, Coco.’

‘She was wearing the ring. You have the ring that she was wearing.’