She unscrewed the lid of the gold pot and pulled out her eyeliner brush. Was it worth the risk? The rest of her face was finished, skin painted with a foundation which was the right shade in winter but a little too pale now, and dusted with bronzer. Eyes a combination of four almost identical shades of gold-brown. Lips painted away by her foundation then drawn back on. She put the brush to her lid and drew it across the lash line, a perfect graphic black stripe. Admiring her work, she smiled. She wasn’t dressed yet, still sitting on the bed in her knickers and bra. But her hair was behaving and if she could just make the second eye match the first one she’d be pleased with herself.

Max would love this, came a bitter mewl from the back of her head. He’d love the idea that you’re sitting here, painting yourself for him. Thinking about an outfit for him. Trying for him.

‘It’s not for Max,’ she said out loud, as if saying it into the room made it any more true. ‘It’s for Rav. It’s for me.’

She put the brush back to her lash line and was beginning to pull it across when a voice sounded from behind her.

‘Well, hello sexy,’ said Rav.

Instinctively, Chloe turned her head, to see her husband standing in the doorway. ‘Fuck!’ she yelped, realizing she’d put a black line across the side of her eye. ‘Fucking fuck.’

‘Bad time? Was that my fault?’

‘Yes,’ ground out Chloe from between her teeth. ‘Very, very your fault. You shouldn’t sneak up on me.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, resting his head on the door frame. He was so tall the top of his head almost brushed it. ‘You look great, though.’

Chloe made a noise a bit like a laugh. ‘I look like I’m in Brighton Rock.’

‘A Clockwork Orange.’

Chloe scrubbed at the side of her face, looking into the mirror. She got the eyeliner off, but it took all her foundation with it, leaving an oddly pink patch of skin behind. ‘What?’

‘You look like you’re in A Clockwork Orange. That’s the one with the fake eyelashes. Brighton Rock is about gangs in the thirties.’

‘I know,’ she snapped, feeling stupid. ‘That was what I meant.’

Rav raised his eyebrows but seemed to think better of making a fuss. He disappeared into the living room, humming as he went.

She had known that. She knew far more about books and films than Rav did. She didn’t answer. Instead she turned to the wardrobe, looking for her navy dress. It was round-necked and short-sleeved with a fitted waist. She called it her ‘boring dinner-party dress’; it was the one she took out when she wanted people to think she looked nice but not think any further than that.